Lucy Raymond;

 OR, THE CHILDREN'S WATCHWORD. 

 BY THE AUTHOR OF

 'KATIE JOHNSTONE'S CROSS. '

 TORONTO: JAMES CAMPBELL AND SON. 

CONTENTS. 

CHAP. 

 I. MISS PRESTON'S LAST SUNDAY, II. LUCY'S HOME, III. MORE HOME SCENES, IV. NELLY'S SUNDAY EVENING, V. STRAWBERRYING, VI. A MISSION, VII. TEMPTATIONS, VIII. PARTINGS, IX. INTRODUCTIONS, X. NEW EXPERIENCES, XI. A START IN LIFE, XII. AMBITION, XIII. A FRIENDSHIP, XIV. AN UNEXPECTED RECOGNITION, XV. THE FLOWER FADETH, XVI. DARKNESS AND LIGHT, XVII. HOME AGAIN, XVIII. A FAREWELL CHAPTER, LUCY RAYMOND. 

I. 

_Miss Preston's Last Sunday_. 

 "Tell me the old, old story Of unseen things above-- Of Jesus and His glory, Of Jesus and His love. "

The light of a lovely Sabbath afternoon in June lay on the rich greenwoodlands, still bright with the vivid green of early summer, andsparkled on the broad river, tossed by the breeze into a thousandripples, that swept past the village of Ashleigh. It would have beenoppressively warm, but for the breeze which was swaying the longbranches of the pine-trees around the little church, which from itselevation on the higher ground looked down upon the stragglingclusters of white houses nestling in their orchards and gardens thatsloped away below. The same breeze, pleasantly laden with the mingledfragrance of the pines and of the newly-cut hay, fanned the faces ofthe children, who in pretty little groups--the flickering shadows ofthe pines falling on their light, fluttering summer dresses--wereapproaching the church, the grave demeanour of a few of the elder onesshowing that their thoughts were already occupied by the pleasantexercises of the Sunday school. 

Along a quiet, shady path, also leading to the church, a lady wasslowly and thoughtfully walking, on whose countenance a slight shadeof sadness, apparently, contended with happier thoughts. It was MaryPreston's last Sunday in her old home, previous to exchanging it forthe new one to which she had been looking forward so long; and full asher heart was of thankfulness to God for the blessings He hadbestowed, she could not take farewell of the Sunday school in whichshe had taught for several years, without some regret and manymisgivings. Where, indeed, is the earnest teacher, however faithful, who can lay down the self-imposed task without some such feelings? Hasthe _heart_ been in the work? Have thought and earnestness enteredinto the weekly instruction? Has a Christian example given force tothe precepts inculcated? Above all, has there been earnest, persevering prayer to the Lord of the harvest, in dependence on whomalone the joyful reaping time can be expected?

Such were some of the questions which had been passing through MissPreston's mind; and the smile with which she greeted her class as shetook her place was a little shadowed by her self-condemningreflections--reflections which her fellow-teachers would have thoughtquite uncalled for in one who had been the most zealous andconscientious worker in that Sunday school. But Mary Preston littlethought of comparing herself with others. She knew that to whom "muchis given, of him shall be much required;" and judging herself by thisstandard, she felt how little she had rendered to the Lord for Hisbenefits to her. As her wistful glance strayed during the opening hymnto the faces of her scholars, she could not help wondering whatinfluence the remembrance of what she had tried to teach them wouldexert on their future lives. 

As her class had been much diminished by recent changes, and in viewof her approaching departure the blanks had not been filled up, itconsisted on this Sunday of only three girls, of ages varying fromtwelve to fourteen, but differing much in appearance, and still morewidely in character and in the circumstances of their lives. 

Close to Miss Preston, and watching every look of the teacher sheloved and grieved at losing, sat Lucy Raymond, the minister'smotherless daughter, a slight, delicate-looking girl, with dark hairand bright grey eyes, full of energy and thought, but possessing agood deal of self-will and love of approbation, --dangerous elements ofcharacter unless modified and restrained by divine grace. 

Next to her sat fair, plump, rosy-cheeked, curly-haired Bessie Ford, from the Mill Bank Farm--an amiable, kind-hearted little damsel, and afavourite with all her companions, but careless and thoughtless, witha want of steadiness and moral principle which made her teacher longto see the taking root of the good seed, whose development mightsupply what was lacking. 

Very different from both seemed the third member of the class--aforlorn-looking child, who sat shyly apart from the others, shrinkingfrom proximity with their neat, tasteful summer attire, as if she feltthe contrast between her own dress and appearance and that of herschool-fellows. Poor Nelly Connor's dingy straw hat and tatteredcotton dress, as well as her pale, meagre face, with its bright hazeleyes gleaming from under the tangled brown hair, showed evident signsof poverty and neglect. She was a stranger there, having only recentlycome to Ashleigh, and had been found wandering about, a Sunday or twobefore, by Miss Preston, who had coaxed her into the Sunday school, and had kept her in her own class until she should become a littlemore familiar with scenes so strange and new. Curiosity and wonderseemed at first to absorb all her faculties, and her senses seemed soevidently engrossed with the novelty of what she saw around her, thather teacher could scarcely hope she took in any of the instructionwhich in the most simple words she tried to impress on her wanderingmind. And so very ignorant was she of the most elementary truths ofChristianity, that Miss Preston scarcely dared to ask her the simplestquestion, for fear of drawing towards her the wondering gaze of hermore favoured classmates, who, accustomed from infancy to hear of aSaviour's love and sacrifice for sin, could scarcely comprehend howany child, "Born in Christian lands, And not a heathen or a Jew, "

could have grown up to nearly their own age, ignorant of things whichwere familiar to them as household words. 

Lucy and Bessie, in their happy ignorance and inexperience, littledreamed how many thousands in Christian cities full of statelychurches, whose lofty spires seem to proclaim afar the Christianity ofthe inhabitants, grow up even to manhood and womanhood with as littleknowledge of the glorious redemption provided to rescue them fromtheir sin and degradation as if they were sunk in the thickestdarkness of heathenism. Strange that congregations of professedfollowers of Christ, whose consciences will not let them refuse tocontribute some small portion of their substance to convey the gladtidings of the gospel to distant lands, will yet, as they seek theircomfortable churches, pass calmly by whole districts where so many oftheir fellow-countrymen are perishing for lack of that very gospel, without making one personal effort to save them! Will they not have togive an account for these things?

Nelly Connor's life had for the last two or three years been spent inone of the lowest districts of the city in which her father had fixedhis abode after his emigration from the "old sod" to the New World. The horrors of that emigration she could still remember--theovercrowded steerage, where foul air bred the dreaded "ship-fever, "and where the moans of the sick and dying weighed down the hearts ofthose whom the disease had spared. Her two little sisters had diedduring that dreadful voyage; and her mother, heart-broken and worn outwith fatigue and watching, only lived to reach land and die in thenearest hospital. An elder brother, who was to have accompanied them, had by some accident lost his passage; and though he had, theysupposed, followed them in the next ship that sailed, they neverdiscovered any further trace of him. So, when Nelly's father hadfollowed his wife to the grave in the poor coffin he had withdifficulty provided for her, he and his daughter were all thatremained of the family which had set out from their dear Irish home, hoping, in the strange land they sought, to lay the foundation ofhappier fortunes. 

They led an uncomfortable, unsettled life for a year or two afterthat, exchanging one miserable lodging for another--rarely for thebetter. The father obtained an uncertain employment as a deck hand ona steamboat during the summer, subsisting as best he could on odd jobsduring the winter, and too often drowning his sorrows and cares in thetempting but fatal cup. Poor Nelly, left without any care or teaching, soon forgot all she had ever learned; and running wild with theneglected children around her, became, as might have been expected, alittle street Arab, full of shrewd, quick observation, and utteraversion to restraint of any kind. 

Suddenly, to Nelly's consternation, her father brought home a secondwife, a comrade's widow, with two or three young children. In the newhousehold Nelly was at once expected to take the place of nurse andgeneral drudge, a part for which her habits of unrestrained freedomand idleness had thoroughly disqualified her; and the results werewhat might have been expected. There was a good deal of heedlessnessand neglect on Nelly's part, and nearly constant scolding on that ofher new mother. And as the latter was neither patient nor judicious, and was, moreover, unreasonable in what she demanded from the child, there was many a conflict ending in sharp blows, the physical pain ofwhich was nothing in comparison with the sense of injury andoppression left on the child's mind. But she had no redress; for herfather being so much away from his home, had no opportunity ofopposing, as he would probably have done, his wife's severe method of"managing" his motherless child. 

Things were in this condition when Mrs. Connor, who had formerlybelonged to Ashleigh, made up her mind to remove thither, in theexpectation both of living more cheaply, and of being able, among herold acquaintances, to find more work to eke out her uncertain means ofliving. Her husband was now working on a steamboat which passed up anddown the river on which Ashleigh was situated, so that he could notsee his family as often as before. They were now settled in a small, rather dilapidated tenement, with a potato patch and pig-sty; and Mrs. Connor, who was an energetic woman, had already succeeded in makingher family almost independent of the earnings which Michael Connor toooften spent in the public-house. This being the case, she had noscruples in providing for her own children, without much considerationfor Nelly; so that the poor child was a forlorn-looking object whenMiss Preston had found her hovering wistfully about, attracted by thesight of the children streaming towards the church, and had inducedher to come, for the first time in her life, into a Sunday school. 

And now, with these three girls before her, differing so much incircumstances and culture, it was no wonder that Miss Preston shouldfeel it a matter for earnest consideration what parting words sheshould say, which, even if unappreciated at the time, mightafterwards come back to their minds, associated with the remembranceof a teacher they had loved, to help them in the conflict between goodand evil which must have its place in their future lives. But she feltshe could not possibly do better, in bidding farewell to her youngpupils, than to direct them to Him who would never leave nor forsakethem, --who was nearer, wiser, tenderer, than any earthly friend, --who, if they would trust themselves to Him, would guide them into alltruth, and in His own way of peace. 

She had brought them each, as a little parting remembrancer, a prettygift-card, bearing on one side the illuminated motto, "LOOKING UNTOJESUS, " a text the blessed influence of which she herself had longexperimentally known. And in words so simple as for the most part toreach even little Nelly's comprehension, she spoke earnestly of theloving Saviour to whom they were to "look, "--of that wonderful lifewhich, opening in the lowly manger of Bethlehem, and growing quietlyto maturity in the green valleys of Nazareth, reached its fulldevelopment in those unparalleled three years of "going about doinggood, " healing, teaching, warning, rebuking, comforting; notdisdaining to stop and bless the little children, and at last dying toatone for our sins. 

She explained to them, that although withdrawn from our earthly sight, He was as really near to them now as He had been to those Jewishchildren eighteen hundred years ago; that their lowest whisper couldreach Him; that if they would but ask Him, He would be their truestFriend, ever at their side to help them to do right and resisttemptation, to comfort them in sorrow and sweeten their joy. Herearnest tone and manner, even more than her words, impressed thechildren, and fixed even Nelly Connor's bright hazel eyes in awondering gaze. It was very new and strange to her to hear about themysterious, invisible Friend who was so loving and kind; the idea of a_friend_ of any kind being novel to the lonely, motherless child, moreaccustomed to harsh, unsparing reproof than to any other language. Miss Preston, glad to see at least that her interest was excited, wasfain to leave the germs of truth to take root and develope in hermind, under the silent influence of the divine Husbandman. 

"Now, my dear children, " she said in conclusion, "whenever you aretempted to be careless or unfaithful in duty, to think that _itdoesn't matter because no one will know_, remember that your _Saviourknows_, --that whatever the duty before you may be, you have to do it'as to the Lord, and not unto men. ' Whenever you are tempted to gettired of trying to do right and resist temptation, or when you mayfeel sad for your sinfulness and unworthiness, think of the text I amleaving you, 'LOOKING UNTO JESUS. ' And if you really and earnestly_look_ to Him, you will always find help, and strength, and guidance, and comfort. "

On the reverse side of the illuminated card she had brought for herclass was printed, in clear, distinct characters, the hymn, "I lay my sins on Jesus, The spotless Lamb of God; He bears them all, and frees us From the accursed load. 

 "I lay my wants on Jesus, All fulness dwells in Him; He heals all my diseases, He doth my soul redeem. "

As Nelly could not read, Miss Preston made her say these versesseveral times after her; and as she had a quick ear and a facility forlearning by heart, she could soon repeat them. That she could notunderstand them at present, her teacher knew; but she thought itsomething gained that the words at least should linger in her memorytill their meaning should dawn upon her heart. Then, telling Nelly shemust take care of her pretty card, and try to learn to read it forherself, she bade her class an affectionate farewell, trusting thatthe Friend of whom she had been teaching them would care for them when_she_ could not. 

"I'll learn the hymn, miss, and try to learn to read it, if anybody'll teach me, " said Nelly, her bright brown eyes sparkling throughtears, for her warm Irish heart had been touched by the kind words andtones of her teacher, whom she expected never to see again. 

Bessy Ford's sunshiny face also looked unusually sorrowful, and LucyRaymond's trembling lip bespoke a deeper emotion, with difficultyrepressed. 

"I shall see _you_ again, Lucy, " Miss Preston said, with a smile, asshe affectionately detained her a moment, for Lucy had been invited tobe present at her teacher's marriage, at which her father was toofficiate. Lucy and Bessie walked away together, the former with herfirst experience of a "_last time_" weighing on her mind and spirits;and Nelly Connor slowly stole away among the trees toward the spot shecalled her "home. "

Bessie's momentary sadness quickly vanished as she engaged in a briskconversation with another girl about her own age, who was eager togossip about Miss Preston's approaching marriage, where she was going, and what she was to wear. Lucy drew off from her companion as soon asNancy Parker joined them, partly from a real desire of thinkingquietly of her teacher's parting words, partly in proud disdain ofBessie's frivolity. "How _can_ she go on so, " she thought, "after whatMiss Preston has been saying?" But she forgot that disdain is as farremoved from the spirit of the loving and pitying Saviour as even thefrivolity she despised. 

"Come, Lucy, don't be so stiff, " said Nancy as they approached theshady gate of the white house where Mr. Raymond lived; "can't you tellus something about the wedding? You're going, aren't you?"

Nancy's pert, familiar tones grated upon Lucy's ear with unusualharshness, and she replied, rather haughtily, that she knew scarcelyanything about it. 

"Oh, no doubt you think yourself very grand, " Nancy rejoined, "but Ican find out all about it from my aunt, and no thanks to you. Come on, Bessie. " Bessie, somewhat ashamed of her companion, and instinctivelyconscious of Lucy's disapproval, stopped at the gate to exchange agood-bye with her friend, who for the moment was not very cordial. 

Thus Miss Preston and her class had separated, and future days alonecould reveal what had become of the seed she had tried to sow. 

II. 

_Lucy's Home. _

 "Is the heart a living power? Self-entwined, its strength sinks low; It can only live in loving, And by serving, love will grow. "

As Lucy passed in under the acacias which shaded the gate, she was metby a pretty, graceful-looking girl about her own age, who, with hergolden hair floating on her shoulders and her hat swinging listlesslyin her hand, was wandering through the shrubbery. 

"Why, Lucy, " she exclaimed, "what a time you have been away! I'vetried everything I could think of to pass the time; looked over allyour books, and couldn't find a nice one I hadn't read; teased Alickand Fred till they went off for peace, and pussy till she scratched myarm. Just look there!"

But Lucy's mind had been too much absorbed to descend at once to thelevel of her cousin's trifling tone; and having been vexed previouslyat her refusal to accompany her to Sunday school, she now regrettedexceedingly that Stella had not been present to hear Miss Preston'searnest words. 

"Oh, Stella, " she said eagerly, "I do _so_ wish you had been with me!If you had only heard what Miss Preston said to us, it would have doneyou good all your life. "

"Well, you know I don't worship Miss Preston, " replied Stella, alwaysready to tease, "she looks so demure. And as for dressing, why, Adaand Sophy wouldn't be seen out in the morning in that common-lookingmuslin she wore to church. "

"Oh, Stella, how can you go on so?" exclaimed Lucy impatiently. "Ifyou only had something better to think of, you wouldn't talk as if youthought dress the one thing needful. "

"That's a quotation from one of Uncle Raymond's sermons, isn't it?"rejoined Stella aggravatingly. 

Lucy drew her arm away from her cousin's and walked off alone to thehouse, obliged to hear Stella's closing remark: "Well, I'm glad _I_didn't go to Sunday school if it makes people come home cross andsulky!" And then, unconscious of the sting her words had implanted, Stella turned to meet little Harry, who was bounding home in hishighest spirits. 

Lucy slowly found her way to her own room, her especial sanctuary, where she had a good deal of pleasure in keeping her variouspossessions neatly arranged. At present it was shared by her youngvisitor, whose careless, disorderly ways were a considerable drawbackto the pleasure so long anticipated of having a companion of her ownage. Just now her eye fell at once on her ransacked bookcase all inconfusion, with the books scattered about the room. It was a trifle, but trifles are magnified when the temper is already discomposed; andthrowing down her gloves and Bible, she hastily proceeded to rearrangethem, feeling rather unamiably towards her cousin. 

But as she turned back from the completed task, her card with itsmotto met her eye, like a gentle reproof to her ruffledspirit--"LOOKING UNTO JESUS. " Had she not forgotten that already? Shehad come home enthusiastic--full of an ideal life she was to live, anexample and influence for good to all around her. But, mingled in heraspirations, there was an unconscious desire for pre-eminence and aninsidious self-complacency--"little foxes" that will spoil the bestgrapes. She had to learn that God will not be served with unhallowedfire; that the heart must be freed from pride and self-seeking beforeit can be fit for the service of the sanctuary. Already she knew shehad been impatient and unconciliatory, contemptuous to poorill-trained Nancy, whose home influences were very unfavourable; andnow, by her hastiness towards her cousin, whom she had been so anxiousto influence for good, she had probably disgusted her with the thingsin which she most wanted to interest her. 

She did not turn away, however, from the lights conscience brought toher. Nurtured in a happy Christian home, under the watchful eye of theloving father whose care had to a great extent supplied the want ofthe mother she could scarcely remember, she could not have specifiedthe time when she first began to look upon Christ as her Saviour, andto feel herself bound to live unto _Him_, and not to herself. But herteacher's words had given her a new impulse--a more definiterealization of the strength by which the Christian life was to belived--

 "The mind to blend with outward life, While keeping at Thy side. "

Humbled by her failure, she honestly confessed it, and asked for moreof the strength which every earnest seeker shall receive. 

With a much lighter heart and clearer brow, Lucy went to rejoinStella, whom she found amusing herself with Harry and his rabbits, having forgotten all about Lucy's hastiness. Lucy seated herself onthe grass beside them, joining readily in the admiration with whichStella, no less than Harry, was caressing the soft, white, downycreature with pink eyes, which was her brother's latest acquisition. 

"I want him to call it Blanche--such a pretty name, isn't it, Lucy?"said Stella. 

"I won't, " declared the perverse Harry, "because I don't like it;" andso saying, he rushed off to join "the boys, " as he called them. 

"What have you got there?" asked Stella, holding out her hand forLucy's card, which she had brought down. "Yes, it's pretty, but Sophydoes much prettier ones; you should see some lovely ones she hasdone!"

"Has she?" asked Lucy with interest, --thinking Stella's sister mustcare more for the Bible than she herself did, if she paintedilluminated texts. "I was going to tell you this was what Miss Prestonwas speaking to us about. "

"I don't see that she could say much about that, it's so short. Idon't see what it means; Jesus is in heaven now, and we can't seeHim. "

"Oh, but, " exclaimed Lucy eagerly, overcoming her shy reluctance tospeak, "He is _always near_, though we can't see Him, and is ready tohelp us when we do right, and grieved and displeased when we do wrong. I forget that myself, Stella, " she added with an effort, "or Ishouldn't have been so cross when I came home. "

Stella had already forgotten all about that, and felt a littleuncomfortable at her cousin's entering on subjects which she had beenaccustomed to consider were to be confined to the pulpit, or at anyrate were above her comprehension. She believed, of course, in ageneral way, that Christ had died for sinners, as she had often heardin church, and that in some vague way _she_ was to be saved and takento heaven, when she should be obliged to leave this world; but it hadnever occurred to her that the salvation of which she had been toldwas to influence her life now, or awaken any love from _her_ inresponse to the great love which had been shown toward her. Not daringto reply, she glanced listlessly over the hymn on the card, but tookup none of its meaning. She had never been conscious of any heavyburden of sin to be "laid on Jesus. " Petted and praised at home forher beauty and lively winning ways, her faults overlooked and her goodqualities exaggerated, she had no idea of the evil that layundeveloped in her nature, shutting out from her heart the love of themeek and lowly Jesus. She could scarcely feel her need of strength fora warfare on which she had never entered; and Lucy's words, spokenout of the realizing experience she had already had, were to herincomprehensible. 

She was a good deal relieved when the tea-bell rang, and Lucy's twobrothers, Fred and Harry, with her tall cousin Alick Steele, joinedthem as they obeyed the summons to the cool, pleasant dining-room, where Alick's mother, Mr. Raymond's sister, who had superintended hisfamily since Mrs. Raymond's death, was already seated at thetea-table. Her quiet, gentle face, in the plain widow's cap, greetedthem with a smile, brightening with a mother's pride and pleasure asshe glanced towards her son Alick, just now spending a brief holidayat Ashleigh on the completion of his medical studies. He was ahandsome high-spirited youth, affectionate, candid, and full ofenergy, though as yet his mother grieved at his carelessness as to the"better part" which she longed to see him choose. He had always spenthis vacations at Ashleigh, and was such a favourite that his visitswere looked forward to as the pleasantest events of the year. 

"Girls, " said Alick, "I saw such quantities of strawberries thisafternoon. "

"Where?" interrupted Harry eagerly. 

"Was anybody speaking to you?" asked his cousin, laughing. "But I'lltell you if you won't go and eat them all up. Over on the edge of thewoods by Mill Bank Farm. I could soon have filled a basket if I hadhad one, and if mother wouldn't have said it was Sabbath-breaking!"

"Alick, my boy, " said his mother gravely, "you mustn't talk sothoughtlessly. What would your uncle say?"

"He'd say it was a pity so good a mother hadn't a better son. Butnever mind, mother dear, you'll see I'll come all right yet. As forthese strawberries, Lucy, I vote we have a strawberry picnic, and giveStella a taste of real country life. They'll give us cream at thefarm, and the Fords would join us. "

Stella looked a little of the surprise she felt at the idea of thefarmer's children being added to the party, but she did not venture tosay anything, as Alick was by no means sparing in bringing his powersof raillery to bear on what he called her "town airs and graces. "

"Well, you needn't make all the arrangements to-night, " interposedMrs. Steele; "you know your uncle doesn't like Sunday planning ofamusements. "

And just then Mr. Raymond entered the room, his grave, quiet face, solemnized by the thoughts with which he had been engrossed, exercising an unconsciously subduing influence over the livelyjuniors. Mr. Raymond never frowned upon innocent joyousness, and eventhe boisterous little Harry was never afraid of his father; yet therewas about him a certain realization of the great truths he preached, which checked any approach to levity in his presence, and impressedeven the most thoughtless; although, not tracing it to its realsource, they generally set it down simply to his "being a clergyman. "His children looked up to him with devoted affection and deepreverence; even Stella could not help feeling that her uncle must be a_very_ good man; and to Alick, who under all his nonsense had a strongappreciation of practical religion, he was the embodiment of Christianexcellence. 

"Well, Stella, " said her uncle, turning kindly to his niece, "I hopeyou had a pleasant afternoon. I suppose our little Sunday school looksvery small after the great city ones. "

"We never go to Sunday school at home, uncle, " said Stella, with oneof her winning smiles; "there are so many _common_ children. "

"Oh, indeed!" exclaimed Alick, seizing the opportunity of putting downStella's airs. "Why don't you get up a select one, then, attended onlyby young ladies of the best families?"

Stella coloured at the sarcastic tone, but Mr. Raymond only saidkindly, "Did you ever think, my dear child, how many of these poorcommon children, as you call them, you will have to meet in heaven?"

It was certainly a new idea to Stella, and made her feel ratheruncomfortable; indeed she never cared much to think about heaven, ofwhich her ideas were the vaguest possible. 

As they went to evening service, Alick did not omit to rally Stella onher want of candour in leaving her uncle under the impression that shehad been at Sunday school that afternoon. 

"Why, Alick!" she exclaimed in surprise, "I didn't say I had been atSunday school. If Uncle Raymond supposed so, it wasn't my fault. "

"Only, you answered him as if his supposition was correct. I havealways understood that intentionally confirming a false impression wasat least the next thing to telling a story. "

"Well, I'm sure Stella didn't think of that, " interposed Lucygood-naturedly, noticing the rising colour of vexation on Stella'scountenance. 

"How tiresome they all are here!" thought Stella; "always finding outharm in things. I'm sure it wasn't my business to tell Uncle William Ihadn't been at Sunday school. Sophy and Ada often tell the housemaidto say they are not at home when they are, and don't think it anyharm. What would Alick say to that?"

By one of those coincidences which sometimes happen--sent, we may besure, in God's providence--Mr. Raymond took for his text that eveningthe words, "Looking unto Jesus, the author and finisher of our faith. "The coincidence startled Lucy, and made her listen with more thanordinary attention to her father's sermon, though, to do her justice, she was not usually either sleepy or inattentive. Mr. Raymond began byalluding to the "race set before us, " which the apostle had spoken ofin the previous verse, --the race which all who will follow Christ mustknow, but only in the strength He will supply. The young and strongmight think themselves sufficient for it, but the stern experience oflife would soon teach them that it must be often run with a heavyheart and weary feet; that "even the youths shall faint and be weary, and the young men utterly fall;" and that it is only they who wait onthe Lord, "looking unto Jesus, " who shall "mount up on wings aseagles, " who shall "run and not be weary, and shall walk and notfaint. "

Then he spoke of the Helper ever near--the "dear Jesus ever at ourside, " in looking to whom in faith and prayer, not trying to walk inour own strength, we may get

 "the daily strength, To none who ask denied, "--

the strength to overcome temptation and conquer sloth, and do whateverwork He gives us to do. Something, too, he said of what that work is:First, the faithful discharge of daily duty, whatever its nature; thenthe more voluntary work for Christ and our fellow-men with which thecorners of the busiest life may be filled up--the weak and weary to behelped, the mourner to be sympathized with, the erring brother orsister to be sought out and brought back, the cup of cold water to begiven for Christ's sake, which should not lose its reward. 

He ended by speaking of the grounds on which Jesus is the "author andfinisher of our faith, " the great salvation won by Him for us on thecross, --a salvation to be entered upon now, so that during this lifewe may begin that glorious eternal life which is to go on for ever. Then he besought his hearers, by the greatness of that love which hadprompted the infinite sacrifice, by the endurance of that mysteriousdepth of suffering which the Son of God bore for men, that He might"save them to the uttermost that come unto God by Him, " to come atonce to have their sins washed away in the Redeemer's blood, whichalone could "purge their consciences from dead works to serve theliving God. "

Many and many a time during Lucy's after-life did the words of thatsermon come back to her mind, associated with her father's earnest, solemn tones, with the peaceful beauty of that summer Sabbathevening--with the old church, its high seats and pulpit andtime-stained walls, and the old familiar faces whom all her life shehad been wont to see, Sunday after Sunday, in the same familiar seats. 

And what of the others? Bessie Ford, too, had noticed the coincidence, and had listened to the sermon as attentively as a somewhat volatilemind would allow her, and had gathered from it more than she couldhave put into conscious thought, though it was destined to bring forthfruit. 

And far back, in a dusky corner of the little gallery, gleamed thebright brown eyes of little Nelly, who had ventured back to thechurch, and, hearing the familiar sound of the text, listened intentlyand picked up some things which, though only half understood, yetawakened the chords which had been already touched to a tremblingresponse. 

Even little Harry in some measure abstained from indulging in hisordinary train of meditation during church-time, consisting chiefly ofplanning fishing excursions and games for the holidays. How many olderand wiser heads are prone to the same kind of reverie, and could nothave given a better account of "papa's sermon" than he was usuallyable to do! Fred, the quiet student, listened with kindling eye anddeep enthusiasm to his father's earnest exposition of the divine truthwhich had already penetrated his own mind and heart; and Alick heardit with a reverent admiration for the beautiful gospel which couldprompt such noble sentiments, and with a vague determination that"some time" he would think about it in earnest. 

Stella alone, of all the young group, carried away nothing of theprecious truth which had been sounding in her ears. She had gone tochurch merely as a matter of form, without any expectation ofreceiving a blessing there; and during the service her wandering eyeshad been employed in taking a mental inventory of the various odd andold-fashioned costumes that she saw around her, to serve for hersister's amusement when she should return home. It is thus that theevil one often takes away the good seed before it has sunk into ourhearts. Stella would have been surprised had it been suggested to herthat the words of the last hymn, which rose sweetly through the churchin the soft summer twilight, could possibly apply to her that evening:

 "If some poor wandering child of thine Have spurned to-day the voice divine, Now, Lord, the gracious work begin; Let him no more lie down in sin!"

III. 

_More Home Scenes. _

 "Tell me the story often. For I forgot so soon; The early dew of morning Has passed away at noon. "

When Bessie Ford parted from Lucy at the gate, she had still a longwalk before reaching home. Mill Bank Farm was a good mile and a halffrom the village if you went by the road, but Bessie shortened it veryconsiderably by striking across the fields a little way beyond thevillage. There were one or two fences to climb, but Bessie did notmind that any more than she minded the placid cows browsing in thepasture through which her way led. The breezy meadows, white withox-eye daisies, and in some places yellow with buttercups, with theblue river flowing rapidly past on one side, afforded a pleasant walkat any time, and the rest of the way was still prettier. Just withinthe boundary of Mill Bank Farm the ground ascended slightly, and thendescended into a narrow glen or ravine, with steep, rocky sidesluxuriantly draped with velvet moss and waving ferns, while along thebottom of it a little stream flowed quietly enough towards the river, though a little higher up it came foaming and dashing down the rocksand turned a small saw-mill on the farm. The sides of the ravine wereshady with hemlocks, spreading their long, waving boughs over therocks, with whose dark, solemn foliage maples and birches contrastedtheir fresh vivid green. In spring, what a place it was for wildflowers!--as Lucy Raymond and her brothers well knew, having oftenbrought home thence great bunches of dielytras and convallarias andorchises; and at any time some bright blossoms were generally to befound gleaming through the shade. 

Bessie, however, did not linger now to look for them, but picking herway across the stepping-stones which lay in the bed of the stream, shequickly climbed the opposite bank by a natural pathway which wound upamong the rocks--easily found by her accustomed feet--and passingthrough the piece of woodland that lay on the other side, came out onthe sunny expanse of meadows and corn-fields, in the midst of whichstood the neat white farmhouse, with its little array of farmbuildings, and the fine old butternut tree, under the shade of whichMrs. Ford sat milking her sleek, gentle cows, little Jenny and Jacksitting on the ground beside her. The instant that they espied theirsister coming through the fields, they dashed off at the top of theirspeed to see who should reach her first, and were soon trotting alongby her side, confiding to her their afternoon's adventures, and howJack had found nine eggs in an unsuspected nest in the barn, but hadbroken three in carrying them in. 

"But me wouldn't have, " insisted Jack sturdily, "if Jenny hadn'tknocked up against me. "

"Oh, Jack! Now you know I only touched you the least little bit, "retorted the aggrieved Jenny. 

"Well, don't jump up and down so, or I will let go your hand, " saidBessie. "You almost pull my arm off! I wish you could see how quietlylittle Mary Thomson sits in Sunday school, and she is no bigger thanyou. "

"Why can't I go to Sunday school, then?" demanded Jenny; "I'd be quiettoo. "

"And me too!" vociferated Jack; the circumstance that they were notconsidered old enough yet to go to Sunday school giving it a wonderfulcharm in their eyes. Then, as they set off again on another racetoward their mother, it occurred to Bessie for the first time thatthese little ones were quite old enough to learn the things that otherlittle children learned at Sunday school, and that although they werenot strong enough for the long walk, and her mother's time andthoughts were always so fully engrossed with the round of domesticduties, _she_ might easily find time to teach her little brother andsister as much as they could understand about the Saviour, who haddied that they might be made good, and who when on earth had blessedlittle children. Something Miss Preston had said about homeduties--about helping to teach and guide the little brothers andsisters--now recurred to her mind, and conscience told her that theseduties she had hitherto failed of performing. She had never herselfreally taken Christ for her own Saviour and Guide, although she oftenfelt a vague wish that she were "good, " and the desire of pleasingChrist entered but little, if at all, into the motives and actions ofher daily life. But she generally _knew_ what was right, andoccasionally, while the impulse from some good influence was stillfresh, would try to _do_ it. 

"I know Miss Preston would say I ought to teach Jenny and Jack someverses and hymns on Sunday, " she thought. "I'll begin to-night, whenmother and the boys are gone to church;" for a certain shyness aboutseeming "good" made her wish to begin her teaching without witnesses. 

"Here, Bessie, " said Mrs. Ford as Bessie approached, "do run and getthe tea ready--there's a good girl. I shan't be through yet for halfan hour, for I've the calves to see to; and your father and the boys'll be in from watering the horses, and if we don't get tea soonthey'll be late for church. "

Bessie went in to change her dress, with her usually good-humouredface contracted into a dissatisfied expression. She was tired; itwould have been nice to sit down and read her Sunday-school book tilltea-time. But of course nothing could be said; so she hurriedly pulledoff her walking things, grumbling a little in her own mind at thedifference between her own lot and that of Lucy Raymond, who, she feltsure, had none of these tiresome things to do. She had neverthought--what, indeed, older people often lose sight of--that God soarranges the work of all His children who will do what He gives themto do, that while some may seem to have more leisure than others, allhave their appointed work, of the kind best suited to discipline, andfit them for the higher sphere of nobler work, in which will probablybe found much of the blessedness of eternity. 

Before Bessie went down to her unwelcome task, she recollected thatshe must put her pretty card safe out of the children's way; so with astrong pin she fastened it up securely on the wall, on which it formeda tasteful decoration. As she did so, the motto brought back to hermemory what Miss Preston had said about "looking unto Jesus" in everytime of temptation, great or small, as well when inclined to bediscontented or impatient, as in greater emergencies. The evilprinciple in her nature rose against her doing so now, but the otherpower was stronger; and perhaps for the first time in her life, thoughshe regularly "said her prayers, " Bessie really asked Jesus to helpher to be more like Himself. Then with a new, strange happiness in herheart, that was at once the result of her self-conquest and the answerto her prayer, she ran down cheerfully to do her work, singing in alow tone the first verse of her hymn:

 "I long to be like Jesus, Meek, loving, lowly, mild; I long to be like Jesus, The Father's holy child. "

Jenny and Jack came running in to help her--small assistants, whom itrequired a good deal of patience to manage, neither allowing them tohurt themselves or anything else, nor driving them into a fit ofscreaming by despotically thwarting their good intentions; andBessie's patience was not always equal to the ordeal. But on thisoccasion Mrs. Ford was left to pursue her dairy avocations in peace, without being called by Jack's screams to settle some fierce disputebetween him and his sister, whose interference was not always veryjudiciously applied. 

The tea was soon ready, --not, however, before Mr. Ford and his twoeldest boys had come in, accompanied by Bessie's younger brother Sam, next in age to herself, who ought to have been at Sunday school, buthad managed to escape going, as he often did. His mother being onSundays, as on other days, "cumbered with much serving, " and hissister generally remaining with some of her friends in the villageduring the interval between the morning service and Sunday school, itwas comparatively easy for Master Sam to play truant, as indeed hesometimes did from the day school, where his chances of punishmentwere much greater, Mr. Ford being far more alive to the advantages ofa "good education" than to the need of the knowledge which "makethwise unto salvation. " So that, when Bessie began her usual "Why, Sam, you weren't at Sunday school!" Sam had some plausible excuse allready, the ingenuity of which would amuse his father so much as tolead him to overlook the offence. 

"Well, Bessie, " her mother exclaimed when they were all seated, "Ireally believe you haven't forgotten anything, for _once_. I shouldnot wonder if you were to turn out a decent housekeeper yet. "

For it was Mrs. Ford's great complaint of Bessie, that she was so"heedless" and "needed so much minding, " though she would always add, modifying her censure, "But then you can't put an old head on youngshoulders, and the child has a real good _heart_. " And being athoroughly active and diligent housekeeper, she generally found itless trouble to supply Bessie's shortcomings herself, so thatBessie's home education was likely to suffer by her mother's veryproficiency, unless she should come to see that to do all things wellwas a duty she owed "unto the Lord, and not unto men. "

"So, Bessie, you're going to lose your teacher?" said her father. "Ihear she's to be married on Thursday. "

"Yes, father, she bade us all good-bye to-day; and she gave us suchpretty cards, mother, with a text and a hymn;" and on the impulse ofthe moment she ran up for hers, and brought it down for inspection. Itwas handed round the table, eliciting various admiring comments, andexciting Jack's desire to get it into his own hands, which beingthwarted, he was with difficulty consoled by an extra supply of breadand butter. 

"And, mother, " asked Bessie, somewhat doubtfully, "may I go to-morrowand get the things to work a book-mark for Miss Preston? I'd like todo it for a new Bible the teachers are going to give her. "

"I don't care, " said Mrs. Ford, "if you'll only not neglect everythingelse while you're doing it. I don't believe in girls fiddling awaytheir time with such things, and not knowing how to make good cheeseand butter. But I wouldn't hinder you from making a present to MissPreston, for she has been a good teacher to you. "

Bessie looked delighted, but the expression quickly changed when hermother said, as they rose from table, "Bessie, I guess I'll not go tochurch to-night. I've had so much to do that I feel tired out; and ifI did go, I'm sure I'd just go to sleep. Besides, I don't like the waythe dun cow is looking; so you'd better get ready and go with fatherand the boys. "

Now Bessie had expected to remain at home that evening, as she usuallydid. She had planned to teach the children for a while, according toher new resolution, and then, when they had gone to bed, to sit downto read her Sunday-school book, which seemed unusually inviting. Bessie's Sunday reading was generally confined to her Sunday-schoolbook, for she had not yet learned to love to read the Bible, andregarded it rather as a lesson-book than as the spiritual food whichthose who know it truly find "sweeter than honey" to their taste. Soit was not a very pleasant prospect to have to hurry off to churchagain, and she felt very much inclined to make the most of the slightfatigue she felt, and say she was too tired to go, in which case hermother would have willingly assented to her remaining. But consciencetold her she was able to go, and ought to go; and remembering hermotto and her prayer, she cheerfully prepared to accompany her fatherand brothers to church, and she had reason to be grateful for herchoice. The words of the sermon deepened and expanded the impressionsof the afternoon, and left an abiding influence on the current of herlife. 

When Mrs. Ford had got through her evening duties, and the little oneswere hushed in sound slumber, she sat down near the open window torest, her eye falling, as she did so, on Bessie's card. The motto uponit carried her thoughts away to the time when, as a newly-marriedwife, she had listened to a sermon on that very text, --a time when, rejoicing in the happiness of her new life, she had felt her heartbeat with gratitude to Him who had so freely given her all things, andwith a sincere desire to live to His glory. How had the desire beencarried out? A very busy life hers had been, and still was. Theinnumerable cares and duties of her family and farm and dairy hadfilled it with never-ceasing active occupations, as was natural andright; but was it right that these occupations should have so crowdedout the very principle that would have given a holy harmony to herlife, and been a fountain of strength to meet the cares and worriesthat will fret the stream of the most prosperous course? Sacred words, learned in her childhood, recurred to her mind: "And the cares of thisworld, and the deceitfulness of riches, and the lusts of other things, entering in, choke the word, and it becometh unfruitful. " Had not thatbeen her own experience? Where were the fruits that might have beenexpected from "the word" in her?--the Christian influence and trainingwhich might have made her household what a Christian household oughtto be?

Had not the "cares of this world" been made the chief concern--thephysical and material well-being of her family made far more prominentthan the development of a life hid with Christ in God? Had not thevery smoothness and prosperity of her life, and her self-complacencyin her own good management, been a snare to her? Her husband, good andkind as he was, was, she knew, wholly engrossed with the things ofthis life; and her boys--steadier, she often thought with pride, thanhalf the boys of the neighbourhood--had never yet been made to feelthat they were not their own, but bought with the price of aSaviour's blood. Such higher knowledge as Bessie had was due to MissPreston, for, like many mothers, she had not scrupled to devolve herown responsibilities on the Sunday-school teachers, and thought herduty done when she had seen her children, neatly dressed, set off toschool on Sunday afternoon. And the little ones she had just leftasleep--had she earnestly commended them to the Lord, and tried toteach them such simple truths about their Saviour as their infantminds could receive?

All these thoughts came crowding into her mind, as they sometimes willwhen the voice of the Spirit can find an entrance into our usuallyclosed hearts; and she shrank from the thought of the account sheshould have to give of the responsibilities abused, the trustunfulfilled. Happily, she did not forget that "if we confess our sins, He is faithful and just to forgive us our sins;" and that quiet hourof meditation, and confession, and humble resolve was one of the mostprofitable seasons Mrs. Ford had ever known. For God, unlike man, canwork without as well as with outward instrumentality. 

When the others returned from church, it was with some surprise thatMrs. Ford heard from Bessie the words of the text. 

"I heard Mr. Raymond preach from that same text long ago, just afterwe were married, John, " she said. 

"Well, if you remember it, it's more than I do. But if he did preachthe same sermon over again, it is well worth hearing twice. "

"Yes, indeed, " said his wife. "I wish I had minded it better. It wouldhave been better for us all if we had. Bessie, are you too tired toread a chapter as soon as the boys come in? We don't any of us readthe Bible enough, I'm afraid. "

And Bessie, struck by something unusual in her mother's tone andmanner, cheerfully read aloud, at Mrs. Ford's request, the thirteenthof Matthew and the tenth of Hebrews, although the temptingSunday-school book still lay unread on the table up-stairs. 

IV. 

_Nelly's Sunday Evening. _

 "Oh, say not, dream not, heavenly notes To childish ears are vain, -- That the young mind at random floats, And cannot catch the strain. "

In the meantime let us go back to Nelly Connor, and see how _she_spent her Sunday afternoon. 

When she had wistfully watched the last of the groups of childrendisappearing in the distance, she walked slowly away toward her"home"--a dilapidated-looking cottage in a potato patch, enclosed by abroken-down fence, patched up by Nelly and her new mother with oldbarrel-staves and branches of trees. The outdoor work which fell toher lot Nelly did not so much dislike. It was the nursing of ascreaming baby, or scrubbing dingy, broken boards--work often imposedupon her--which sorely tried her childish strength and patience. 

Nelly found the house deserted. Sunday being Mrs. Connor's idle day, she usually went to visit some of her friends in the village, takingher children with her. A piece of bread and a mug of sour milk on thetable were all that betokened any preparation for Nelly's supper; butshe was glad enough to miss the harsh scolding tones that were herusual welcome home. 

Nelly sat down on the doorstep to eat her crust, watching, as she didso, a little bird which was bringing their evening meal to itschirping little ones in a straggling old plum-tree near the house. Forin animal life there is no such discord as sin introduces into humanlife, marring the beauty of God's arrangements for His creatures'happiness. Then, having nothing to keep her at home, she took up herdingy, tattered straw hat, and strolled slowly along towards thevillage, keeping to the shady lanes on its outskirts till she came outupon the fields across which Bessie had taken her way home. 

On her way she passed Mr. Raymond's pretty shrubbery, and stood for awhile quite still by the white railings, looking at the groupwithin--Lucy and her cousin sitting under the trees on the green turf, with Harry and the rabbit close beside them. Nelly thought she hadnever seen anything so pretty as Stella, with her rose-leaf complexionand sunny golden hair. The two might have served a painter for acontrast, both as to externals and as to the effect of the surroundinginfluences which mould human life: the one, from her cradle sotenderly and luxuriously nurtured, petted, and caressed; the other, accustomed from her earliest years to privation and hardship, to harshtones and wicked words, to all the evil influences which surround achild left to pick up its education on the city streets. Strangemystery of the "election of circumstances!"--one of the strangest inour mystery-surrounded life, never to be cleared up till all crookedthings shall be made straight. Only let the privileged ones, whoselines have fallen in pleasant places, remember that "to whom much isgiven, of them much shall be required. "

A forlorn little figure Nelly looked as she strolled along thefield-paths which Bessie had taken an hour before. But she did nottrouble herself much about externals, except when in company withothers whose better attire made her painfully conscious of the defectsin her own; and being of a nature open to every impression fromsurrounding objects, she was at that moment far from being an unhappychild. It was not often that she was completely free to wander atwill; and the fresh breezy fields, the sweet scents of the clover andthe pines, the blue rippling river, and the cows that looked calmly ather with their patient, wistful eyes, were all novelties to the townchild, whose first summer it was in the country. Some faintrecollections she still had of the grassy slopes of her native hills, in the days of her early childhood; but since then all her experiencesof summer had been the hot, hard pavements and stifling dust of alarge city. 

She had never before extended her wanderings in the direction of MillBank Farm so far as to reach the ravine through which the littlestream flowed into the river; and now, when she came to the edge ofthe steep slope and looked down into the luxuriant depth of foliageand fern and ragged moss-clad rock, she felt a sense of delight moreintense than Bessie Ford or Lucy Raymond, familiar all their liveswith such scenes, had ever experienced. She stood spell-bound atfirst, and then, scrambling down among rock and fern, reached thelittle stream, and was soon wading about in its bed, enjoying thesensation of the soft, warm water flowing over her bare feet, andpulling the little flowering water-plants that raised their headsamong the moss-grown logs and stones which lay in the bed of thestream. Then she began to climb up on the other side, stopping toexamine with admiring eyes every velvety cushion of moss, and clusterof tiny ferns, and fairy-like baby pine or maple, and picking witheager hands the wild roses and other blossoms which she espied amongthe tangled underwood. 

At last, tired with her wanderings, and with hands full of hertreasures, she threw herself down on a bed of dry moss that carpetedthe top of a high bank of rock which overlooked the river winding awaybeneath, while overhead, through the feathery sprays of the long, straggling pine boughs, the slanting sunbeams flickered on the turfbelow. 

There, in that solitary stillness--all the stiller for the confusedmurmur of soft sounds, and the fresh, sweet breath of the woodsperfuming the air--unaccustomed thoughts came into the little girl'smind, --thoughts which, in the din and bustle of the city, where thetide of human interests sufficed to fill up her undeveloped mind, hadscarcely ever entered it. But here, where the direct works of Godalone were around her, her mind was irresistibly drawn towards Him ofwhom Miss Preston had told her, that He had made her and all she sawaround her, and who lived, she supposed, somewhere beyond that bluesky. With so many pleasant things around her, the thought of theirMaker was pleasant too. But then Miss Preston had told her that Godloved what was good, but hated what was bad; and did not her newmother constantly tell her she was a "bad child?"--an accusation inwhich her conscience told her there was much truth. So God could notlove her, she thought. 

But Miss Preston had said that God did love her--that He cared for hercontinually, and wished to make her good and happy--that He had even, in some strange way which she could not understand, sent His Son todie for her, that she might be made good. It was all new and strange, but she had faith in Miss Preston; and because she had told her, shebelieved it must be true, that she, who had come to thinkherself--poor child--too bad for any one to care for, had really agreat, kind Friend near her, though she could not see Him, and lovingher more than the mother whose warm caress she could still remember. It was an idea that might seem beyond the grasp of a poor untaughtchild, were it not that He who reveals Himself to babes and sucklingscan speak to the heart He has made in ways beyond our power to trace. The idea in Nelly's mind of that wonderful love which she so sorelyneeded, was more enlightened than many a philosopher's conception ofdivinity, and the dark eyes filled with tears as a half-formed prayerawoke from her heart to the loving Jesus, who, Miss Preston had toldher, would hear and answer her. 

And who could doubt that He did hear and answer the desolate, uncared-for child, scarcely knowing as yet what "good" meant, sinceher knowledge had been only of evil! Her conscience, however, was notdead, though neglected; she knew at least what "wrong" was, and feltshe must leave off doing it if the Saviour was to be her friend. Buthow should she be able to leave off her bad, idle ways, and become agood, industrious girl, such as her new mother said most of the littlegirls in Ashleigh were? Then she remembered the words which MissPreston had made her repeat, "Looking unto Jesus, " and "I lay my sinson Jesus, " and that Miss Preston had told her she must ask Jesus totake away her sins and make her good. But she thought the right placefor speaking to Jesus must be in the church, as most of the people shehad known in the city used to go to church "to confess, " and shesupposed that must have something to do with it. 

Just then she saw the Fords passing at a little distance on their wayto church, and it occurred to her that she would go too; and perhapsJesus would hear her there, and show her how she was to be made good. So she started up, and was speedily on the other side of the ravine, almost overtaking the Fords before they reached the village. Theservice was beginning when she crept stealthily into one of thefarthest back seats, half afraid lest she was doing wrong in thustrespassing where she had no right. Then, crouched in a corner, withher face bent forward and her elf-locks half covering her eyes, shelistened with intense earnestness, trying to take in all she could ofwhat was so new, yet already not unfamiliar to her, and half disposedto think that the kindly-looking gentleman who stood there and spokein such solemn tones might be Jesus Himself. 

Let not the more favoured ones, on whom from their cradles the blessedlight of divine truth has steadily shone, smile at this poor child'signorance, but rather try to show their gratitude for higherprivileges, by seeking to impart some of the light shed on them soabundantly to those who are still wandering in darkness. 

On Nelly's listening heart Mr. Raymond's sermon did not fall sofruitlessly as some might have expected. For God is, for all, thehearer and answerer of prayer, and He never leaves unheard the weakestcry to Him. As the lonely child once more sought her comfortless home, she felt a stirring of new hope within her, and scarcely minded hermother's rough words when she demanded, "What have you been doing outso late? No good, I am sure!"

Mrs. Connor had been enlarging, among sympathizing friends, on thehardship of her having to support her husband's child when he did solittle himself for his family. "My goodness! all he gives us wouldn'thalf pay Nelly's board, " she had declared; and as her grievances werestill fresh in her mind, she greeted her step-child with even moreasperity than usual. 

But as Nelly crept away to her hard little bed, perhaps some angel, sent to minister to the motherless child, may have known that the"good-for-nothing, " ignorant little girl, oppressed with the feelingof her own sinfulness, and full of the thought of her new-foundheavenly Friend, was nearer the kingdom of heaven than the petted, admired, winning Stella Brooke, who had never yet learned her need ofthe Saviour, who came "not to call the righteous, but sinners torepentance. "

V. 

_Strawberrying. _

 "Why should we fear youth's draught of joy, If pure, would sparkle less? Why should the cup the sooner cloy Which God has deigned to bless?"

The "strawberry picnic" proposed by Alick Steele had been fixed forthe following Tuesday should it prove fine. Alick and Fred had beenover at Mill Bank Farm, and the younger Fords had agreed to meet themat the ravine, with their contribution of milk and cream, and variousother things which Mrs. Ford's zealous housewifery would not beprevented from sending, though Fred assured her that it wasunnecessary. 

"I know what young folks can eat, Mr. Fred, " she replied, "and you mayas well have plenty;" and Alick laughingly assured her she was quiteright. Alick Steele, or the "young doctor, " as his old friends nowbegan to call him, had been an acceptable guest at many a picnic andmerry-making, but he had never entered into anything of the kind withmore spirit and zeal than he now threw into this simple gypsyingexcursion with his country cousins. 

"He's no end of a fellow for a picnic, " declared Harryenthusiastically, "and ten times as good as Fred;" the quiet nature ofthe latter always shrinking from any unusual bustle, while Alick'sunfailing flow of animal spirits found a congenial outlet in anylittle extra excitement, especially when it was connected with theprocuring of enjoyment for others. He and Harry were busy all Mondayin exploring the ground and selecting the most eligible place for therepast; and Harry averred, when they returned home, that they wouldhave a "splendid time" next day, if it were only fine. 

Next morning opened as fair and bright as the excursionists coulddesire, --not too hot, but tempered by a pleasant breeze--"just the dayfor the woods, and not too rough for the water. " For Stella hadmanifested such consternation at the idea of going through thepasture--"cows always frightened her so"--that, notwithstanding theraillery and the representations of Alick and Harry, it was evidentthat her pleasure would be spoiled if she were obliged to go by thefield-path. Alick therefore had good-naturedly hunted up a boat, whichwould save them a long dusty walk by the road, and greatly enhance thepleasure of the excursion, besides carrying the "_impedimenta_, " asFred classically termed the baskets of provisions. Marion Wood, aplaymate of Lucy's, was to accompany them in the boat, while Mrs. Steele and the boys walked across the fields. 

As soon as the early dinner could be got over, the boat's cargo wastaken on board, the passengers embarked, and after some little screamsfrom Stella, who had a habit of being "nervous, " the little bark shotoff, swift and straight, impelled by Alick's firm, skillful strokes. The water-party reached the mouth of the ravine considerably soonerthan the others; and while awaiting their arrival, Alick rowed them toa little fairy islet near the shore, where they landed to explore it, and twine their hats with the graceful creepers and ferns growingamong its rocks. Then re-embarking, they floated at leisure up anddown the glassy shaded water, fringed with tall reeds, the girlsalternately trying their hands at the oars, till a shout from Harryand the waving of handkerchiefs announced the arrival of the rest ofthe party. 

The strawberry-pickers had soon begun their search. Fred, whopreferred rowing to strawberry-picking, undertook to take charge ofHarry, who was as eager for the water as a young duck; while Mrs. Steele, taking out her knitting, sat down beside the baskets under aspreading oak, on a knoll overlooking the river, to wait until thereshould be a demand for tea. 

Very quickly the time sped away, while the children pursued their busybut not laborious quest of the tempting berries, half hidden undertheir spreading leaves; and many an exclamation, half of annoyance, half of amusement, was uttered as one of them made a dart at a brightspot of crimson, fancying it a rich cluster of berries, and findingonly a leaf. 

"Why in the world do strawberries have red leaves, I wonder!"exclaimed Harry, who, tired at last of boating, was pretending to helpthem, though they all declared he ate as many as he picked. 

"To inure you to the disappointments of life, " responded Alickoracularly. "You'll find, as you go along, there are more redstrawberry leaves than berries all through. "

And Alick half sighed, as if he had already learned the lesson byexperience. 

"There's one thing, Alick, of which that remark doesn't hold good, "remarked Fred to his cousin in an undertone. "My father says _that_sheet-anchor will bear us up through all the disappointments of life;and I believe it. "

"Well, very likely you're right, --well for those who can feel it so. But at present I can't say I belong to that happy number. Some time orother, perhaps. You know my head has been full of all sorts of ologiesexcept theology for a good while back. "

"The 'more convenient season, ' Alick, " replied Fred, with a halfsmile. 

"Here, a truce to moralizing. Who's got the most strawberries? Thepremium is to be the finest bunch in the collection, " shouted Alick. 

And after the prize had been with much ceremony and mirth adjudged toBessie Ford, it was time to think about tea. 

"Come, " said Alick, "shoulder arms, that is, baskets, and march!"

All were very ready to obey Alick's word of command, and the merryparty were soon collected around the snowy tablecloth spread on theturf, on which Mrs. Steele had arranged the tempting repast of piesand cakes, curds and cream, to which a fine large dish ofstrawberries--a contribution from the farm--formed a temptingaddition. 

Fred, at his aunt's request, asked a blessing, and then the goodthings were welcomed by the appetites sharpened by fresh air andexercise; and the feast was enlivened by the innocent glee and frolicwhich usually enliven such simple country parties, unfettered by form, and unsophisticated by any of the complications which creep into moreelaborate picnics. Even Stella, though she felt the wholeaffair--especially the presence of the farmer's children--rather belowher dignity as an embryo city belle, gave herself up unrestrainedly tothe enjoyment of the occasion, and was more natural and free from whatAlick called "airs" than she had been at any time during her visit. But the party were quite unconscious that they were watched, throughthe thickly drooping boughs of a large hickory, by a pair of bright, dark eyes, which were wistfully regarding them. The eyes were those ofNelly Connor, who, having been unexpectedly left free that afternoonto follow her own devices, had wandered away in the direction of thespot which had so fascinated her on Sunday. 

When the tea was fairly over, and cups, dishes, and otherparaphernalia were being packed up by Mrs. Steele and the girls, Stella, who, not being inclined to assist in such a menial occupation, was wandering aimlessly about, made a discovery. 

"Oh, Lucy, " she exclaimed, coming hurriedly up to her, "there is sucha ragged, bold-looking little girl sitting over there! She has beenwatching us the whole time. "

"Well, her watching wouldn't hurt us, " said Lucy, smiling at hercousin's consternation. "I hope she was pleased with what she saw. Why, it's Nelly Connor!" she added as the little girl emerged from herhiding-place. "What can have brought _her_ here? I'll get Aunt Mary togive her something to eat. I daresay she's hungry enough, for MissPreston told me she didn't think her new mother gave her enough toeat. "

"I think she ought to be scolded and sent away, " said Stelladecidedly. "You are just encouraging her impertinence in coming hereto watch us. "

But Lucy had already run off to her aunt, and was soon carrying aplate heaped with good things to the astonished Nelly, who, frightenedat being discovered, and at Stella's frowning looks, was thinking howshe might make good her escape. Stella had only spoken as she had beenaccustomed to hear those around her speak. She had been brought up tolook upon poverty and rags as something almost wicked in themselves, and had never realized that feelings the same as her own might lieunder an exterior she despised. She had never been taught the meaningof "I was a hungered, and ye gave me meat; I was thirsty, and ye gaveme drink. " Lucy, on the contrary, had been taught to consider it thehighest privilege and gratification to impart a share of the bountiesbestowed upon herself to the poor and needy whom our Saviour has leftas a legacy to His followers, and had already tasted the happiness oflightening somewhat the load of poverty and hardship which press uponsome during all their lives. 

She soon reassured Nelly, and had the satisfaction of seeing herenjoy the food with the zest of one to whom such delicacies were rareindeed, and whose appetite was very seldom fully satisfied at home. She explained to the rest that Nelly was in her class at Sundayschool; and Stella mentally put it down as another objection to goingthere, that it involved the possibility of such undesirableacquaintanceships. Alick was much interested in the little wanderer;and even after the rest had set off towards the farmhouse, which theywere to visit before returning, he remained beside her, drawing fromher, bit by bit, her touching history, until she began to remember howlate it was, and started homeward, much astonished and cheered by thekindness and sympathy she had met with. 

Alick found the rest of the party exploring the farmyard, admiring thecows, particularly Mrs. Ford's sleek, glossy black favourite; whileHarry was, to his intense delight, cantering up and down the road tothe gate, on the stout little pony which the farmer usually rode tomarket. 

As there was a full moon, there was no hurry about returning; and onthe arrival of Mr. Raymond, who had walked over to meet them, Mrs. Ford insisted on their coming in for a while. And before they tooktheir leave she brought out her large family Bible for eveningworship, with the request that Mr. Raymond would read and pray beforehis departure; "for, " she said, "I know we don't mind these thingshalf enough, and we'd be all the better of a word or two from you. "

Mr. Raymond read the last chapter of Ecclesiastes, making a few briefbut impressive comments on the insufficiency for true happiness of theenjoyments which this life can furnish, fair and good gifts of Godthough such enjoyments may be. "The time would come, even in thislife, " he said, "when the joys of this world would be found wanting. And after this life, what would be their condition who had made thisworld their portion, and had 'not remembered their Creator in the daysof their youth?'" Doubt-less the thought of his own youthful circle, and of the strong, ruddy young Fords, all so full of health and lifeand joyous spirits, was strongly upon him when he dwelt so earnestlyupon the words: "Rejoice, O young man, in thy youth, and let thy heartcheer thee in the days of thy youth, and walk in the ways of thy heartand in the sight of thine eyes; but know thou, that for all thesethings God will bring thee into judgment. "

Then, reading part of the third chapter of the First Epistle of John, he directed his hearers to the wonderful privileges provided for them, so far transcending all mere temporal gifts--to the "love the Fatherhath bestowed, that we should be called the sons of God, "--showing howthese privileges were to be grasped through faith in the love whichlaid down life for us; and how that love, flowing into the heart, wasto purify the life by enabling us to do the things which are pleasingin His sight. 

The solemn, earnest words--few, but well chosen--seeming to come withpeculiar power after the day of joyous excitement, touched responsivechords in the hearts of most of the young party, who looked earnestand thoughtful; though who could tell whether the impression should bean abiding one, or should pass away like the "early dew?" Lucy andBessie listened with real interest--the latter, especially, with muchmore than she would have felt a few days before; and Mrs. Fordsilently renewed her good resolutions to seek to influence her familyto choose the "better part, which could not be taken away from them. "

Lucy could not help glancing at Stella when the verses in the chapterabout want of compassion for the brother or sister in need were read;but Stella looked placidly unconscious, and indeed her thoughts werefar away, --considering how she should best impress Marian Wood, ontheir way home, with a due sense of the grandeur of her city life. 

After many kind parting salutations, and warm invitations from Mrs. Ford to come soon and spend an afternoon at the farm, the party tookleave; one division proceeding homeward by the winding road, lyingwhite in the full moonlight, as the fields were now wet with dew, while the others took the shortest cut to the river, where the boatwas lying. Very little was said during most of the way, except somesubdued exclamations of delight as they passed out from the deepshadow of the overhanging rocks into the broad river, which glitteredin the moonlight like a sheet of dazzling silver, roughened by theslightest ripple, and past point after point of luxuriant foliage, looking dream-like and unreal in the light that silvered theirglistening leaves. 

As they neared the village, Lucy suddenly recollected their unexpectedguest. "I wonder how Nelly got home! Did she stay long after we left, Alick?" she said. 

"No; she said her mother would be angry if she were out late, so sheset off at a run. "

"Lucy, " said Stella, "I wonder how you can have anything to do withsuch a vagabond-looking child! I'm sure she was watching to seewhether she could pick up anything; and she looked just like a gipsy. "

"Oh, Stella! how can you be so suspicious?" exclaimed Lucyindignantly. "I don't believe Nelly would do any such thing! No wonderthe poor child was watching us while we were at tea; didn't you seehow hungry she was?"

"Well, I know we've had things stolen by just such children, and papasays it's best to keep such people down; for they're sure to impose onthose who are kind to them, and charity is quite thrown away uponthem. "

"A convenient belief to save trouble, " Lucy was just going to say, butwisely repressed the impulse, feeling that it would not sound veryrespectful to Stella's father, who, she felt, must be a very differentman from her own. 

"Stella, " said Alick, "did it ever occur to you what you might havebeen if you had been left, motherless and almost fatherless, to runall day on the streets, listening to bad words and seeing all sorts ofevil, without any one to say a kind word to you and teach you what isright? I wish you could have heard the poor little thing's story asshe told it to me. " And in a few words he gave them an outline ofNelly's history. 

"Papa says you never can believe their stories, " objected thecity-hardened Stella. 

"I know you can't always, " replied Alick; "but I think I'm not easilytaken in, and I'm willing to stake my judgment on this being no sham. And how would _you_ have turned out from such a bringing-up, Mademoiselle Stella?"

"And where is her father?" Lucy asked. 

"Oh, her father works on a boat, and is seldom at home. They came tolive here because it is cheaper, and they can have a pig and raisepotatoes. "

"I wonder whether she can read, " said Lucy. 

"I shouldn't think so, for she never was at school in her life, nor atchurch either, since they left Ireland, till last Sunday. "

"I wonder, " said Stella, "whether she understood anything she heard. "

"Possibly she might be able to give as good an account of the sermonas some other people, " remarked Alick mischievously. "Come, Stella, what was the text?"

"I don't believe you know yourself, " retorted Stella, colouring; and, fortunately for her, Alick's attention was just then directed to thecare of landing his passengers. 

As they walked home, Stella and Marian in front, eagerly engrossed ina children's party which the former was describing, Lucy remarkedimpatiently to Alick, "How can Stella talk in that hard, unfeeling wayabout poor people?"

"Poor girl!" said Alick, "it is sad to see any one so spoiled byliving in a cold worldly atmosphere. As you know more of the world, Lucy, you will be more and more thankful for such a home as you havealways had. "

Lucy was silent. Her cousin's words made her feel that she had beenindulging in self-righteous and uncharitable feelings, and she felthumbled at the lesson which she had thus received from one who did notprofess to be a Christian, in one of a Christian's most importantgraces. But she accepted the rebuke, and she added to her eveningprayer the petition that she might be made more humble, and less readyto condemn; as well as that Stella's heart might be opened to receivethe love of Christ, and, through this, of her poor earthly brothersand sisters. 

The little party were soon assembled at home, and after cheerful"good-nights, "--Harry remarking that "he was awful tired, but therenever had been a nicer picnic, "--the wearied excursionists soon lostall sense of fatigue in peaceful slumbers and happy dreams. 

VI. 

_A Mission. _

 "And if this simple message Has now brought peace to you, Make known the old, old story, For others need it too. "

Two days after the picnic was the day fixed upon for Miss Preston'swedding, to which, as has been said, Lucy had been invited toaccompany her father and aunt. Stella had not been included in theinvitation, which she privately thought a great omission. It wouldhave been such a good opportunity for showing the Ashleigh people howthey dress in the city, and she felt sure that, tastefully attired ina lovely white grenadine, which would have been just the thing for theoccasion, she and her dress would have added no small _éclat_ to thewedding. 

Nevertheless she behaved very amiably to Lucy, who, when she pressedher to wear one of her own pretty white dresses, and offered to lendher any of her ornaments which she fancied, felt somewhat ashamed ofher own condemnatory feelings toward her cousin, since it is a verynatural tendency in all of us to make our own estimate of othersdepend to a considerable extent upon their treatment of ourselves. 

However, she adhered to her original determination of wearing thesimple India muslin, which had been her own dear mother's bridal dress(its trimmings having been worked by her own hands), and all Stella'srepresentations that it was "old-fashioned" failed to produce anyeffect. She would indeed have felt it treason to admit its inferiorityto any of her cousin's more stylish dresses. But, to please Stella, she accepted the loan of a sash pressed upon her by her cousin, whotook a considerable amount of trouble in the arrangement of hertoilet, and in weaving, with innate skill, a graceful wreath ofdelicate pink rosebuds and green leaves, which she fastened on Lucy'sdark hair, and pronounced the effect "charming, " while Alickcomplimented her on her skill. Lucy was conscious of looking betterthan she had ever done before. It made her think just a little toomuch about her appearance, and then she felt humbled at seeing inherself the germ of the very feeling she had despised in her cousin. 

The wedding arrangements were very quiet and simple. Lucy, who hadnever been present on so important an occasion, enjoyed it very much, notwithstanding her sorrow at parting with her teacher, whom shethought the very ideal of a bride in her simple bridal dress. Itssimplicity, indeed, would probably have scandalized Stella, but MissPreston was not going to be rich, or mingle in gay society, and shewisely thought show and finery quite out of place. But she had longmade it her chief aim to possess that best ornament of "a meek andquiet spirit, " which, we are told, "in the sight of God is of greatprice. "

Before her departure she took Lucy apart to say a few words of lovingcounsel. 

"I hope you will try to work for Christ, dear Lucy, " she said, "as Hegives you opportunity. Remember, a Christian who does not work is onlyhalf a Christian. Now I think if you tried, you might do Nelly Connorsome good. She wants a friend very much, and is easily won bykindness. "

"I should be glad to do anything I could, " said Lucy; "but what wouldbe best to try?"

"Well, poor Nelly can't read a word, you know, and I am afraid herstepmother would not spare her to go to school. But suppose you wereto get her to come to you for half an hour a day. I think her mothermight be induced to let her do that. And a short reading-lesson everyday would soon bring her on. "

Lucy was a little disappointed. It seemed such common-place drudgeryto drill an untaught child in the alphabet and spelling-book. Hervague idea of "work for Christ" had been of a more exalted nature. Buther friend added: "I don't mean that you should not teach her betterthings also. You could, little by little, teach her a good deal aboutChrist in the course of your daily lessons. But sometimes we may serveHim best by doing His commonest work. And think what you will do forthis poor child by putting it in her power to read the Bible forherself, and have access at all times to our Saviour's own words!"

Lucy willingly promised to try, and then Mrs. Harris, as Miss Prestonwas now called, bade her an affectionate farewell, before going toexchange the parting words with the members of her own family. Lucywatched by the gate till she saw the carriage drive off, and then, overcome by the reaction from the excitement of the occasion, hurriedhome through the quiet shady lane, and disregarding Stella's call, never stopped till she reached her own room. 

There the astonished Stella found her lying on her bed, cryingbitterly, and asked in alarm the cause of her distress. That theparting from a Sunday-school teacher, a friend so much older thanherself, could have called forth such emotion, Stella could notcomprehend; and it was difficult for Lucy to explain it to sounsympathetic a listener. 

"Why, I'm sure I shan't cry so when Sophy is married and goes south, agreat deal farther away than Miss Preston. Now tell me how she wasdressed. "

"Oh, Stella! I can't just now, " sobbed Lucy, whose crying was partlythe result of nervous excitement, as well as of her realizing for thefirst time Miss Preston's departure. And Stella, finding her attemptsto soothe her unavailing, returned to her story-book, until thearrival of Mrs. Steele, whom she found more communicative. 

"And where is Lucy?" inquired her aunt, after satisfying Stella'scuriosity. "She must have slipped away very quietly. "

"Oh, she's in her own room. She was crying so, it was no use to speakto her. I don't know what for. "

"She is very fond of her teacher, and I don't wonder at her crying onlosing her. She is a great loss to us all. "

"What a fuss they all _do_ make over her! I'm sure she didn't seemanything particular, " thought Stella as she accompanied Mrs. Steeleup-stairs. Lucy had fallen asleep, but awoke on their entrance, andstarted up to arrange her disordered dress and hair before going totea. 

"Just look how you have crushed your nice dress now!" exclaimed Stellareproachfully. "And the wreath too! It might have been fresh all theevening. You might have taken them off if you wanted to lie down. "

"I didn't think of it, " said Lucy apologetically, somewhat remorsefulfor not having treated the result of Stella's labour with morerespect. "But I shouldn't have worn it all the evening, at any rate, for after tea I am going to see Nelly Connor. "

"What! that girl we saw in the wood? What are you going to see herfor?" exclaimed Stella. 

"Miss Preston--I mean Mrs. Harris--wants me to try to get her to cometo learn to read, if papa and Aunt Mary have no objection; and I'msure they won't. "

It was to Stella a bewildering phenomenon, that Lucy should really goout of her way to invite such a girl to the house. However, partlyfrom curiosity, and partly from having nothing better to do, sheacceded to Lucy's invitation to accompany her; and after tea the girlsset off, Mrs. Steele warning Lucy to be very conciliatory to Mrs. Connor, or she would not accomplish her object. 

They soon reached the side of the green slope on the river bank, onwhich the Connors' cottage stood, and were following the path to thehouse, when they encountered Nelly herself, struggling up the hillwith a heavy pail of water. Her brown, weather-tanned face lighted upwith a glad smile when she recognised Lucy, and in reply to herinquiry she said she was carrying up water for the next day's washing. 

"And do you carry it all up from the river?" said Lucy. 

"Yes, miss, every drop, " replied Nelly, with a weary little sigh. 

"Nelly, would you like to learn to read?" asked Lucy, plunging at onceinto her errand. 

"I don't know, miss, " was the rather doubtful reply. 

"Why, wouldn't you like to be able to read that nice hymn Miss Prestongave you, for yourself?"

"Yes, miss, I'd like to be able, but I don't know if I'd like thelearning. "

Lucy laughed, as did Stella also, and Nelly herself. 

"Well, as you can't be able to do it without learning, don't you thinkyou'd better try?" asked Lucy. 

"I don't think mother would let me; and I must hurry now, or she'll beangry at me keeping her waiting, with the baby to mind. "

But just then a large dog, rushing down the hill, upset poor Nelly'spail. 

"Holy Mary!" she exclaimed, using the ejaculation she had beenaccustomed to hear from infancy, "there's all my water spilt;" andseizing her pail, she had run down to refill it, before Lucy was ableto begin an intended reproof. 

The girls watched her refill her pail, and return towards the cottageby a nearer though steeper path. Mrs. Connor, a tall, bony, discontented-looking woman, had come to the door to look for Nelly. Not seeing the young ladies, who were approaching the house from theother side, she screamed out in a harsh voice as Nelly approached:

"What have you been doing all this time, keeping me waiting with thechild in my arms?"

"It was a dog, " began Nelly, setting down her pail. But before shecould finish her sentence she was roughly shaken, and sharp blowsdescended about her ears. 

"I'll teach you to spend your time playing with dogs when I'm waitingfor you. There, be off, and mind the baby;" and Nelly, putting up herhands to her face, ran crying into the house. 

Lucy stood for an instant pale with indignation, and then, the impulseof the moment making her forget all her aunt's warnings as to beingconciliatory, and her own prudent resolves, she announced her presenceby exclaiming, in a voice unsteady with emotion: "Mrs. Connor, it's ashame to beat Nelly like that, when she hasn't been doing any harm. Itwas my fault she was so long, for I stopped her to speak to her, andthen a dog overturned her pail. "

Mrs. Connor was startled at finding there had been spectators of herviolence; but she did not betray any shame she might have felt, andcoolly regarding Lucy, she replied:

"Well, I don't see what business it is of yours, anyhow. If youngladies hain't nothin' better to do than meddle with other folks'children, they'd better let that be!"

"What an impertinent woman!" said Stella, quite loud enough for her tohear. "Lucy, can't you come away and let her alone?"

But Lucy, though a good deal discomposed by her reception, wasdetermined not to be easily moved from her object; and having by thistime remembered her conciliatory resolve, she said, as quietly as shecould:

"Mrs. Connor, my father is Mr. Raymond, the clergyman. I came to seeif you would let Nelly come to our house every day to learn to read. It's a great pity she shouldn't know how. "

"I don't care who your father is, " retorted the woman in the sameinsolent tone. "I don't see what you've got to do with it, whetherit's a pity or not. The child's lazy enough already, without havin'them idees put into her head; and better people than her do withoutbook-learning. "

"Lucy, do come away! I shan't stop to listen to her impudence, "exclaimed Stella as she turned and walked away with a haughty air. Mrs. Connor's quick eye followed her, and she half muttered toherself, "A city gal!" Then, taking up the pail which Nelly had setdown, she went into the house without vouchsafing another look atLucy, who, seeing the uselessness of pressing her point, hastened tojoin her cousin. 

"Now you see, Lucy, you only get yourself insulted trying to do anygood to such people, " said Stella triumphantly. "I remember one ofSophy's friends once wanted her to go visiting poor people with her, and papa said he wouldn't have her go on any account; it was allnonsense running all sorts of risks to do good to people who didn'twant it. "

"But it wasn't Mrs. Connor, but Nelly, that I wanted to do good to, and she can't help what her odious stepmother does. Only think whatit must be to live with her!"

"I'd run away! But you see Nelly herself didn't seem to care aboutlearning to read. "

"Because she didn't know the good of it, " replied Lucy. "But whatshould you or I have done if we hadn't been made to learn, whether weliked it or not?"

"That's quite different. This girl will always have to work, Isuppose, and would get on well enough without learning to read. I knowmamma was always complaining that our servants were reading trashynovels, that filled their heads with nonsense and made themdiscontented. "

"But you could have given them something better to read, " suggestedLucy. 

Stella said nothing in reply to this; nor did she enlighten Lucy as tothe fact that in reading "trashy novels" the servants were onlyfollowing their young mistresses' example. Lucy in the meantime wasthinking what up-hill work doing good was, and how hard it was to knowhow to do it. Suddenly she remembered her motto; she had beenforgetting that the difficulties of the way were to be met in astrength not her own. Perhaps it was because she had not first askedfor that strength, that she had met with so little success; and sheregretted having so soon departed from her resolution of "looking toJesus" in everything. 

But Stella soon roused from her "brown study, " as she called it, byvarious questions as to Mrs. Harris's route of travel, and also as toher travelling dress, which Lucy was very ill prepared to answer, having cast hardly a passing glance at it, in her sorrow for herteacher's departure. On their way home they overtook Mrs. Steele andAlick, to whom were soon related the particulars of their mission, Stella imitating Mrs. Connor's tone and manner to the life, as shegraphically reproduced the conversation, much to Alick's amusement, though he ground his teeth with indignation on hearing of the violenttreatment Nelly had received. 

"What a woman! You mustn't leave the poor child to her tender mercies. What can she turn out, brought up under such a termagant? Suppose Itry and bring the old lady round with a little judicious flattery?"

"I think I can manage the matter, " said Mrs. Steele. "I shall make abargain with Mrs. Connor, and promise to give her a day's work once afortnight, provided she will let Nelly come here for half an hourevery day. But do you think the child herself will be willing tocome?"

"Oh, I'm sure she'll be willing to come where any one is kind to her, she has so little kindness at home, " replied Lucy. 

Mrs. Steele proved right. By her more judicious management andsubstantial inducement, Mrs. Connor was persuaded to give anungracious assent to the plan proposed for Nelly's benefit. But, as ifto be as disagreeable as possible, even in consenting, she fixed uponthe time which Lucy would least have chosen for the task. The onlytime when she could spare Nelly, she said, was in the evening, afterthe children were in bed. It was the time when Lucy most enjoyed beingout, watering her flowers, or taking an evening walk, or row with theothers. But the choice lay between doing the work then, or not atall; and when she thought how light was the task given her to do, andhow slight the sacrifice, she felt ashamed of her inclination tomurmur at it. 

So Nelly's education began with the alphabet; and though it was adrudgery both for teacher and pupil, reciprocal kindness and gratitudehelped on the task, and before many weeks had passed Nelly wasspelling words of two syllables, and had learned some truths, atleast, of far greater importance. 

VII. 

_Temptations. _

 "Or rather help us, Lord, to choose the good-- To pray for naught, to seek to none but Thee; Nor by our 'daily bread' mean common food; Nor say, 'From this world's evil set us free. '"

The Sunday school was again assembled on another Sunday afternoon, some weeks later. The day was even warmer than the one on which ourstory opened, and all the church windows were opened to their widestextent, to admit every breath of air which came in through the wavingpine boughs. Lucy had been promoted to teach a small class of her own, in which Nelly Connor had willingly taken her place. She was indeedadvancing faster in spiritual than in secular learning; for in thefirst she had the best of all teachers, to whose teaching her simpleheart was open--the Holy Spirit Himself. 

Bessie Ford had found another teacher, and beside her sat Stella, who, partly from finding her Sunday afternoons dull, and partly fromfeeling that it was her uncle's wish that she should accompany Lucy toSunday school, had overcome her objection to it so far as to go withher cousin. And having found out on the first Sunday how deficient sheherself was in Bible knowledge, and never liking to appear inferior toothers in anything, she took some pains to prepare her lessons, atleast so far that her ignorance might not lower her in the eyes of herclassmates. It was a poor motive, certainly; still, seeds of divinetruth were gradually finding their way into her heart, which might intime germinate and bear fruit. And her stay in Mr. Raymond'shousehold, where "serving the Lord" was avowedly the ruling principle, had already exercised a healthful influence over her impressionablenature. 

On this particular Sunday the interesting announcement was made, thatthe annual "picnic" or Sunday-school excursion was to take place onthe following Wednesday, the place being a beautiful oak wood about amile from the church, in the opposite direction from Mill Bank Farm. As little groups clustered together on leaving the church door, therewas a general buzz of talk about the picnic. 

Lucy stopped Nelly Connor to ask her whether she thought her motherwould let her go to the picnic. 

Poor Nelly looked very doubtful as she replied, "I don't know; I'mafraid not. "

"Well, Nelly, I'll see what can be done about it, " said Lucyencouragingly. 

"But I haven't anything decent to wear to it, miss, " replied Nelly, looking dolefully down on the tattered frock, which her mother nevertook the trouble to mend, and which she, poor child, could not, except in the most bungling fashion. 

Lucy walked home thoughtfully, and, as the fruit of her meditation, aprint dress of her own was next morning produced, and a consultationwas held with her aunt as to the practicability of altering it to fitNelly. "I only wonder I didn't think of it before, " she said, "for sheis always so miserably dressed. Will you help me to make it up, Stella?"

"My dear, I wouldn't know how! The most I ever sewed in my life was tohem a pocket-handkerchief. "

Mrs. Steele looked shocked at such deficiency in what she rightlyconsidered a most important part of female education. She had alwaystaken care that Lucy should spare enough time from her more congenialstudies, to learn at least to sew neatly. 

"Why, Stella!" Lucy exclaimed, "you're almost as bad as poor Nelly, who said she had never learned to sew because 'nobody had teachedher. '"

"I've never had time to learn. I like embroidery better; and mammasaid we should never need to do plain sewing, so she didn't see theuse of our taking up our time with it. "

"No one knows what she may have to do, " remarked Mrs. Steele gently. "It is always best to know how, at any rate. "

"Well, I hope I shall never have to, for I should hate it!"

However, when Lucy was fairly at work on the little frock, Stellagood-naturedly offered to help her a little, though, never having beentrained to perseverance in anything, her assistance was not veryefficient. 

Bessie Ford had gone home from Sunday school with her head turned byhearing some foolish talk about her dress. Alas! how often it is thatSunday scholars, on leaving the school, instead of giving one thoughtto the divine truths they have been hearing, allow their attention tobe absorbed with the petty frivolities in which their thoughts runwild!

"Mother, " said Bessie, after she had duly announced the intendedpicnic, "can't I have a new pink sash for my white frock? Nancy Parkeris going to have ever so many new things. "

"No, child, " said her mother, "you don't need a new sash. Your frocklooks quite well enough without one. But I've been thinking you'd bethe better of a new hat, for the one you have looks a little brown. And as you've been a pretty good girl, and a deal less forgetful oflate, I wouldn't mind getting you a new hat, if you'll hurry andfinish up that plain sewing you've had in hand so long. It's time itwas done and put away. "

Bessie looked a little disappointed. The new hat was not so attractiveas the sash would have been. Suddenly her mother's remark on thebrownness of her hat suggested the image of Nelly's tattered, dingyone, which she had noticed that afternoon. 

"What would you do with my old hat, mother, " she said, "if I get a newone?"

"I don't know. You've your sun-bonnet for wearing about the farm. Putit by for Jenny, perhaps, " suggested the thrifty Mrs. Ford. 

"Might I give it to Nelly Connor, mother? Hers will hardly staytogether. "

Mrs. Ford had never seen Nelly, but she knew something of her forlornsituation. "I'm sure, " she said, "I shouldn't mind if you did. I daresay it would be charity to her, poor thing. " And it occurred to her tothink whether she, a well-to-do farmer's wife, had been as abundant indeeds of charity as she might have been. 

Bessie considered the matter settled, and next day set to work withrenewed zeal on the "plain sewing, " which had been getting on verylanguidly; for Bessie was not fond of long, straight seams, or ofsitting still for any length of time. She set herself a task as shetook her seat under the spreading butternut-tree; and Jenny and Jackcame to beg for "a story. " Bessie's story-telling powers had beenlargely developed of late, to make the Sunday lessons she had begun togive the restless little things more palatable to them. Only thepromise of "a story" could fix their attention long enough to committo memory a simple verse. And her powers once found out, she soon haddemands upon her for stories to a greater extent than her patience wasalways equal to satisfying. 

Bessie had become, as her mother had noticed, much more thoughtful oflate. Her card, hung up in her room, kept always before her mind herresolution to "look to Jesus" for help to live to please Him. Andthough she still often forgot and yielded to temptation, yet, on thewhole, she was steadily advancing in that course in which all must beeither going forward or backward. Her mother noticed that this decidedimprovement dated from the day when she had brought home the card, --aday which had not been without influence on herself, --although, whenworldly principles have been long suffered to hold undisputed sway, it is difficult at once to overcome old habits; and lost ground is notless hard to retrieve in spiritual than in earthly things. 

Bessie was still diligently working at her "task, " when she saw NancyParker running up across the fields. 

"Oh, Bessie, " she said breathlessly, "get ready and come right away. My cousins have come to spend the day, and we're going boating up theriver, and then home to supper. The rest are all waiting in the boatdown there, and I ran up to get you. So be quick!"

Bessie hesitated. If she went with Nancy, a considerable portion ofthe work she had set herself to do would be left undone. Besides, hermother had gone to Ashleigh, leaving her in charge; and Bessie was notat all sure that, had she been at home, she would approve of herjoining the party. 

To be sure, she could not be absolutely certain of her mother'sdisapproval, and she could easily run down for Sam to come and staywith the children. At the worst, she did not think her mother would bemuch displeased; and the thought of the pleasant row, and the merryparty, and all the "fun" they would have, offered no small temptation. 

"Quick, Bessie!" Nancy urged, impatient of her delay. 

"I don't think I can go, Nancy. Mother's out, and I've a lot of sewingto do. "

"Bother the sewing! Your mother wouldn't mind, I'm sure. Mine lets medo exactly as I like. Come and get ready;" and she pulled Bessie fromher seat, and drew her, half-resisting, towards the house. 

They went up-stairs together, Bessie feeling far from satisfied withherself for yielding where conscience told her she ought not to yield. 

"My!" said Nancy, whose quick eyes had been glancing round the room, "what a grand ticket you've got hanging up there! Where did you getit?"

Bessie's eye turned to her motto, and she stood for a minute lookingat it in silence. Then, instead of replying to the question, she said, "Nancy, I cannot go; it wouldn't be right. "

"Well, that's a nice way to treat me!" said Nancy angrily. "After mywaiting so long, too. Why, don't you know your own mind? Come, youcan't change now; I'm not going to be cheated, after all my trouble. "

"I'm very sorry, Nancy; but I oughtn't to have said I would go at all. Don't wait any longer. But I'll go down to the boat with you. "

"Oh, don't trouble yourself; I can do without your company. " And offshe ran, before Bessie could say any more. 

Bessie felt sorry at having vexed Nancy, and thought a littlewistfully of the afternoon's pleasure that she might have had. But shefelt satisfied that she had done right, and felt thankful that she hadhad strength given to resist a temptation to which she now felt shewould have done very wrong to yield. So she went back to her shadyseat with a light heart, and stitched away diligently, not repiningalthough she heard the merry voices of the party, borne to her fromthe river. 

As her mother had not returned by the time her task was completed, she went in and got tea ready; and then calling up two of the gentlestcows, she had milked them by the time Mrs. Ford appeared, tired anddusty from her long walk. Her pleased surprise at Bessie's thoughtfulindustry in getting through so much of the work which she thought wasstill before her, was in itself sufficient reward for the self-denial;and Bessie felt what a shame it would have been if her mother, fatigued as she was, had had everything to do on her return, while_she_ was away on a pleasure-party. 

Of course Mrs. Ford was soon informed of Nancy's visit and invitation. "Oh, my child!" she exclaimed, "I am so glad you refused to go. Mrs. Thompson, in the village, was just telling me about these cousins ofNancy's, and says they are the wildest set in Burford, and that theirsociety wouldn't do Nancy any good. So, if you had gone, I should havebeen very sorry. I'm so glad you didn't!"

How glad Bessie was that she had been enabled to resist thetemptation! But she felt she could not take the credit to herself; soshe said:

"I had the greatest mind to go, mother, but something told me Ishouldn't, just as I was almost going. "

"Well, it's all the same to me, as you didn't go. And you were a realgood girl, Bessie, to stay!"

What a safeguard is a definite duty conscientiously pursued! If Bessiehad not had her task of sewing to finish, with the feeling that it washer duty to do it, she might have been more easily led away againsther better judgment. 

Nelly Connor had had her temptation, too, the same evening. Her motherhad sent her to take home some clothes she had been washing; and asNelly was carrying the basket, she noticed a pretty pink printed frocklying on the top, which looked as if it would exactly fit her. Hownice it would be, she thought, if she had such a frock to wear to thepicnic! Then came one of the evil suggestions which the tempter is soready to put into the heart: what if she should keep it till thepicnic was over, and wear it just that once? She could hide it, andput it on somewhere out of her stepmother's sight; and then, perhaps, if she were dressed so nicely, some of the other little girls might bewilling to play with her; for the poor child felt her isolatedposition. 

Then conscience said, "Would it be right?" Had she not been learning, "Thou shalt not steal?" And had not Miss Lucy explained to her thatthat meant taking anything, even the least, that was not her own? Ashort time ago Nelly would have appropriated any trifle that came inher way, without thinking twice about it; but some light had visitedher mind now, and she could distinguish what was darkness. But thenthis would not be stealing, it would only be borrowing the frock! Atlast she was so near the house, that she was obliged to make up hermind at once; so, scarcely giving herself time to think, she wrappedup the frock in the smallest possible compass, hid it behind a stone, and ran on to leave her basket, hurrying nervously back, lest some oneshould inquire for the missing article. 

She found it quite safe, however, and managed to convey it unseen toher little attic-room. But Nelly felt far more unhappy than she hadever been when her harsh mother had beaten her most severely. Shecould not understand how it was that she should feel so miserable. Shewas glad that she could not go for her lesson to-night, for she shouldhave been ashamed to face Miss Lucy. One of the children just thenbegan to cry, and she ran down-stairs, glad of something to do, andtook the utmost pains to do her evening work particularly well, by wayof making up for the wrong of which she was inwardly conscious. 

But when she went to bed, Nelly, for the first time in her life, tossed about, unable to sleep. All sorts of possibilities of detectionand disgrace occurred to her, and, above all, the voice of consciencetold her she was little better than a thief. She had knelt down to saythe simple prayer she had been first taught by Miss Preston, "O Lord, take away my sin, and make me Thy child, for Jesus Christ's sake;" butindulged sin had come between her and the Father to whom she prayed, so that her prayer was only a formal one. She fell asleep at last, butonly to dream uneasy dreams, in which the pink frock was alwaysprominent; and when she awoke in the early morning, it was with anuneasy sense of something wrong, soon defined into a distinctrecollection. As she lay watching the early sunbeams slanting goldeninto her dingy attic, her eye fell upon the card pinned up against thewall, "LOOKING UNTO JESUS, " which she could now spell out herself. Hadshe not been told to "look to Jesus" when unhappy or naughty, and Hewould deliver her? She knew now that she could speak to Jesusanywhere; so, springing out of bed and kneeling down, she simply butheartily asked Him to help her to be good. Then, putting on herclothes with all the haste she could, for fear she might be tempted tochange her mind, she ran off unobserved, carrying with her the covetedfrock, which she handed, without a word, to the servant who wassweeping the steps, and who, recognising her, supposed her stepmotherhad forgotten to send it home with the rest of the washing. 

Nelly ran off with a heart so much lighter, that she did not mind eventhe box on the ear which she received on her return for being out"idling about, " instead of lighting the fire for the breakfast. Shefelt she had deserved much more than that, and she contentedlyaccepted it as a slight punishment for her wrongdoing. 

That day, when Mrs. Connor was working at Mr. Raymond's, Mrs. Steele, showing her the frock which was now completed, told her it was to begiven to Nelly on condition of her being allowed to go to the picnic. Mrs. Connor of course grumbled a good deal about the inconvenience ofhaving to spare Nelly for a whole afternoon, but the frock temptedher; and reflecting that the opportune arrival of this frock would doaway with any necessity for getting Nelly a new one for a long time tocome, she ungraciously gave her consent that she should go. 

When Nelly came that evening for her lesson, Lucy gladly informed herthat she was to be allowed to go to the picnic, and presented her withthe frock which had been provided for her. Lucy was prepared for herlook of surprise, but not so for her covering her face with her handsand bursting into tears. With some trouble she drew from her aconfused account of the cause of her trouble--the sin she had been ledinto, and which touched her generous nature all the more now that thefrock she had been wishing for was so opportunely provided. 

Lucy was at first somewhat shocked that Kelly had been capable oftaking such a liberty with what was not her own, not being able torealize the strength of such a temptation to a child whose possessionswere so few; and she privately resolved not to tell Stella, who wouldscarcely have thought how nobly she overcame the temptation. 

However, she commended and encouraged Nelly, and told her always toresort to the same sure Helper in time of temptation, and to do it inthe first place. "And Jesus is always ready to hear and help you, " sheadded. 

"An' it was Him told you to give me the frock too, wasn't it? And I'mrightly thankful to Him, and you too, Miss Lucy. "

And Nelly carried home her new acquisition, with very differentfeelings from those with which she had taken the frock she hadcoveted. 

"How glad I am I thought of getting it ready for her!" thought Lucy asshe watched her depart, her own heart full of the pleasure of doing amuch-needed kindness, --the only drawback being her regret that Nellyhad not a new hat likewise. 

The much-watched-for day on which the picnic was to be held turned outas fine as the most eager young hearts could desire, notwithstandingone or two slight showers that fell in the early morning. But theseonly cleared the air and laid the dust, and made the foliage so freshand glistening that its early summer beauty seemed for a timerevived. 

The fine old oak grove where the feast was to be held, was, evenbefore the appointed hour, astir with bright little groups of happychildren. The teachers and some of the elder girls were already busyat a roughly constructed table, unpacking and arranging cups andsaucers, filling the latter with the ripe-red berries which had beenbrought in in great abundance, and cutting up the piles of buns andcakes. Bessie Ford was superintending the distribution of the creamwhich had come in large jars from the farmhouses, and of which MillBank Farm had contributed the richest and finest. Lucy of course wasamong the working party, her position as Mr. Raymond's daughter givingher a degree of importance far from disagreeable to her. Stella, seated with her friend Marian Wood in the centre of a mass of flowers, was daintily arranging them in tiny bouquets to be given to thechildren. 

At last Bessie, who with Nelly's new hat beside her had been watchingthe various arrivals, descried the little solitary figure, with itsdark, hanging locks, for which she had been looking. When sheapproached her, she was quite surprised at the change in herappearance produced by the fresh, pretty frock; and when her old hatwas removed, and the new one placed upon her dark hair, which had beensmoothly combed and brushed out and put back from her eyes, she reallylooked as nice as most of the children there. Her dark eyes dancedwith pleasure as Bessie, herself almost as happy, took her to a groupof girls about her own age and introduced her to them as a stranger, to whom they must try to make the picnic as pleasant as possible. Bessie was a favourite with all the girls, and they willingly promisedwhat she asked; so that Nelly, for the first time in many months, hada really good game of play with children of her own age, --an intensepleasure to her social, kindly Irish nature, which, with her readywit, soon made her the life of the little group. 

Two or three hours passed rapidly by. Lucy and Bessie went from onepart of the ground to another, encouraging the little ones to run andromp, bringing forward shy or isolated children, and watching that theruder and stronger did not oppress the weaker, --or sitting down totalk with some of the elder girls, who preferred a quiet chat. Stella, in her airy muslin flounces, a tiny hat with floating blue ribbonscrowning her golden tresses, flitted about with a winning grace, whichmade her the admired of all observers. She felt herself a sort ofprincess on the occasion; and as she dearly loved popularity, evenamong rustics, she spared no pains to be affable and agreeable, andfelt quite rewarded when she heard such speeches as, "What a sweet, pretty young lady Miss Lucy's cousin is!" "Isn't she, for all theworld, just like a picture?"

Alick watched with some amusement the patronizing air which mingledwith her affability, and perhaps added to her consequence with thosewho could not appreciate the higher beauty of simplicity of manner. Lucy could not repress a slight feeling of annoyance at seeing howeasily her cousin won her way, and how far her more adventitiousadvantages threw into the shade her own real exertions for thepleasure of those around her. Not that the exertions had beenprompted by a desire for praise; but she was not yet unselfish enoughto be satisfied that they had gained the desired end, although notfully appreciated by those for whom they had been made. The differencebetween the cousins was, that Lucy liked approbation, when she didwhat was right for its own sake, while Stella's conduct was chieflyprompted by the desire of admiration. 

"Lucy, " said Stella, coming up to her during the afternoon, "do yousee that ridiculous imitation of my dress that Nancy Parker has on? Isuppose she wanted to be dressed just like me; but I'm glad I wore adifferent one to-day. " Yet, though Stella professed some annoyance, she was secretly a little flattered at Nancy's thus recognising her asa leader of fashion. 

Alick and Harry were invaluable aids in promoting the enjoyment of theboys, as was Fred also in his quieter way. Towards the close of theafternoon Mr. Raymond appeared, and, after a pleasant greetinginterchanged with his older parishioners present, the childrenassembled in the centre of the ground to listen to a few kind andearnest words from their pastor. He took as his subject the"remembering their Creator in the days of their youth;" and afterreminding them to whom they owed the innocent pleasures which had beenprovided for them, he spoke earnestly of the Creator and Redeemer theywere to "remember, " to whom they should now bring their young hearts, that He might take them and make them His. The sunshine of Hisgracious presence would, he said, hallow and sweeten their joyoushours, and be a stay and support even when the "evil days" shouldcome, and all other sources of happiness should fail them. Hisaddress was not so long as to weary even the most impatient, and whenit was concluded, the children stood up and sang a hymn, which, toNelly's great delight, was her favourite--"I lay my sins on Jesus. "Then, after Mr. Raymond had briefly asked a blessing on the food ofwhich they were about to partake, and the intercourse they had had, and were still to have, the children quietly dispersed into littlegroups, and sat down on the grass to enjoy the good things that wereliberally provided for them. 

The distribution kept the assistants busy, and some care had to beexercised lest too large a share of the cakes should be appropriatedby some of the more greedy, --alas that there should be such amongSunday-school children! Nelly Connor had seldom had a treat in herlife, but she would not for the world have taken one cake more thanher share, or have hidden one away in her pocket, as she saw somebetter-dressed children doing. 

At last, when the dew was beginning to moisten the grass, and thefast-lengthening shadows told that the long summer day was drawing toa close, a bell sounded to collect the children, and after singing theevening hymn, and having been commended by Mr. Raymond to the care ofHim who neither slumbers nor sleeps, all quietly dispersed to theirhomes. The "picnic" so eagerly looked forward to was over, as allearthly pleasures must sooner or later be. Not a single incident hadmarred its harmony, and, to Nelly Connor in particular, the day hadbeen one of unmingled and unprecedented enjoyment. How different fromwhat it would have been had she not, in a strength from above, overcome the temptation to which she had so nearly yielded!

VIII. 

_Partings. _

 "Only, since our souls will shrink At the touch of natural grief, When our earthly loved ones sink, Lend us, Lord, Thy sure relief, -- Patient hearts, their pain to see, And Thy grace, to follow Thee. "

Stella's visit was now drawing to a close. She had very much enjoyedits novelty, and had, during her stay, made some acquisitions, thoughnot of a kind that she yet appreciated, or was even conscious of. Itwas impossible for her to be so long in a household where every daywas begun and closed by invoking God's presence and guidance, whereHis blessing and approbation were steadily regarded as the best of allgood, where the standard of action was that laid down in His word, andwhere His strengthening grace was looked upon as the most necessaryequipment for daily life, without receiving a deeper impression of theimportance of these things than she had ever before felt. And thoughthe members of her uncle's family had their share of humanimperfections, yet on the whole the example she had seen around herhad been sufficiently consistent to show her, almost against her will, the beauty of a Christian life, as contrasted with one based wholly onworldly principles. Some seeds of good, at all events, she carriedback with her, though she was far from having profited as she mighthave done, had her heart been more open to receive the influencesaround her. 

It had been a new thing to Lucy to have a companion of her own age andsex; she had become really attached to her winsome cousin, and all thetransient irritation which Stella had often caused her passed intooblivion now that they were really about to part. Alick was to escortStella to the residence of a friend whom she was to visit on her wayhome; and the cousins parted with affectionate hopes of a visit fromStella next summer, and also of a winter visit which Mr. Raymond hadhalf promised that Lucy should make to her cousin's city home. 

The loss of Stella's restless and vivacious presence made no smallblank in the house--a blank to be still further increased by thepermanent departure of Alick soon after his return from escortingStella. He had at last decided on the place in which he was tosettle--a new and rising village in the far West--and had already beenclaiming his mother's promise, that so soon as he should be able toprovide a home for her, she would come and preside in it. Mrs. Steelefelt that it would be her duty to comply with her son's desire; andMr. Raymond, while very sorry to lose his sister's kind, motherlysupervision of his family, felt that he could not dissuade her froman arrangement so right and natural, and to which he had long lookedforward as a probability. However, she was not to leave them for somemonths at least, and during that time Lucy was to learn all she couldabout housekeeping, in order to be able to fill her aunt's place aswell as a young beginner could do. 

To Lucy, indeed, there mingled with her regret for her aunt's expecteddeparture, a certain latent satisfaction at the increased importanceof her own place in the household; and her ambition was so muchstimulated by the hope of fulfilling her new duties in the mostexemplary manner, that it somewhat alleviated her sorrow at thethought of losing the kind aunt who had filled a mother's place. 

Many were the regrets when the time came for Alick's final departurefrom Ashleigh to his distant sphere of duty; and Mr. Raymond, inbidding him a kind farewell, added in an earnest tone the not unneededadmonition: "Alick, my boy, don't forget who says, 'Seek ye first thekingdom of God and His righteousness, and all other things shall beadded unto you. '"

And so the happy party, who had enjoyed together at Ashleigh thepleasant summer days, were scattered, never again to meet there underthe same circumstances; for the autumn, bringing the cold blasts andnipping frosts that scattered the rich summer foliage and made theearth bleak and bare, brought other changes, far sadder than these. 

Nelly was the first to whose life came a sudden change. A rumourreached the village that a deck-hand on one of the river steamers hadlost his life by a fatal accident, and that the man's name was MichaelConnor. It seldom happens that such reports turn out groundless; andwhen Mrs. Connor, having heard of it, hastened to the wharf todiscover what truth there might be in it, she met a comrade of herhusband's who had come to announce to his family the sad fact. 

Mrs. Connor did not profess any deep regret for a husband whom she hadoften asserted to be a good-for-nothing scamp. She looked at thematter chiefly in a pecuniary point of view, and, on making a rapidcalculation, came to the conclusion that any deficiency caused by theloss of the small fraction of his earnings that came into herpossession would be more than made up by her being relieved of themaintenance of Nelly, for whom she did not consider it her duty anylonger to provide. 

But in Nelly herself Michael Connor had at least one true mourner. Sheforgot all her father's carelessness and neglect, and remembered onlythat he was her father, who used in days long past, when her motherwas alive, to take her on his knee and call her his "darlint. " When itbroke fully on her mind that she should never see him again--that hehad left her for ever, as her mother had done--her grief for a whileknew no control. Poor child, she had literally no one in the world"belonging to her, " so far as she knew, and she felt utterly desolateand forlorn. Finding but little comfort at home, where her newmother's cold, unfeeling remarks only aggravated her sorrow, shebetook herself to Lucy, who had just heard, with great concern, ofNelly's bereavement. She did her best to comfort her; and though atfirst the kind words only seemed to make the tears flow faster, bydegrees the child was soothed and calmed, and able to listen to Mr. Raymond when he laid his hand kindly on her head and told her that shemust look to God as her Father now, and must go and "tell Jesus" allher troubles. Then he made her repeat after him the verse, "When myfather and my mother forsake me, then the Lord will take me up. "

"But, Miss Lucy, " said Nelly, as she was going away, "where is it I'mgoing to live now?"

"Why, is your mother going away?"

"Niver a bit, miss; but she says she's kept me long enough now, andshe won't keep me any longer. "

Lucy could scarcely believe that this could be more than one of Mrs. Connor's meaningless threats, and tried to reassure Nelly that itwould be all right. But Mrs. Steele, knowing Mrs. Connor's hard, selfish nature, was by no means so sure that there might not besomething in it, and was not surprised when she appeared next day tosay that she thought Nelly's grand friends might do something for hernow her poor father was gone, and she had no one to look to her. 

"But she has you, of course, " Mrs. Steele replied. "We shall be veryglad to help you as far as possible, but you have shown yourself wellable to support your family. "

"She ain't one of my family, " replied Mrs. Connor, "and I've kept herlong enough for all the good I've ever got out of her; so I don't seethat it's any of my business to take the bit out of my children'smouths and put it into hers. "

Mrs. Connor would probably not have come to this decision had she notbeen less dependent than formerly on Nelly's assistance. But as heryoungest child was now able to run alone, and the eldest could, on anemergency, take care of the rest, and as she now took in most of herwashing, she had less need for an additional worker, involving anadditional mouth to be fed. Besides, Nelly was a "growing girl, " shereflected, and would be always costing her more for food and clothing, so that to be rid of her maintenance would be so much clear gain. Shewas therefore inexorable in her determination that Nelly should notremain with her, unless, indeed, the ladies would pay for her board--aproposition which Mrs. Steele declined to entertain. 

It was taken seriously into consideration by Lucy and her aunt whatcould be done to provide Nelly with a home. Lucy was eager that sheshould be at once taken into their own household, to be trained fordomestic service; but this Mrs. Steele thought impracticable atpresent, as she knew that their own busy, capable handmaid wouldstrongly object to have her time taken up in teaching a girl who wouldgive her so much additional trouble. 

"But there are other people, " she said, "who would be very glad of achild like Nelly, who would cost nothing for wages, to train and makeuseful. I am going to Mill Bank Farm this afternoon to see about somebutter, and I'll see if Mrs. Ford knows of any one who would takeher. "

Lucy assented rather reluctantly. It would have been so nice, shethought, to have her protegée immediately under her own charge, toteach and train into a model servant. She had not yet learned thedistrust in her own powers which experience gives, and she saw onlythe bright side of the plan, not the difficulties in its execution. 

Mrs. Ford's motherly heart was at once roused to pity for the littleorphan's forlorn condition, and to indignation at Mrs. Connor'sheartless conduct. 

"After all the work she's got out of her, too!" she said; "making thatpoor child drudge away morning, noon, and night. I'm sure she's beenworth a deal more to her than the little bit of meat and drink she'sgiven her--with a grudge, as I hear from the neighbours. Well, well, it's a queer world. "

Mrs. Ford promised to try to find out a good place for Nelly, andearly next morning she made her appearance, having taken the long walkon one of her busiest days, in order to "talk over Nelly's business, "as she said. She proposed to take the orphan into her own family, fora time at least, until some more permanent situation should turn up. "We'll never miss the little she'll want, " she said; "and if we did, I've been often thinking of late that we've been too much taken upwith doing the most we could for this world, and been caring toolittle for the poor that our Saviour says are to be always with us. Somy mind would be easier if I were doing this much, at any rate, andthe poor thing'll be more likely to get a good steady place if I takeher in hand and teach her a bit myself. "

So it was settled, and Nelly, to her surprise and delight, foundherself an inmate, for a time at least, of Mill Bank Farm, though shewas made to understand that the arrangement was not a permanent one. The present comfort and happiness were enough for her, however, forshe was not given to spoiling the enjoyments of to-day by thoughtsabout the morrow; and she certainly had never, so far as herrecollection went, been half so happy as she now was under Mrs. Ford'smotherly care, with Bessie for a half-companion, half-teacher, andremoved from the sound of the harsh words and tones which had so longbeen the constant accompaniments of her life. 

One of Mrs. Ford's first cares was to provide her with some neededclothing from Bessie's outgrown garments, which otherwise would havebeen stowed thriftily away for little Jenny. Lucy added hercontribution for the same object, and it was considered a goodopportunity for teaching her what she so much needed to learn--plainsewing. Mrs. Ford, who was a capital seamstress as well as housewife, undertook to make Nelly a good needlewoman, if she would be diligentin trying to learn; and she was too grateful, and too anxious toplease, not to try her best, though the long, tedious seams oftentried her restless, active spirit. When she found herself getting soimpatient that she felt as if she could not sit still any longer, or, at any rate, could not force herself to do the work with patience andcare, she would remember the injunction to "tell Jesus" her troublesand difficulties, and the restless spirit would become quiet, and thestrength to fulfil her good resolutions would come back. As it was toofar for her to go to Lucy now for her daily lessons, Lucy resigned herto Bessie's tuition, though somewhat unwillingly, for her teaching hadbecome a source of real pleasure to her, and she felt that in it shewas doing some definite work for her Saviour. She had not yet got intothe habit of looking upon everything she was called in duty to do aswork done for Christ, just in proportion as it was done in a spiritof cheerful faith and dependence, "looking unto Jesus" both as themaster and the friend. 

But dark days were at hand for Lucy too, --days when she would need allthe support her faith could give. Mr. Raymond's never robustconstitution had been for some time gradually failing, though Lucy, seeing him daily, and accustomed to consider her father "not verystrong, " had not observed it. Late in November, a long, cold drive insleet and rain to visit a dying parishioner brought on symptoms offever, which rapidly increased, till the doctor, who had been summonedto attend him, looked very anxious, and pronounced his patient in amost critical condition. Lucy had been so long accustomed to hisoccasional illnesses, that she was slow to admit the idea of danger toher father, the possibility of losing whom had scarcely ever occurredto her mind. Therefore, though she could not help seeing her aunt'sextreme anxiety, she resolutely turned her thoughts to the happierprospect of her father's recovery, when he would again occupy hiswonted place, and the house would be like itself again. 

Even when Mr. Raymond's extreme weakness forced the others to give uphope, Lucy still hoped and prayed, by the sick-bed and in her ownchamber, as she had never prayed before. Surely, she thought, if sheprayed humbly and earnestly, her prayer would not be denied by Him whohas said, "Ask, and ye shall receive;" and her father would berestored to her. She did not consider that as regards earthly thingsthe promise must be limited, or the conditions of human life wouldhave to be altered. If our prayers that our dear ones should be sparedto us were always to be granted, when would they ever attain thatblessed rest in the Father's house--the haven they have been lookingfor through all the cares and troubles of their mortal pilgrimage?

Mr. Raymond had often longed for the time when his earthly work shouldbe done, and he should be called to the presence of his Saviour--toreunion with his early-lost wife. And now, though in theunconsciousness of his exhausted powers he knew it not, that time hadcome. His "falling asleep" was as peaceful as the sinking of a childinto its nightly slumber; and Lucy did not realize that it was death, till, in the dark December morning, she stood by the cold white couchon which lay the inanimate form to which, from her earliest days, shehad always looked as her protector and guide. It was hard to persuadeherself that that cold form was not her father, but that all that hadmade the living, sentient being had passed to another state ofexistence beyond her power to follow--beyond her power to conceive. Inthe strange awe that came upon her, she lost for a time the sense ofthe desolation of her bereavement--lost all thought for herself, intrying to pierce the darkness which hung between her and the"undiscovered lands" in which both her parents now were. With Fred itwas much the same, --an awestruck solemnity at first repressing in boththe natural feeling of personal loss. Harry was the only one whosebitter, childish grief broke forth uncontrolled. 

But there was time in the blank, desolate days that followed torealize the full bitterness of the bereavement. Once out of the still, solemn chamber, which seemed to hush all violent emotion, there wereassociations at every step, in every room, of him whose place shouldknow him no more, to call forth the uncontrollable agony of tears thathad for a time been repressed. And when the still form had beencarried to its last resting-place, and the heavy consciousness madeitself felt that he was gone, never in any possible event to return tothem, it seemed to Lucy as if it would have been too terrible to bearbut for the Saviour, to whom she carried her grief, and found that, though He does not always at our asking restore our sick to thismortal life, yet that, when He takes them away, He can and will be avery present "help in time of trouble. "

But there was already another grief looming darkly in the distance, which Lucy almost shrank from facing. The home that had been hers fromher birth must be broken up. The external surroundings in which herlife had been always set were to be torn from it; and any other phaseof life seemed as if it must be a dreary blank. She could not thenrealize the possibility of ever forming new associations, or takingroot in any other home. And indeed it is doubtful whether one everdoes take root again in the same sense as in the home of childhood, which is linked with the earliest associations of opening thought, andwith all the hallowed ties that cluster around a child's happy home. Other houses are but places of abode, made home by association: _that_seemed absolutely and in itself _home_. 

Alick had come to Ashleigh as soon as possible after his uncle'sdeath, and was anxious to take his mother at once to the new home hehad been preparing for her. As to Lucy, there seemed to be but onecourse advisable. As Mr. Raymond could leave only a very slenderprovision for his family, he had always been anxious that Lucy shouldhave an education sufficiently thorough to put her in a position togain her own livelihood by teaching, and a way seemed opened for herto carry out his wishes in this respect. Mr. Brooke, urged thereto byhis daughter Stella, had written to Mrs. Steele, offering to receiveLucy into his own family for the next two or three years, in order togive her the advantage of a first-class education, which was, heremarked, "the best he could do for her, as it would give her theability to do for herself. "

Lucy shrank from the prospect of so long a residence in a home sounlike the one she was leaving, as from Stella's remarks she felt sureit must be. But to go with Harry to live with Mrs. Steele and Alick, as they kindly invited her to do, in case she could not make up hermind to go to Mr. Brooke's, would, she felt, be imposing far too greata burden on Alick's kindness, though it seemed just the right home forHarry. Fred, who had been summoned from college to his father'sdeathbed, must return to resume his theological studies, for they allinsisted that he should not think of giving up the career which hadbeen his father's desire for him as well as his own. The more Lucythought about the matter, the more distinctly she saw that there wasno other way rightly open to her, especially as, even could she thinkit right to accompany Mrs. Steele and Alick, she could not, in the newvillage in the West, expect any educational advantages. But it waswith much reluctance, and after many prayers to be strengthened tomeet the new experiences before her, that she gave her decision to goto live for the present in her Cousin Stella's home. 

Fred, to whom she confided her extreme shrinking from venturing intoan atmosphere which her fancy pictured as so cold and uncongenial, endeavoured to reassure her, by reminding her of what she knew, indeed, but found it difficult to realize, that her Saviour could beas near her in the crowded city as in her quiet country home, sinceHis love is

 "A flower that cannot die For lack of leafy screen;"

and that it was a sickly Christianity which must necessarily fade anddroop when removed from the atmosphere in which it had been originallynurtured. 

"Well, " she said at last disconsolately, "it doesn't matter so verymuch. I can never be very happy again, now papa is gone; and the bestthing is to think most about the home he has gone to, and try tofollow him there. "

Something of this kind she wrote to her old friend and teacher, Mrs. Harris, who had sent her a letter of loving sympathy. She smiled halfsadly when she read Lucy's disconsolate reply. Mrs. Harris had seenenough of life to know that a young heart is not permanently depressedby a first grief; and she feared for Lucy, if she should trust to theinfluence of sorrow alone to keep her "unspotted from the world. "

"My dear Lucy, " she wrote, "while it is well that you should alwayscherish your dear father's memory, and keep his counsels and hisexample always with you as a protecting influence, beware of trustingtoo much to this. He himself would have told you that it is not himyou are to follow, but Him whom he followed, 'Jesus Christ, the sameyesterday, to-day, and for ever. ' This alone can be our strength. Timeis strong against our deepest sorrow, and no influence can permanentlyhold, except the constraining love of Christ. Never lose the habit oflooking steadily to Him, and to Him alone, for daily and hourlystrength. "

It was wise counsel, and Lucy in time came to find out how true itwas. 

It is needless to dwell upon the pain of the breaking up, --the packingup and stowing away treasured possessions, so closely associated withthe times now passed away; the sorrowful leave-takings of old friends, who felt as if they were losing the last link with their belovedminister in the departure of his family; the sad farewell looks at allthe well-known home objects, the flower-beds, the gravel walks, theshrubs and trees, every twig of which had such a familiar look. Many atime it seemed as if it must be only a sad dream, that all thesethings were about to pass from her daily life into a vision of memory. Happily it was winter. Had it been in the fair flush of summer, whenher home looked its loveliest, the parting would have been far harder. As it was, it was hard enough; but she tried to conceal her sorrowfrom those to whose pain it would have added, though many a tear wassecretly shed over even the old grey cat and the gentle petted cow, which were almost home friends. 

At last all the preparations were completed. The house, stripped ofmost of its familiar furnishings, wore already a strange, uncomfortable aspect, full of packing-cases and confusion. Fred hadalready been obliged to return to college, and Lucy was to be the nextto go. Alick was to escort her to the next railway station, and seeher on the train which was to take her to the city. It was the firsttime she had ever travelled alone, and she rather dreaded it; but sheknew that it would be very inconvenient for Alick to accompany her thewhole way, and she would not admit that she thought the solitaryjourney at all a formidable one. 

Poor Nelly, who grieved as much for her friend's departure as she haddone for her father's death, came on the last morning to say good-bye, although Lucy had already taken leave of her and Bessie at Mill BankFarm, and had made the latter promise to write to her sometimes. 

"And it's sorry I am, Miss Lucy, you're going, and you so good to me, "sobbed Nelly, when she felt the parting moment was really come. 

"Well, Nelly, we must both try to remember our Friend in heaven, whohas been so good to us both. You love Him, I hope, Nelly, and pray toHim always?"

"Indeed I do, and I always pray God to bless you, Miss Lucy. "

"Well, I won't forget to pray for you, Nelly, and we know He will hearour prayers, " replied Lucy kindly. 

Acts of Christian kindness often bring their reward even in this life:the "cup of cold water" we give sometimes returns to refresh our ownparched lips. It was some comfort to Lucy, even in this time ofsorrow, to feel that she had been enabled to help Nelly to know theSaviour, whom the poor, friendless child seemed to have received intoher heart with a true and simple faith. 

IX. 

_Introductions. _

 "My God, my Father, while I stray Far from my home in life's rough way, Oh teach me from my heart to say, 'Thy will be done. '"

The short January afternoon was closing in when Lucy's train drew nearits destination. Gradually thickening clusters of houses, a momentaryglimpse of distant steeples, a general commotion and hunting-up oftickets, packages, and bandboxes, betokened, even to Lucy'sinexperienced eyes, that the city was nearly reached. 

She had made no acquaintances on the way; but a polite elderlygentleman, who had been sitting beside her, and had occasionallyexchanged a kind word with her, seeing that she was alone, stopped tohand her out with great courtesy. 

"Any one to meet you?" he asked, seeing that she seemed at a loss whatto do next. 

"Yes--that is--I expect"--faltered Lucy, looking round to see ifStella was not to be seen among the hurrying crowd. But no familiarface was to be seen; and the gentleman, who had caught only the firstword of her answer, hurried off with a friend he met, forgetting allabout Lucy. 

It seemed to her a long time that she stood there, wistfully watchingthe people who were meeting their friends, or hurrying away alone; andher spirits, temporarily excited by the journey, began to sink fast. It seemed so strange that no one should be there to meet her, as heruncle had promised; and if no one should appear, what was she to do?

At last, after about five minutes had elapsed, a slight, delicate-looking young man, very fashionably dressed, with an eyeglassat one eye and a cigar in his mouth, sauntered along, lightly swinginghis cane and looking leisurely around him. Presently he came up toLucy, and, after a scrutinizing glance, he said, touching his hat:

"My cousin Lucy Raymond, I presume?" and seeing he was right, headded, with a nonchalant air, "Glad to see you; been waiting long?"

"About a quarter of an hour, " Lucy replied, thinking she was speakingthe exact truth. 

"Hardly that, " he replied. "I expected to have been here in time, butthese trains are never to be depended on. "

Then he motioned to a cabman, who advanced and asked for the checksfor the luggage. 

Lucy had forgotten all about them, and her cousin mentally set herdown as "green, " while she nervously searched for them. 

"Take your time, " he said good-humouredly. 

They were found at last, and everything being collected, Lucy and hercousin were soon driving away from the station. 

"You are cousin Edwin, I suppose?" Lucy ventured to say timidly. 

"The same, at your service. I suppose Stella posted you up about usall? You've never been in a place as big as this, have you?" he said, observing her eager, watching look. 

"No, never; Ashleigh is hardly more than a village. How is Stella?"

"Stella! Oh, she's quite well; she was out walking when I left. "

Lucy's heart sank at the apparent coldness of her reception. HadStella been coming to visit _her_, she would have been watching forthe steamboat for an hour before its arrival!

"Left all well at home?" inquired Edwin. "Oh, I forgot; I supposeyou're all broken up there now?" he added, glancing at her black dressand crape veil. "Fred's gone to college again, I suppose?"

"Yes, " replied Lucy. She could not have added a word more. It was allshe could do to keep back the tears that started to her eyes, as thesad realization that she had no longer a home came back to her. Edwin, however, had happily exhausted his stock of conversation for thepresent, and Lucy did not try to renew it. 

After driving, as it seemed to her, an interminably long way, theystopped opposite a tall stone house, one of a row all just alike, andlooking very monotonous and sombre to Lucy's eyes, accustomed to thevariety of the Ashleigh houses. 

Light gleamed already through the hall-door, which was speedilyopened; and the next moment Stella, looking as pretty as ever, rusheddown the wide staircase, and met her cousin with an affectionateembrace. 

"Mamma, here's Lucy, " she said as she led the way up the staircase. Atits head stood a lady, who reminded Lucy strongly of the pictures ofher dear mother, except that there was the difference of expressionbetween a worldly and an unworldly character. Mrs. Brooke never hadhad--perhaps now never could have--the pure spiritual beauty which hadbeen Mrs. Raymond's chief charm; but she was a graceful, stylish-looking woman, rather languid and unenergetic in appearance, as she was in character. Her kiss was affectionate, as she told Lucythat she was very glad to see her, and that she reminded her a littleof her poor mother; "though you're much more like your papa, " sheadded. 

"And here are Ada and Sophy, just in time, " exclaimed Stella, as twoyoung ladies, very fashionably attired in walking dress, ascended thestairs and were duly introduced. Ada, who was the smaller of the two, resembled her mother and Stella, with all their softness and winninggrace of manner. Sophy was a tall, handsome girl, with a somewhathaughty air, and her greeting was colder and more dignified. Shesuggested that Stella should take her cousin at once to her room, saying she should think Lucy would wish to rest for awhile beforedinner, --a proposal to which she was only too glad to accede, feelingsomewhat uncomfortable in the heavy travelling attire, which was sucha contrast to her cousins' elegant dresses. 

Stella led the way to a room much larger and more handsomely furnishedthan Lucy's old one at home, though it all looked so strange andunfamiliar, that she wondered whether it would ever seem home to her. Stella showed her all its conveniences and arrangements for hercomfort, and then observed, "But you're not to have it all toyourself;" which Lucy heard with some disappointment, for she had beenalways accustomed at home to have a room to herself, and hoped to haveone still. 

"Amy's to sleep with you, and I think you'll like her. She's a goodlittle thing, though she's not a bit pretty; and she's named afteryour mamma, you know, who was my Aunt Amy. It sounds odd, doesn't it?Ada and I sleep together, because we get on best; and Sophy can't betroubled with a child sleeping with her, especially as Amy isdelicate, and sometimes restless at night. Do you think you'll mindhaving her?"

"Oh no!" said Lucy, somewhat relieved. "I always used to think Ishould like to have a little sister of my own. "

"Here she is, to speak for herself, " said Stella, as the door opened, and a fragile-looking little girl of about seven timidly peeped in. 

"Come in, Amy, and be introduced. "

The child stole quietly in, encouraged by Lucy's smile, and held outto her a hand so thin and tiny, that she thought she had never feltanything like it before. Amy had fair hair and a colourlesscomplexion; but when the soft grey eyes looked up wistfully at Lucy, and a sweet smile lighted up the pale face, her cousin thought Stellahardly justified in calling her "not a bit pretty. "

"So you're my little cousin Amy?" said Lucy, kissing her. "And you'regoing to sleep with me and be my little sister, are you not?"

Amy nodded. She evidently had not Stella's flow of language. 

"Shall I help you to unpack, Lucy?" interposed her loquacious cousin, "or would you rather lie down and rest awhile?"

Lucy preferred the latter. She wanted to be alone; and as she was verytired with the fatigue and excitement of the journey and arrival, itis scarcely to be wondered at that, when she was left alone, she foundrelief in a hearty fit of crying. However, she soon remembered shecould do something better than that, so she knelt to thank herheavenly Father for His protecting care during her journey. She asked, too, that as she was far away from all dear home friends and familiarsurroundings, she might be helped to love those around her now, and todo her duty in her new circumstances. 

Her heart was much lighter and calmer now, and she was nearly ready togo down to dinner, when Stella came in to help her, and to insist onarranging her hair in a new fashion she had lately learned, beforeescorting her down to the dining-room. Lucy had dreaded a good dealher introduction to her uncle, of whom she had not a very pleasantimpression. He was a brisk, shrewd-looking man, a great contrast tohis listless-looking son; and his manner, though patronizing, was notungenial, as Lucy had feared it would be, from his harsh opinions, quoted by Stella, in regard to the poor. All the rest of the familyshe had already seen, Edwin being the only son who had survived, andon that account, probably, a good deal spoilt. 

Lucy could not help noticing the very slight mourning worn by thefamily, if indeed it could be called mourning at all. But even thisslight mark of respect would hardly have been accorded to Mr. Raymond's memory, but for Lucy's coming among them in her deepmourning. "People would notice, and it wouldn't look well, " Sophy hadsaid; and this decided the question, though the girls grumbled a gooddeal at the inconvenience of it, especially at a time of the year whenthey were usually so gay, and wanted to wear colours. Stella was theonly one who did not object. She had imbibed a strong respect for heruncle, and wore her black dress with a certain satisfaction, in thefeeling that she was doing honour to his memory. 

There was a good deal of lively talk during dinner, almostunintelligible, however, to Lucy, from her ignorance of the personsand things talked about. The tone of conversation, however, was asuncongenial as were the subjects. Edwin had a cynical air, partlyreal, partly affected; and the girls' remarks were characterized bythe same sort of flippancy which had often jarred upon her in Stella. 

After dinner Edwin disappeared, Mr. Brooke became absorbed in hisnewspapers, Sophy was soon engrossed with a novel, and Ada and hermother employed themselves in some very pretty worsted embroidery. Lucy, of course, had no work as yet, and Stella resorted to her oldfashion of lounging about doing nothing in particular, excepttalking. She expatiated largely, for Lucy's benefit, upon the classesand masters in the fashionable school to which her cousin was toaccompany her, giving her various scraps of information respecting herfuture classmates, with a list of their foibles and peculiaritiesamusingly described, but rather wearisome to a stranger. Mrs. Brookequestioned Lucy about her previous studies, looking doubtful when sheheard of Latin and mathematics, and saying she was afraid "she hadbeen made a little of a blue. " At her aunt's request, she sat down atthe handsome piano, and rather nervously got through a simple air, theonly one she knew by heart. She felt she had not done herself justice, and Stella said apologetically, "You know she never had any teacherbut Mrs. Steele, and she has no style. "

Lucy's cheek flushed at the disparaging remark, but Mrs. Brooke onlysaid, "I hope you will play better than that, my dear, when you havehad Signor Goldoni for awhile. Do you sing?"

"Only hymns, aunt. We often sing them on Sundays at home. "

"Well, if you have anything of a voice, you will soon do better thanthat. Any one can sing hymns. "

Lucy made no reply, but she privately thought that very few could singthem like her Aunt Mary. Then, recollecting that Stella had told herhow well Sophy played and sang, she turned rather timidly to her withthe request, "Won't you sing, Cousin Sophy?"

"Do, Sophy, " added her mother and Stella, both at once. 

But Sophy, reclining in a luxurious easy-chair near the fire, andabsorbed in a sensational novel, was too comfortable to think ofmoving. 

"I really can't just now, " she said rather coldly. "I'm tired, and I'mjust at the most interesting place in this book. "

"Sophy never will sing to please any one but herself and--_some_people, " said Stella mischievously. "And then, sometimes, if she takesthe notion, there's no stopping her. Now, if a certain person I knowwere here--"

Ada laughed. Sophy just said haughtily, "I'll be much obliged to you, Stella, not to disturb me;" at which Stella, with mock gravity, puther finger on her lip. 

"Well, I am tired, " Mrs. Brooke at last said, rising; "and I am sureLucy must be so too. Lucy, I advise you to go to bed at once; and, Stella, don't stay in your cousin's room talking, and don't wake Amy, if she is asleep. "

It seemed very strange to Lucy that the family circle should break upfor the night without the united acknowledgment of the protectingkindness which had carried them in safety through the day--withoutinvoking the same protecting care through the watches of thenight--without the acknowledgment of the sins of the day, and theprayer for forgiveness, and the petitions for dear absent ones--towhich she had always been accustomed. It was plain that no custom ofthe kind existed in Mr. Brooke's family. 

Notwithstanding her mother's prohibition, Stella did linger long inLucy's room, chattering about one thing after another, Amy's wide-openeyes watching them from her pillow. "I'm going just in a minute, " shewould say, when Lucy reminded her of what her mother had said, andthen she would rush into some new subject. Lucy was tired, and waslonging to have a little quiet time to herself; but Stella, who wasundressing beside her, and would be in bed and asleep as soon as sheshould go back to her own room, did not consider that. 

"There's Stella chattering away yet, " said Ada, as she and Sophy cameup-stairs. "Stella, how naughty of you to stay here so long, keepingLucy up!"

"I was just talking about two or three things, " said Stella. 

"I have no doubt of that, " Sophy remarked; "but I'm sure Lucy wouldprefer to have the conversation postponed till to-morrow. "

Ada was examining the various little possessions of Lucy's, which werealready on the dressing-table. "Well, if she hasn't got her Bible outalready!" she exclaimed. "What a good child it is! Does it read itevery night?"

"I thought every one did, " said Lucy simply, though her cheek flushedat the tone of the remark. 

Ada laughed, and Sophy smiled satirically, though she did not speak. 

"Well, you are a simple little thing, " said Ada. "When you've lived intown for awhile you'll know better. "

"Oh, they're all such good people in Ashleigh! I never knew I did somany wicked things till I was there, " said Stella. 

Lucy looked pained, and Sophy interposed. "Well, you've shocked Lucyenough for one night, and it's high time she and you too were in bed. So come at once, Stella. "

Ada and Stella kissed Lucy affectionately, as they followed Sophy outof the room, and Lucy was left alone, to think with surprise anddistress of the total want of religious feeling which her cousins'remarks betrayed. When she had once more thanked God for His goodness, and implored His supporting help, and had read a few comforting versesout of her Bible, she did not forget to pray that her cousins, who solittle appreciated its treasures of divine counsel and consolation, might yet be led to know them for themselves. But the fatigue andexcitement of the day had thoroughly tired her out, and almost as soonas her head sank on the pillow she was fast asleep, dreaming of thehappy times past, and the dear friends now so far away. 

X. 

_New Experiences. _

 "I need Thy presence every passing hour; Who but Thyself can foil the tempter's power? When other helpers fail, and comforts flee, Help of the helpless, Lord, abide with me!"

Lucy could hardly understand where she was when she awoke the nextmorning. She had scarcely ever been absent from home in her life; andthe strange and unfamiliar aspect of everything around her quitebewildered her, till little Amy's gentle touch recalled the events ofthe preceding day. Her home-sickness returned for a time; but thestrength came for which she prayed, and she was able to go down tobreakfast with a cheerful face. 

Sophy and her father were the only ones who appeared at the nominalbreakfast hour. Stella had always been late for breakfast at Ashleighin summer, so it was not surprising that in winter she should be oneof the last to appear. But it did not apparently matter much, for thedifferent members of the family seemed to come to the breakfast tablejust as it suited them, and the meal could scarcely be called a socialone. Neither Sophy nor her father talked much, he having his newspaperopen before him. Lucy was too shy as yet to talk withoutencouragement, which Sophy did not give; and she felt it a relief whenStella, with her unfailing loquacity, made her appearance. 

"You see it's Saturday morning, so one can have a little more sleep, "she said, yawning as if she had not had enough yet. 

"Then why don't you go to bed sooner at night, my dear, if you wantmore sleep?" asked her father. 

But Stella quickly turned the conversation to another subject, andkept up a full stream of talk till Mrs. Brooke and Ada appeared, andsoon afterwards Edwin sauntered in. 

"Lucy, " said her aunt, as she left the breakfast table, "you must letme see your dresses this morning; I am sure you'll want some newthings, and you must get them at once. "

"Aunt Mary thought I had all I should want for the winter, " said Lucy, colouring, for it was a point on which she was sensitive, not wishingherself to spend any more on her dress than was absolutely necessary, and desiring, if possible, not to increase her uncle's expenditure onher account. 

"Well, we shall see, " said Mrs. Brooke. "But you know you cannot dresshere exactly as you did at Ashleigh, and I want you to look as well asyour cousins. "

Lucy felt rather dismayed at the idea of being expected to wear suchstylish attire; and she could have cried, as one after another of thearticles on which she and Mrs. Steele had bestowed so much pains waspronounced by Mrs. Brooke and Ada "quite out of date" and "not fit tobe seen. "

Mrs. Brooke, apart from her really kind intentions towards hersister's orphan daughter, was determined that Lucy, who was to beStella's constant companion, should not, by shabby or old-fashioneddress, disgrace the family in the eyes of her critical fashionableassociates; so it was determined, without reference to Lucy, that Adaand Sophy should take her out forthwith on a shopping excursion, toprovide her with what Mrs. Brooke considered essential for hercreditable appearance as a member of her family. 

After her first uncomfortable feeling had worn off, Lucy reallyenjoyed her expedition, everything--the busy streets, the crowdedbuildings, the rattling carts and carriages; above all, thegaily-decorated shop windows--having so much of the charm of noveltyfor a country girl. The windows of the print-shops and book-stores inparticular she thought so attractive, that she wondered how thehurrying passers-by could go on their way without even a glance attheir treasures. 

The shopping was easily accomplished under Ada's experiencedsuperintendence, and might have been accomplished much more quickly, Lucy thought, had it not been that her cousins would spend so muchtime in looking over articles which they had no intention of buying, thereby, she thought, putting the obliging shopmen to an immense dealof trouble, and sadly wasting their own morning. But neither of hercompanions had much sense of the value of time, having no higher aimin living than that of passing it as pleasantly as possible. 

At last the important business was concluded, just in time for them toget home for lunch. Lucy felt very tired after her unwonted expeditionover the hard city streets, with their bewildering noise andconfusion, and was glad to get away as soon as possible to rest. Shesoon fell asleep, and when she awoke she found Amy sitting quietlybeside her, playing with her doll. 

"Won't you look at my doll, Cousin Lucy?" she said. "I got her on mybirthday. Her name is Lucy, after _you_. "

"After _me_?" said Lucy, surprised. "Did you call her after me beforeI came?"

"Yes, " replied Amy timidly; "for Stella said you were nice, and Ishould love you. "

"I hope you will, dear, " said Lucy, touched and gratified, and shekissed her little cousin affectionately, looking pityingly at thepale, delicate face and fragile form. She had always wished to have alittle sister of her own, and her heart was quite disposed to take thelittle girl into a sister's place. She drew her closer, and aftertalking a little about the doll, she said:

"Does Amy love the good, kind Saviour, who came to die for her?"

The child looked up with a puzzled expression. 

"Jesus, you know, " added Lucy, thinking that name might be morefamiliar. 

"That is Jesus that my hymn is about. Nurse taught me, 'Gentle Jesus, meek and mild. '"

"Yes. Well, don't you love Him, Amy? He loves you very much. "

"Does He love me?" asked Amy. "How do you know?"

"Because He says so. "

"But He is up in heaven. Nurse said my little brother is up there withHim. "

It was always "nurse. " Amy did not seem to owe much knowledge of thatkind to any one else. Lucy tried to explain as simply as possiblethat, although the Saviour is in heaven, He is as really near us aswhen He was on earth; and that we have still in the Bible the verywords that He spoke while yet among men. 

"Are they in there?" asked Amy, looking at Lucy's Bible. 

"Yes, dear. You can't read yet, I suppose?"

"Oh no! The doctor says I mustn't learn for a long while. "

"Then I will read to you some of the things that Jesus said. Would youlike that?"

"Oh yes!" said Amy; and Lucy read the account of our Saviour blessingthe little children. She was pleased and surprised at the quietattention and deep interest with which Amy listened, and mentallyresolved to try to lead her to know more of that blessed Saviour, ofwhom as yet she knew so little. Here was some work provided for heralready, she thought, and the feeling made her happier than she hadbeen since she left home. 

The evening passed away much as the former one had gone, except thatit was varied by the presence of visitors, among whom was a gentlemanwho, Stella privately informed her cousin, was an "admirer" ofSophy's. 

"But it's no use, if he knew it, for you know she's engaged already toMr. Langton. He's such a handsome, nice fellow, and has a largeplantation in the South, where he lives. I know she's as fond of himas she can be, though she doesn't like people to think so. Look, now, how she sings for Mr. Austin! I'm afraid he'll think she likes him. "

Sophy was by no means indifferent to any admiration, though she was, as Stella had said, very much attached to her betrothed; and it didnot quite coincide with Lucy's ideas of love and lovers, founded, itmust be confessed, chiefly on books, to observe the seeming pleasureand animation with which Sophy received the attentions and complimentsof this young man, whose partiality for her was so plain. 

"Surely it's very wrong in her if she deceives him, and let's him goon liking her, " thought Lucy, who, having never before seen aninstance of coquetry, did not know how venial many girls who mightknow better consider the sin of trifling with an affection which must, if encouraged, end in bitter disappointment. 

Next day was Sunday, the day always associated in Lucy's mind with thehappiest and holiest feelings of the week. In Mr. Raymond's household, even the most careless sojourner could see that the day seemedpervaded by an atmosphere of holy and peaceful rest from the secularcares and occupations unavoidable on other days. All thoughts aboutthese were, as far as possible, laid aside. No arbitrary rules wereenforced, but it was plainly Mr. Raymond's earnest desire that the dayshould be devoted especially to growing in the knowledge of the Lord, and should be considered as sacred to Him who had set it apart. And byproviding pleasant and varied occupation suitable for the day, andcultivating a spirit of Christian cheerfulness, he succeeded in makinghis family feel it no hardship to carry out his wishes. Fred and Lucy, indeed, had learned to love the Lord's day, and to appreciate theprivileges it brings with it. But in Mr. Brooke's family it wasdecidedly a dull day, --a day which must be respectably observed, andtherefore not available for ordinary purposes, but a day to be gotthrough as easily as possible, shortened at both ends by late risingand unusually early retiring, as well as by naps indulged in duringthe day, when even the so-called Sunday reading proved somnolent inits tendency. The necessary abstinence from ordinary occupations waspartly made up by the freedom with which the conversation waspermitted to run loose in secular matters, amusements, gossip, criticisms on dress and conduct, most prejudicial to any goodinfluence that might have been derived from the public exercises ofthe day, as well as deteriorating to the whole tone of the mind at anytime. No wonder, then, that divine truth, heard at church, fell oninattentive ears, and failed to penetrate hearts filled up with the"lusts of other things!" Through a medium so unyielding, how could thesoft dew of holy, spiritual influence descend upon the heart, tonourish and fertilize it?

Lucy was down at the usual breakfast-time, but had to wait more thanan hour before any one appeared, except Amy, who sat contentedly onher knee, and listened to more reading out of Lucy's Testament, andhad even learned two verses of a hymn, before Stella at last appeared. 

"How foolish you were to get up so early!" she said, when Amy had toldher how long they had been down. "I think it is so nice to lie as longas you like, Sunday mornings! I used to think it so hard at Ashleighthat you _would_ always have breakfast as early as other days!"

"We never saw any reason for being later on Sunday. Indeed, papaalways liked to have us earlier. He said it was the most precious dayof the week, and that, though he could excuse a hard-worked labouringman for taking an extra sleep on Sunday, we had no such excuse; and totry to shorten the day was dishonouring to Him who gave it. "

"What in the world would he have said of Edwin then, " said Stella, "who often sleeps till it is too late to go to church, and then hestays at home and sleeps more?"

Lucy could not help smiling; but as Sophy came in just then, she didnot need to make any reply. Amy was eager to repeat to her sister thehymn she had just been learning, but Sophy did not seem to care aboutit, and said to Lucy, "You had better not teach her any more hymns. The doctor says she should not be allowed to study anything till herconstitution is stronger. Besides, I don't believe in fillingchildren's heads with things that make them think about death toosoon. "

Lucy felt a little vexed and a good deal surprised at what was to herso new an experience. She had not dreamed that any one could object toteaching a child those blessed gospel truths which will shed either onlife or on death the truest light. But while she felt a stronginterest in and attraction towards her cousin Sophy, she instinctivelyfelt that on such subjects she would be quite unapproachable. 

Mrs. Brooke surprised Lucy with the unexpected decision that herdeficiencies in dress must keep her at home that day. She felt as ifit was almost wrong to submit, --her dear father would have so muchdisapproved of any one's staying away from the house of God for such areason. But then she remembered that while under her aunt's charge itwas her duty to yield a deference to her wishes, unless she absolutelyviolated her conscience in so doing, and that her father would alsohave said, "Ye younger, be subject to the elder, " and would have toldher that, though prevented from going up to an earthly sanctuary, shecould worship God at home in the sanctuary of her heart. 

But she did not find this so easy, as Stella, glad of the excuse, insisted on staying at home "to keep Lucy company, " though Lucy triedto make her understand that she was not desirous of having any"company" while the rest were at church. In vain she tried to fix herattention on her open Bible. Stella would continually break in withsome remark which, when answered, was sure to lead to another; andthough Lucy's remonstrances at length became somewhat impatient intheir tone, it was evidently hopeless to try to reduce her to silence. She, however, at last succeeded in persuading her to listen while sheread to Amy, first one or two Bible stories, such as she thought wouldinterest her most, and then a simple story out of one of her ownSunday books which she had brought with her. The earnestness withwhich Amy drank in every word was a great contrast to Stella'sdesultory way of listening; but even _she_ seemed a little interestedin Lucy's reading, and the morning did not seem altogether thrownaway. 

But in the afternoon Lucy found that trying to read in thedrawing-room was quite out of the question, her attention beingperpetually distracted by the frivolous conversation almostcontinually going on there. First one topic was started, and thenanother; and in spite of her efforts to the contrary, she would findherself listening to the gossiping talk going on around her. At lastshe took refuge in her own room to read there in quiet, though she wasbefore long followed thither by Stella. 

"Don't you think, Stella, I might go to church this evening? I don'tlike staying at home all day, and no one would notice what I had on, I'm sure, " she asked her cousin. 

Stella opened her eyes. "Do you mean to say you really want to go?"she asked. "I thought people only went to church because it was aduty. "

"I used to go for that reason, " Lucy replied, "but I should be sorryif I only went on that account now. "

"But why? What pleasure can you find in it? The service always seemsto me so long, and the sermon so dry, that it makes me yawn so, --Ican't help it. "

Lucy hesitated a little before answering. It was not easy to explain. "There are many things that make it pleasant. One always hearssomething to do one good, --often the very thing one needs at the verytime. It always makes troubles seem lighter, and another world morereal and near. I always feel so much nearer papa when I am inchurch, " she added in a lower tone. 

"Oh! that is because you always used to hear him preach, I suppose!"said Stella, not able to comprehend any other reason. "Well, since youlike it so much, I'll ask mamma if you can't go; but I don't knowwhether any of the rest are going. "

Mrs. Brooke, though as much surprised as Stella at Lucy's strong wish, felt that it ought to be respected. She suggested that, instead ofgoing to the large fashionable church which the family usuallyattended, they should go to a small one in the neighbourhood, theirusual resort on stormy days. Edwin having got tired of the novel hehad been yawning over, good-naturedly offered to be her guide andescort; and Stella made no objection when her mother told her she hadbetter go too, as she had not been out in the morning. 

The stars were twinkling brilliantly through the clear frostyatmosphere, and the long vistas of gas-lamps, seen on all sides, werea novelty to Lucy's country eyes. The streets were full of people, encountering each other as they wended their way to church in oppositedirections. There were others, too, not going to church, but to verydifferent places of resort; but of these Lucy happily knew nothing. 

The first hymn was already being sung when they entered the church, asmall, plain building. Lucy was at once interested by the thoughtful, earnest face of the clergyman, who reminded her a little of herfather. The first prayer, so simple, yet so full of petitions for thethings she most needed, carried her heart with it, till she forgot shewas not at home still. The text read was, "A very present help introuble, " and the sermon was what might have been expected from thetone of the preceding prayer. It was so full of Christ, pointing toHis constant presence, --to Him as the only true comforter andsustainer either in sorrow and temptation, --that, simple as was thelanguage and unpretentious the style, it touched the deepest springsin Lucy's heart, and she leaned back in her seat to hide the soothing, happy tears. 

Edwin, however, from his end of the pew could see that she was crying, and began, out of curiosity, to listen to the sermon, to find out whatit was that affected her so much. At first he thought it very odd thatshe should have been so moved by it; but gradually, as he listened tothe earnest words in which the preacher, speaking evidently from hisown heart, dwelt upon all that Christ might be to the weary soul whichhad tried earthly pleasures and found them wanting, earthly cisternsand found them broken, --a fountain of refreshing, giving strength andenergy for the journey of life, the "shadow of a great rock in a wearyland, " giving to the weary wayfarer rest and shelter from the burdenand heat of the day, --he began to feel, in spite of his indifference, that there might be a nobler, happier ideal of life than that ofseeking to fill the hours as they passed with every variety ofpleasure within reach. But it was only a passing thought. Old habitsof thinking, so long indulged, came back to fill up his mind as soonas the voice of the speaker had ceased. His plan of life was notlikely to be altered yet. 

Lucy walked very silently home, watching the starlight tremblingthrough the crystal air, and wondering in what remote, inconceivablesphere are passed those beloved existences which are lost to us here. And then came the happy thought that, though they seem so remote andinaccessible, the Saviour is near at once to them and to those who areleft below, and that in communion with Him there may be a point ofcontact, intangible, it is true, but none the less real. Edwin, as helanguidly wondered what his quiet cousin was thinking about, did notknow that there was a distance immeasurable between his thoughts andhers. 

Next day Lucy accompanied her cousin to school, that she might be atonce introduced to her new classes and studies. When her acquirementshad been duly tested, she found that, while in some superficialaccomplishments she was considerably behind Stella, yet in otherstudies, more solid in their nature, and requiring greater accuracyand deeper thought, she was far in advance of her cousin. This mighthave considerably increased the tendency she already had to a sense ofher own superiority, had it not been that the things in which she wasdeficient were precisely those which were of most consequence at Mrs. Wilmot's establishment, being more showy, and therefore more easilyappreciated. Her love of approbation made her very anxious to excel inwhat was valued by those around her; and in her desire to make up lostground, she happily escaped an undue sense of superiority in what wasmost valuable, --a proficiency which was the result chiefly of herfather's care. 

Fond of study for its own sake, she entered on her classwork with allthe zest of one who had never known school-life before, and who wasdetermined to make the most of her opportunities; and her enjoyment ofher studies and the stimulus of contest to a great extent counteractedthe uncongeniality of her new home, as well as the homesick feelingwhich came over her when a letter from Mrs. Steele or Fred revived oldand happy associations. 

XI. 

_A Start in Life. _

 "His path in life was lowly, He was a working man; Who knows the poor man's trials So well as Jesus can?"

At Mill Bank Farm things were going on much as when Nelly Connor hadbecome an inmate there. Under the influence of her watchword, Bessiewas making good headway against her faults of idleness andcarelessness, and her mother declared she was growing a "real comfort"to her. Under her teaching Nelly's reading had progressed so well, that she could spell out very creditably a chapter in the NewTestament. Jenny and Jack had also been taught their letters; andthough they were not to go to Sunday school till the spring, they hadalready learned from Bessie a good deal of Bible knowledge. Sam wasnot nearly so often a truant now, that he knew his mother's watchfuleye was ready to discover any omission in attending Sunday school; andthe boys were gradually growing in respect for things on which theycould see their mother now placed so much importance. 

Nelly had never before known so much of comfort and happiness. She wastreated as one of the family, and the easy tasks which fell to her lotwere labours of love and gratitude. Even the irksome sewing, by dintof patiently struggling with her constitutional restlessness, wasgrowing almost a pleasure, from her being able to do it so muchbetter. In the letters which Bessie occasionally received from Lucy, there was always a kind message for Nelly, which would act as awonderful stimulus for days after it came. 

As the winter wore on, however, it was evident she was not greatlyneeded by her kind friends. Bessie was growing stronger every day, andmore able to assist her mother, and Nelly could not help feeling thatshe was kept only because she needed a home. One day, therefore, sheasked Mrs. Ford if she thought she was not now fit to take a place. 

"Well, you've got to be a good little worker, that's a fact; butthere's no hurry about your going. You're welcome to stay here as longas you like. "

"It's very kind of you, ma'am; but perhaps if you'd be looking out youmight hear of some one that would take me, and give me whatever I wasworth, " said Nelly, in whom the instinct of independence was strong. 

A few days after this Mrs. Ford was asked by her friend Mrs. Thompsonwhat she was going to do with her little Irish girl. "She is bigenough for a place, " she said, "and there is no good in having a girllike that learning idle ways. I think I know of a place that wouldsuit her very well. "

"What place is that?" asked Mrs. Ford. 

Mrs. Thompson replied that a friend of hers in the city had written toinquire for a country girl about Nelly's age. She would have no hardwork, and would get such clothing as she required, instead of wages inmoney. 

"You see servants are very hard to obtain in those large places, "remarked Mrs. Thompson, "and they always want the highest wages; andthis person isn't very well off, and keeps boarders to supportherself, so she can't afford a great deal. "

"But would she be good to Nelly?" inquired Mrs. Ford. 

Mrs. Thompson promised to inquire of the friend who had written toher, in regard to this point. Her correspondent's reply was tolerablysatisfactory. Mrs. Williams, the person who wanted Nelly, was likelyto do whatever was right by any girl who might be sent her, as she wasa very respectable person, and "a church member. " This last statementweighed considerably with Mrs. Ford, and decided her to mention theplace to Nelly. 

Nelly could not help feeling a throb of regret at hearing that therereally was a place open to her, for she dreaded exceedingly theprospect of leaving her kind friends; but of this she said nothing, and tried to seem pleased with the idea of trying the place. One greatinducement it certainly had, that it was in the city in which Lucy nowresided. She hoped to see Miss Lucy sometimes, and she would help herto be good and do well, she thought. Mrs. Ford also thought thiscircumstance a favourable one, as Lucy could see for herself whetherNelly was comfortably situated, and if not, could help her to find abetter place. So, after much consideration and some misgivings, it wasreluctantly settled that she should go. Mrs. Thompson's brother wasgoing to the city soon, and Nelly could accompany him. 

She did not need a great deal of time for preparation, though Mrs. Ford kindly provided her with all that was necessary for herrespectable appearance in her new place, so that she went back to thecity which had been her former abode a very different-looking girlfrom the barefooted, gipsy-like child, who had wandered, uncared for, about its streets. "I know the place well, ma'am, " she said to Mrs. Ford; "it isn't as if I had never been there. I won't feel a bitstrange. " And though the spring was approaching, and she was for manyreasons very sorry to leave Ashleigh, she did not dread the thought ofgoing to the great city, alone and friendless, as much as a thoroughlycountry-bred girl would have done. 

When her travelling companion bade her good-bye at the railwaystation, Nelly, not in the least frightened by the hurrying crowds andthe noisy streets, so familiar to her of old, took up her littlebundle, containing all the worldly goods she possessed, and set offbriskly to look for the address inscribed on the card she held in herhand. She did not need to ask her way more than once, though it was ahalf-hour's walk before she reached the street, and then she walkedslowly along, studying the numbers of the doors till she arrived atthe right one, bearing on a brass plate the words, "Mrs. Williams'Boarding House. " It was one of the most bare and uninviting of a dullrow, and not even the bright sunshine of the early spring couldenliven it much. Other houses had flowers or birds in the windows, orat least pleasant glimpses of white curtains, but this one, with itshalf-closed blinds, had almost a funereal aspect. Nelly had a keensusceptibility of externals, and her heart sank a little; but she rangthe bell, determined to make the best of it. The door was opened by anelderly woman in rusty black, with a hard, careworn face, which didnot relax into the slightest perceptible smile, as she regarded Nellyscrutinizingly, saying at last, "Oh, you're the girl Mrs. Thompson wasto send, I suppose?"

"Yes, ma'am, " replied Nelly, who had not yet been invited to enter. 

"Well, you're not as big as I thought you'd be, and you don't lookvery strong. Come in;" and she led the way into a dull, baredining-room, where she went on with her work of setting the table, while she put Nelly through an examination as to her qualifications. She either was, or appeared to be, dissatisfied, and after drylyexpressing a hope that she would suit, she told her to follow her downto the kitchen. 

It was a dark, cellar-like place, with an equally cellar-like room ofvery small dimensions opening off it, where Nelly was to sleep. Manyhouses seem built on the principle--not the Christian one of lovingour neighbours as ourselves--that "anything is good enough forservants, " as if light, and air, and pleasant things to look out upon, were not just as much needed by them as by their employers! Kitchensand servants' rooms need not be luxurious. It would be doing servantsan injury to accustom them to luxuries of which they would some timefeel the privation; but many of them have been accustomed to pure, free air, and a pleasant outlook, and feel the reverse far more thanis imagined by those who condemn them to live in underground cells. 

Nelly felt her abode very dismal after the light, airy farmhouse. Evenfrom her old attic-window she had a pleasant view of the river, andcould always see the moon and stars at night; while from this theutmost she could see from the windows was a little bit of streetpavement. But when she unpacked her bundle, and came upon her"watchword card, " as Lucy had called it, her courage rose as sheremembered that her heavenly Friend was as near her here as in thefree, fresh country, and that where He was He could make it home. Shecould not have put this feeling into words, but it was there, in herheart, where doubtless He Himself had put it. 

It was some time before Mrs. Williams thought of inquiring whether shehad had any dinner. On her replying in the negative--she was beginningto feel quite tired and faint--Mrs. Williams, with a half-reluctantair, brought out of a locked cupboard some very dry-looking bread andcold meat, which she set before Nelly. 

She was very hungry, so that even this was very acceptable, and shedid justice to the meal. Before she had finished, a voice called froman upper story, "Mother, tell the new girl to bring up some water. "

Nelly was accordingly directed to fill the water-can and take it up tothe top of the house. After carrying it up three flights of stairs, she saw a door open, and a girl of nineteen or twenty, apparentlyengaged in performing an elaborate toilet, looked out from it. 

"How old are you?" she said, as she took the water from Nelly. 

"I'll soon be fourteen, miss. "

"Well, you don't look it. You'll have to look sharp here if you wantto suit us. Now, take these boots down to brush. "

She spoke in a quick, sharp way, a good deal like her mother's; andher face, though tolerably comely, was sharp too. Miss Williams meantto "get on" in the world if she could, and her face and manner showedit. 

Nelly found various things to do before she got back to her unfinisheddinner, and then Mrs. Williams hurried her through, that she might getthe kitchen made "tidy. " In the meantime Miss Williams departed, inall the glories of a fashionable toilet, for her afternoon promenade, her mother regarding her with much pride and complacency. It seemedthe one object of her hard-working, careworn life that her daughtershould look "like a lady, " and a large proportion of her earnings andsavings went to effect this object. 

Nelly's services were at once called into requisition to assist in thepreparation of the dinner for the boarders--four gentlemen--who, hermistress informed her, were "very particular, " and liked everythingnice. She received a confusing multiplicity of directions as towaiting at table, for Mrs. Williams rather prided herself on the"stylishness" of her establishment. She got through her task tolerablywell, though somewhat bewildered between Mrs. Williams' quick, sharpreminders and the "chaffing" of one or two of the gentlemen, whothought it "good fun" to puzzle the "new hand" with ironical remarks, some of them being aimed at their landlady through her servant. 

After the waiting at dinner, followed the preparation of tea for Mrs. Williams and her daughter, who had come in, and was in the midst ofone of the evening performances on the piano, which were the dread ofthe boarders; and then there were all the dishes used at dinner towash and put away. It was pretty late by the time all this had beendone, and Nelly was feeling very sleepy, and wondering how soon shemight go to bed, when her mistress came down with half-a-dozen pairsof boots, to be cleaned either that evening or next morning. Now thenext day was Sunday, and at the farm Mrs. Ford had of late insisted onthe excellent rule of getting all done that could be done on Saturdaynight, so as to leave the Lord's day as free as possible from secularduties; so Nelly, sleepy as she was, took up her blacking brushes, andproceeded to rub and polish with all her might. But fatigue was toostrong for her, and before she had got through the third pair, herhead sank down and she lost all consciousness, till she suddenlystarted up, thinking Mrs. Ford was calling her to drive the cows topasture. It was impossible to rouse herself again to her work; shejust managed to put out her light, and, hastily undressing, she threwherself on the bed with only a half-conscious attempt at her usualevening prayer, which, however, He who knows the weakness of our framewould surely accept. 

Next morning, she started up instantly at Mrs. Williams' impatientcall. She could hardly get ready quick enough to satisfy her mistress, and had no time to kneel down and ask her heavenly Father's help forthe duties of the day. Mrs. Williams had not thought of this need forherself, and still less for her little handmaid. She found there wasplenty of work before her, independently of the boots that remained tobe cleaned. By the time she had got through, the bells were ringingfor church, and it was time to think of getting the dinner ready, theboarders dining early on Sunday. Mrs. Williams was not going to churchherself. The gentlemen always expected the dinner to be especiallygood on that day, without much consideration what the cook's Sundaymight be; and it was much too important a matter to be left to Nelly'sinexperienced hands. But during the time when her mistress wasoccupied in helping her daughter to dress her hair elaborately forchurch, Nelly found a little quiet time to read part of a chapter, andlearn a verse, and ask God's help to do right during the day, and toremember that it was His day, the best of all the week. 

So prepared, she found the difficult task of performing unaccustomedduties to her mistress's satisfaction easier than it might otherwisehave been. For why should we consider anything too small to seek Hisaid, by whom the hairs of our head are all numbered? And the veryattitude of trust and reliance on Him calms and clears the mind, andstrengthens the heart. 

There was no time for Nelly to go to church on that Sunday, at anyrate. She could not get through her work with her comparativelyunpractised hands, and it was with a very weary body and mind thatshe read her evening verse, and repeated her favourite hymn, "I lay mysins on Jesus, " as a sort of substitute for her usual Sunday schoollessons, and then lay down to think of the kind friends she had left, and to wonder when she should see Miss Lucy, till she fell asleep todream that she was at the farm again, and churning butter that wouldnot come. 

Bessie had written to Lucy, telling her of Nelly's departure, but hadforgotten to give her mistress's address, so that Lucy could not findher out till she should go to see her at Mr. Brooke's; and for manydays this was impracticable. Day after day passed, filled with thesame unceasing routine of drudgery; and though her growing skillenabled her to get through her work more quickly, this did not add toher leisure, since, as her capabilities increased, her dutiesincreased also. Miss Williams, too, who objected to do anything forherself when another could be got to do it, found Nelly veryconvenient for all sorts of personal services. 

Nelly went through it all without grumbling, though she often went tobed quite tired out. But youth and health came to her aid, and shewould wake in the morning to go singing about her work. She had anuncommonly sweet voice, and the boarders used often to remark to eachother that there was more music in her untaught snatches of song thanin all Miss Williams' attempts at the piano. 

But, as weeks went on, the perpetual, unceasing strain began to wearupon her, and her songs grew less and less frequent. Though she wasalmost too busy to indulge in many longings for Ashleigh and itspleasant fields, it was a little hard to know that the beautifulbudding spring was passing into summer, and that she could taste noneof the country pleasures she had so much enjoyed last year; that theonly sign by which she knew the advancement of the season was theincreasing heat, enervating her frame and undermining herstrength, --its effect in this respect being greatly heightened by theclose, heavy atmosphere in which she chiefly lived. Nature is strongerthan man, after all; and when the upper classes selfishly neglect thecomfort of their poorer brethren, they will find that inexorableNature will avenge the infringement of her laws, and will touch theirown interests in so doing. 

"I can't think what has come over Nelly!" Mrs. Williams would say toher daughter. "She's not the same girl she was when she came here, andshe seems to grow lazier every day. Well, it's the way with them all. A new broom sweeps clean. "

But Mrs. Williams might easily have found a truer explanation ofNelly's failing energies than this convenient proverb, in theunwholesome atmosphere she was breathing by night and day, as well asin the quantity and quality of the food provided for her. Mrs. Williams would have indignantly repelled the charge of starving Nelly, but she forgot the requirements of a fast-growing girl. Everythingeatable was kept rigidly locked up, --that was a fundamental principleof Mrs. Williams' housekeeping, --and Nelly's allowance was sometimesso scanty, and at other times composed of such an uninvitingcollection of scraps, that she often had not sufficient nourishment torepair the waste of strength which she was continually undergoing. Andas she would rather suffer than ask more, her constitution was reallygiving way for want of sufficient sustenance. 

So two or three months passed, and she had not yet seen Lucy. She hadonly, indeed, been two or three times at church, for Mrs. Williamsnever seemed to remember that her little servant had an immortal soulto be nourished, though it must be admitted that she was not much moremindful of her own spiritual welfare. As for getting out on week-days, except on her mistress's errands, Mrs. Williams seemed to considerthat quite out of the question; and, indeed, Nelly could not easilyhave found leisure for half-an-hour's absence. One evening, at last, when most of the boarders were dining out, Mrs. Williams graciouslyacceded to Nelly's request to be allowed to go out for an hour; "butdon't stay a minute longer, " she added. Nelly had carefully keptLucy's address, and gladly set off, as fast as she could walk, towardsthe quarter of the city in which she knew it to be. She steered hercourse pretty straight, but had walked for fully half-an-hour beforeshe reached the door, on the brass plate of which she read "B. Brooke. "

It was with a beating heart that she put the question, "Is Miss LucyRaymond at home?" to be answered in the negative by the servant, whoinwardly wondered what a girl so poorly dressed could want with MissLucy. Waiting was out of the question, --she would be late enough ingetting back as it was, --so she sorrowfully turned away, withoutleaving any message. It was a great disappointment, and, tired anddispirited, she made her way back. 

There was another reason, besides want of time, to prevent her makinga second attempt. The clothes with which she had been provided onleaving Mill Bank Farm were almost worn out with the hard work she hadto do, and Mrs. Williams had as yet done nothing towards fulfillingher promise of giving her necessary clothing, although Nelly'stattered frock was worn beyond all possibility of repairing. Nelly wasconscious of the doubtful look with which she was regarded when sheasked for Lucy, and she shrank from again encountering it, and perhapsbringing discredit on Miss Lucy in the eyes of her city friends by herown disreputable appearance. 

One afternoon in June--Mrs. Williams and her daughter beingout--Nelly, having a few minutes to spare, was standing at the opendoor, listening to the plaintive strains of an organ-grinder who wasplaying close by. His dark Italian face looked sad and careworn, andthe little girl beside him, evidently his daughter from theresemblance between them, looked so pale and feeble, that it seemed asif her little thin hands could scarcely support the tambourine she wasringing in accompaniment to a little plaintive song. Nelly enjoyed theperformance exceedingly, but her admiration did not appear to beshared by those whose applause was of more consequence, for not asingle penny found its way into the poor man's hat, either from theinmates of the house or from the juvenile bystanders. His discouragedair, and the sad, wistful eyes of the little girl, touched Nelly'swarm Irish heart, as he leaned on Mrs. Williams' doorsteps to resthimself while he set down his organ, experience having taught him thatit was a useless waste of strength to play before that door. 

Nelly, seeing how hot and tired he looked, impulsively asked the poorman whether he would walk in and sit down, never stopping to thinkwhether she had a right to do so. He looked up, surprised at theinvitation, but thankfully accepted it, and Nelly brought two chairsinto the hall for him and the little girl. Then, as the onlyentertainment she was able to supply, she filled two glasses with thecoldest water she could find, and shyly offered them to her guests. 

"Ah, it is good, " said the organ-grinder, when he had drained hisglass. "Many thanks, " he added, in his foreign accent; and the littlegirl looked up into Nelly's face with the sweetest, most expressive, grateful smile. 

"Now, " said the Italian, after having rested a little, "you lovemusic--is it not true?--or you would not be so kind to us. I will playfor you. "

And, taking up his instrument, he played an air sweeter than any Nellyhad yet heard from him, and the little girl sang, in her liquid voice, a little song, the words of which she could not understand, for theywere Italian. 

"Now we must go, " said the man. "Good-bye, my good girl; if I werehome in my country, I would do as much for you. " And the father anddaughter pursued their weary way, Nelly's eyes following wistfully theforms of those whom she regarded as friends already, for were theynot, like herself, poor, lonely strangers in a strange land?

Then she began to wonder whether she had done wrong in asking them tocome in. She knew instinctively that she could not have done it hadMrs. Williams been at home. But yet she could not feel such a simple, common act of kindness to have been wrong. No harm had been done toanything belonging to her mistress; and the "cup of cold water, " hadshe not a right to offer it to those who needed it so much?

After that the organ-grinder and his child passed frequently throughthat street, and whenever she could, Nelly would exchange a few kindwords with them, and the man would play for her, knowing well that shehad no pennies to offer in return; but at such times she used to wishso much that she had a little money of her own. 

The Italian would sometimes look at her tattered dress, and her face, gradually growing thinner and paler, as if he thought her quite asforlorn as himself; and once, when he heard her mistress call her in, and scold her for "talking to such characters in the street, " he shookhis head, and muttered something in his native tongue. 

And so it came to pass that the poor Italian and his daughter becameNelly's only friends in that great, busy city. 

XII. 

_Ambition. _

 "Tell me the same old story, When you have cause to fear That this world's empty glory Is costing me too dear. "

Lucy's interest in her studies, and the zeal with which she pursuedthem, had had a wonderful effect in reconciling her to her newcircumstances. She could sometimes hardly believe that only a fewshort months lay between her and her old life, now seeming so far backin the distance. Her progress in study had been very rapid, as herabilities were above the average, and her love of study was muchgreater than was usual among her companions, most of whom looked upontheir school education chiefly as a matter of form, which it wasexpected of them to go through before entering on the real object oflife, the entrance into "society, " with its pleasures and excitements. That it was intended to be a means of disciplining their minds forbetter doing their future duties, enlarging their range of thought, and opening to them new sources of interest and delight, had neverentered into their heads. Lucy indeed pursued her studies more for thesake of the pleasure they afforded her at the time than with anyulterior views, though she did feel the advantages placed in her wayto be a sacred trust, and, like all other privileges, to be accountedfor to Him who had bestowed them. 

With her teachers, who found her a pupil after their own heart, shewas a much greater favourite than she was with some of her classmates, who were so uncongenial, that she could not well enter into, or evenunderstand, the things which interested them. Nor could she alwaysrefrain from showing her impatience of their frivolities, or hercontempt for the follies which so engrossed their minds; and this didnot, of course, tend to make her popular. This circumstance Lucy didnot care for so much even as she ought; for, though fond ofapprobation, she cared only for the approbation of those she esteemed, unlike her cousin Stella, who liked admiration from any source. 

When the bright, balmy days of spring came, bringing with themthoughts of green fields and budding trees, there sometimes came overher longings almost irresistible for her old home, so full of ruralsights and sounds, in such contrast to the stiff, straight citystreets and houses, the dust and noise, and the squares planted withtrees, which to her eyes seemed like caged birds, as the onlyreminders that there were such things in the world. These longingsusually came to her most strongly in the long spring evenings, inwhose lengthening light she used to rejoice at Ashleigh, as enablingher to prolong her pleasant country rambles. Now she must either walkup and down the hard pavements between never-ending rows of houses, orsit at the window, wistfully watching the sunset light falling goldenon the opposite walls. Now and then she accompanied the others in along drive; but the distance which they had to traverse before theyreached anything like the country seemed to her interminable; and whenthey did catch a glimpse of fields and woods, it seemed hard to haveso soon to turn back and lose sight of them again. 

On her return from one of these drives, which had been protracted tilldusk, she was told that she had been inquired for by a girl verypoorly dressed, "almost like a beggar. " She was puzzled at first, butalmost immediately it flashed across her that it must be Nelly Connor. She had often thought of her since she had come to the city, but couldnot find her, owing to Bessie's omission to give her mistress'saddress, --an omission which Bessie, not being a good correspondent, and naturally supposing that Nelly would soon find her way to Lucy, had not yet remedied. "Oh, I wish I had seen her!" exclaimed Lucy, much to the surprise both of the servants and her cousins, who couldnot understand how a girl of that description should come to be sointeresting to her as to cause so much disappointment at having missedher, and at having no clue to her place of abode. 

"I hope she will soon come again, " was the reflection with which Lucyconsoled herself; and Stella explained to Sophy and Edwin: "It's alittle Irish _protegée_ of hers that she was crazy about at Ashleigh, and she used to lecture me because I didn't think as much of her asshe did. " Lucy laughed and tried to explain, but stopped, seeing thather cousins took very little interest in the matter. 

Lucy did not come much in contact with her uncle and aunt. The formerwas much absorbed in business, and though a kind and indulgent parent, especially to his favourite Stella, he interfered but little in homematters. Mrs. Brooke, who had always been a rather negative character, had long given up to her elder daughters any sway she had ever held, and was almost entirely guided by their judgment, of which theynaturally took advantage to indulge to the utmost their own love ofgaiety. Balls and parties in winter, and in summer gay picnics anddriving parties without end, engrossed their time and thoughts, to theexclusion of higher objects of interest. Ada was fond of embroidery, and would betake herself to it when nothing better was going on; andSophy was sometimes persuaded to paint for a fancy sale one of theilluminations, in doing which she evinced great talent. They weregenerally quotations from the poets which she selected; and as Lucywatched the taste with which Sophy blended and contrasted the richcolouring, she would long for the same skilful hand, in order toclothe in such glowing colours some of the favourite texts which shonefor her like beams of light from heaven. 

But she had no talent for drawing; and though by diligent practice sheimproved very much in playing and singing, she knew she should neverbe able to do either like her cousin Sophy. How useful, she thought, might she not be, if her heart were but actuated by love to Christ!She felt she dared not speak to her on this subject, but she oftenprayed to Him who can command the hearts of all, that He would touchand renew that of her cousin Sophy. 

Between Stella and Lucy, dissimilar as they were, there existed astrong cousinly affection. Stella, with all her bantering ways, wouldnever now go so far as seriously to annoy her, generally taking herside when she thought the others were too much for her. But thoughLucy tried earnestly to draw her cousin towards the knowledge of herSaviour, all such attempts seemed to glance off her, like raindropsfrom an oiled surface. She was quite satisfied with herself as shewas, and had not yet found out the insufficiency of the earthlypleasures which at present satisfied her. She believed, of course, inanother world, and the need of a preparation for it, but she thoughtthere was plenty of time for that; and it had never entered within therange of her comprehension that the change of heart, which is thenecessary preparation for a future life, is as necessary to livingeither well or happily in the present. So that Lucy was constantlyfeeling that, in the most important matters of all, there could be nogenuine sympathy between them. 

Nor among her schoolmates was her longing for sympathy between themmore fully gratified. They were all actuated by the "spirit of thisworld which passeth away, " and avoided everything that could bring thethought of another to their minds; so that she had not found one withwhom she could speak on the subjects most dear to her, or hold anintercourse mutually helpful. 

There was, indeed, one of her schoolmates, a Miss Eastwood, a boarderat Mrs. Wilmot's, in whom, from her sweet, serious manner andappearance, and from some other tokens, she thought she might havefound a congenial friend. But Miss Eastwood was a little older thanherself, and Lucy's natural shyness was increased by the impressionthat she rather avoided her and Stella, probably from knowing that Mr. Brooke's was a thoroughly worldly family, and supposing that Lucy mustbe like her cousins in this respect. Miss Eastwood in this was actingconscientiously; yet such a determined avoidance of those who appearto be worldly in their principles of action, though founded on thedesire of keeping out of temptation, sometimes leads to greatmistakes. Real Christian sympathy may sometimes be found where fromcircumstances there may seem to be least appearance of it; and evenwhere it does not exist, influence for good might be exerted overthose whom distrust must necessarily repel. He who sat with publicansand sinners, while He enjoins His followers to be "not of the world, "even as He was not of the world, cannot surely desire them to avoidall opportunities, naturally occurring, of coming in contact withthose who may not be like-minded; and if Christians would always showtheir true colours uncompromisingly, while coming near to others, asGod's providence opens opportunity, they would both do more good andfind sympathy and fellowship oftener than they expect. 

Of all the inmates of her uncle's house, little Amy was the one inwhom Lucy found the greatest congeniality. Her readings to her, andher teaching about Jesus, seemed to have satisfied a craving of thechild's little heart, and she drank in the truths which Lucy tried toexplain to her, with the eagerness of one who had been thirsting forthe living water. Indeed she needed very little explanation; itseemed as if the Spirit of God was her teacher, instructing her inthings that might have seemed too deep for so young a child tograsp, --though indeed there may be less difference than we oftenimagine between the mind of a child and that of the wisest man, asregards their power of comprehending truths that are too infinitelyprofound for the greatest human intellect to fathom. 

Amy had from her infancy been so delicate, that she had been in agreat measure confined to the nursery all her life; and not beingnearly so winning and attractive as Stella, she had never been sogreat a favourite with her brothers and sisters, who, never havingtaken the trouble of drawing her out, considered her ratheruninteresting. The death of a fine little boy, a little older thanAmy, had strangely had the effect upon her mother of making her turnaway, almost with a feeling of impatience, from the unattractive, ailing child that had been spared, while her noble little boy, so fullof beauty and promise, had been taken. Amy had been left almostentirely to her nurse, who had taught her some of the simple prayersand hymns that she herself had learned at Sunday school, though shehad not spoken to her of Jesus, as Lucy had done. The story of Hislove fell upon a heart that was unconsciously yearning for a fullermeasure of affection than it had ever received from human sources; andthe love which it excited in return, for Him whom the child seemed atonce to recognise as an ever near and present friend, became the mostpowerful influence of her life. She never wearied of hearing aboutHim, of asking questions about Him, particularly about His childhood, which often threw light, in her young teacher's mind, upon thingswhich she had not considered before. The child's intense interest, too, and the simplicity of her childish faith, were no small help toLucy, in the midst of much that might have drawn her heart and mindaway from her first love. For there were many temptations in herway, --temptations which sometimes overcame her. Even her zeal in herstudies often unduly absorbed her mind, tempting her to leave thefag-end of time and strength for prayer and the reading of God's word, and her natural ambition often led her into unchristian feelings andtempers. Then, when humbled and discouraged, and doubtful whether shereally was a child of God at all, some simple, loving remark of Amy'swould drive away the clouds, and she would come again, in penitenceand faith, to drink of the living water which alone can quench humanthirst. 

Sometimes the spiritual beauty of her little cousin's expression, andher growing ripeness for a better country, would awaken a feeling ofregret that Amy was not more like other children, lest indeed shemight be ripening for an early removal. Yet the thought would recur:"Amy is not fit for the roughness of the world; why should I wish herstay upon it, instead of going home to rest in her Saviour's bosom?"

Fred had paid a short visit to his sister as soon as his collegevacation commenced, but he had made an engagement for the summer as atutor, and he was obliged to hasten away to his duties before Lucy hadsaid half of what she wished to say, or asked his advice on half thesubjects on which she had been longing for it. However, short as hisvisit was, it was very useful as well as very pleasant, reviving oldthoughts and habits of feeling which were in danger of falling intothe background, and stimulating her to follow the example of a brotherwho was so stedfastly bent on following his Lord. 

As the time for the summer examinations at Mrs. Wilmot's drew near, Lucy, bent on carrying off two or three of the prizes, redoubled herapplication to her studies; but she allowed her desire to accomplishher object to carry her too far. All her thoughts, all her time, wereso engrossed by it, that she had none to spare for anything else. Shewould not join her cousins in any of their innocent recreations, andbecame impatient and irritable when she met with claims upon her timethat could not be set aside. Even the Lord's day at last began to seeman interruption to the work in which she was so eager. Her too intenseapplication began to affect her health: she was growing so nervous, that Stella would sometimes declare that she was changing heridentity, and could not be the same Lucy Raymond as of old. Lucy couldindeed feel the change in herself, and this only increased theirritation, instead of leading her to remove the cause, by moderatingthe ambition which was leading her to a blameable excess in what wouldotherwise have been praiseworthy diligence. But just at that time thecoveted prizes seemed to throw everything else into the shade, and shehad no watchful, judicious friend, to point out, in timely warning, the snare into which she was falling. 

Even little Amy, for the first time, occasionally found herselfimpatiently put aside, and her requests to be read to met with, "Notnow, Amy; I haven't time. Don't tease me now, like a good child;" andwould steal away, with a surprised look in her soft eyes, wonderinghow it could be that Cousin Lucy should not have time to read to herabout Jesus. 

One of the prizes on which Lucy had most set her heart was that to begiven for History, one of her favourite studies. In ancient andclassical history she had been very thoroughly grounded by her father, and had nothing to fear, most of the principal events being familiarto her as household words. But her knowledge of modern history was notso extensive, and she had a great deal of hard study before she couldfeel at all at ease in competing with her classmates, some of whomwere considerably older than herself, and had given most of theirattention to modern history, the division in which the greater numberof questions were asked. 

Lucy had studied with so much diligence, and her daily recitationswere always so good, that she had great hopes of taking the firstprize; and her master, with whom she was a great favourite, did notconceal his expectation of her success. Just the day before theexamination, when looking over the list of subjects for revision, shefound, to her dismay, that she had unaccountably overlooked one ofthose prescribed. It was quite too late to hope to repair the omissionsatisfactorily, but she hastily procured the proper book, and set towork at once, to try to gain such a general knowledge of the subjectas would enable her to reply to the questions that were certain to beasked upon it. But her overtasked mind refused to grasp the words thatswam before her eyes; and a headache, which had been annoying her fordays, became so severe, that she was obliged to shut the book andthrow herself on the bed, her oppressed mind relieving itself in aburst of tears. 

While she was still crying, Amy came in, and, going up to her, strokedher cheek with her loving little hands. "Are you hurt, Cousin Lucy?"she asked wonderingly; and as her cousin shook her head, she asked ina lower tone, "Were you naughty, Cousin Lucy?"--these being to her theonly conceivable causes for sorrow. 

"Yes, Amy, I've been naughty!" exclaimed Lucy impetuously. She saw nowhow wrong she had been in allowing herself to be so led away by herambition, as to have sacrificed to it all else, even her habit ofwatching in faith for

 "The service that Thy love appoints. "

Numerous instances rushed upon her mind, in which she had turned asidefrom opportunities of usefulness, of showing kindness and forbearanceto others; she had been letting her oil run out, and her lamp burntfaint and dim, and all that she might gain this petty prize, which shewas likely to lose after all! Had she not, in yielding to her peculiartemptation, allowed herself to become as worldly as those whom in herheart she had been condemning?

Amy's gentle voice came to awaken more soothing thoughts. "But why doyou cry so, Lucy?" she said. "Won't Jesus forgive you, and make yougood?"

Lucy's "bread upon the waters" had come back to her in spiritualcomfort, just when she most needed it. She put her arms round herlittle monitor, and, as she kissed her, her thoughts formed an earnestprayer that her Lord would indeed forgive her, and help her to beginagain, wiser for her experience, and strong in looking to Him forstrength. 

The quiet hours which her headache enforced were of great service toher, in giving her time for thought and resolution. When at last sherose, and arranged her hair to go down-stairs, her heart had grown somuch lighter and calmer, that she felt more like herself than she haddone for months, and she could now leave the matter of the prizes, without undue anxiety, with Him who knew what was best for her, andwho, she was sure, would not refuse her any good thing. 

The examination in history was the first to come off. When Lucy lookedat the list of questions, she found that several of them were on thepart of the subject she had overlooked, and that these she could notanswer at all. She felt that all chance of the prize was over; but shedid not allow her mind to dwell on this circumstance, but wrote herreplies to the other questions, with a calmness and clearness whichwould have been quite beyond her power, had she allowed herself toremain in a condition of feverish suspense. 

When the examiners' decision was made known, it was found that thefirst prize had been awarded to Miss Eastwood, who was quite taken bysurprise at receiving it; but that, as Miss Raymond's paper had beenso good in all except a very few points, the second prize, awarded toher, was considered almost equal to the first. This was much betterthan Lucy had expected; and as she received two first prizes insubjects where she had felt by no means sure of success, she was onthe whole very well satisfied, as was Fred also, when her joyfulletter informed him of the result. 

Stella announced Lucy's success at home with almost as much pleasureas if the success had been her own. Edwin congratulated her withrather more animation than he was in the habit of showing, and Adadeclared that "It must be nice to be so smart. "

"Yes; but Lucy has been injuring her health by her close study, "remarked the more observant Sophy. "Look at her now, how pale and thinshe is, compared with what she was when she came!"

"Oh, the holidays will set me all right again, " Lucy declared, laughing; but Mrs. Brooke decided that Lucy needed immediate change ofair. She had been hoping to be able to spend her holidays at Ashleigh, among her old friends; and as the Brookes were all going to afashionable seaside resort, it seemed likely that nothing would occurto prevent the hoped-for visit. But Amy's cough, as well as othersymptoms of delicacy of the lungs, had increased so much, that thedoctor declared the sea-air too keen for her, and that she had betterbe sent, during the warm season, to a quiet inland place in theneighbourhood, the air of which he thought particularly suited to herconstitution. But of course Amy could not be sent there alone, andnone of the rest would have been willing to give up their proposedvisit to the seaside, except Mrs. Brooke, who could not be spared fromher duties to her other daughters. 

Lucy therefore seemed the one who should accompany Amy, and sheherself felt that it was an occasion on which she might make somereturn for the kindness she had met with in her uncle's family. Soher visit to Ashleigh was given up, and Amy's delight at finding thatshe was to accompany her to Oakvale, was enough to make her forget anydisappointment which her decision had involved. They were to bereceived into the family of a friend of the doctor's, a widow lady, who frequently received invalids as boarders, with whom little Amywould receive all the care and comfort she needed. 

A few days before their departure, Lucy at last received, throughBessie Ford, the address of Nelly Connor's mistress. Stella, who, notwithstanding her raillery at Lucy's _protegée_, had a sort oflatent interest in Nelly, from her association with her pleasant visitto Ashleigh, accompanied her cousin in her long walk to look for thehouse. On reaching it at last, tired and hot, the door was opened, notby Nelly, as Lucy had hoped, but by an unprepossessing-looking woman, whose hard face grew more rigid when informed what was the object ofher visit. 

"You needn't come here to look for her, " she replied grimly; "she'sleft this some time since, and I don't never want to set eyes on heragain. "

"Is she not here, then? Where is she gone?"

"I don't know, " was the reply, "and I don't want to know. A girl thatcould behave as she done to one who took such pains with her, and kepther so long, ain't a girl to my taste. I wash my hands of her. "

"But perhaps you could tell us what place she went to from you?"persisted Lucy. "I am a friend of hers, and would like to find herout. "

"Well, she is no credit to her friends, " said the woman, ratherpleased at being able to give her a bad character where it might be ofsome consequence. "And as for the vagrant character she went off with, I'd be very sorry to have any acquaintance with him. "

Finding the uselessness of prosecuting her inquiries there, Lucy badeMrs. Williams good-day, feeling sure that Nelly's conduct had beenmisrepresented, --an opinion shared by Stella, who had taken a strongdislike to the woman's grim demeanour and spiteful tone, --and verysorry for having lost the only clue to her _protegée_ once more. 

XIII. 

_A Friendship. _

 "We had been girlish friends, With hearts that, like the summer's half-oped buds, Grew close, and hived their sweetness for each other. "

Lucy and Amy were soon settled in Mrs. Browne's pleasant littlecottage at Oakvale, a pretty sheltered village surrounded by hills, clothed principally with noble oaks, whence it derived its name. Mrs. Browne's house lay a little way out of the village, amid green fieldsand lanes, which, after the hot, dusty city streets, wereinexpressibly refreshing to Lucy, recalling old times at Ashleigh. 

Mrs. Browne was a kind, motherly person, a doctor's widow, herselfpossessing a good deal of medical skill, which rendered her houseespecially eligible for invalids, and she established a careful watchover little Amy, whose very precarious condition her practised eye sawat a glance. Whenever the child, feeling better than usual, would haveovertasked her failing strength in the quiet country rambles, whichwere such a delightful novelty to one who had scarcely ever beenreally in the country before, and when Lucy's inexperience might haveallowed her to injure herself without knowing it, Mrs. Browne wouldinterpose a gentle warning, which was always cheerfully obeyed. It waswith some surprise, indeed, that she noticed with what perfectsubmission the little girl bore all the deprivations of innocentpleasure which her weak state compelled, as well as the feverishlanguor which often oppressed her in the hot August days. Thissubmission arose from the implicit belief which, child as she was, shehad, that everything that befell her was ordered by the kind Saviour, who would send nothing that was not for her real good. Such a belief, fully realized, would soon relieve most of us from the fretting caresand corroding anxieties that arise from our "taking thought" aboutthings we cannot control. 

"I never saw a child like her, " Mrs. Browne would say; "indeed, she'smore like an angel than a child, and it's my belief she'll soon be onein reality. And I'm sure heaven's more the place for her than thisrough world. "

However, Amy seemed to improve under the healthful influences ofOakvale, living almost wholly in the fresh open air, perfumed withmignonette and other sweet summer flowers, sitting with Lucy under thetrees before Mrs. Browne's house, or in her shady verandah, where, even on the warmest day, there was a breeze to cool the sultry air. Lucy would read to her, sometimes some of Longfellow's simpler poems, out of one of her prize-books, and sometimes out of more juvenilestory-books brought down for Amy's benefit, who was never tired ofhearing her favourites read over and over again, to which she wouldlisten with an abstracted, thoughtful expression, as if she wereinterpreting the story in a spiritual fashion of her own. "Heaven isabout us in our infancy, " says the poet; and it is nearer to somechildren, by the grace of God, than older people often imagine. 

When Lucy wanted to read to herself, Amy would amuse herself quietlyfor hours, dressing her dolls, and looking over the illustrations inher story-books, supplying the story from memory. Lucy conscientiouslykept up her practising on Mrs. Browne's piano, and always ended byplaying and singing some hymns for Amy, who was passionately fond ofmusic, and loved to try to sing too, with her sweet, feeble voice. 

As Mrs. Browne, having but one servant, had a great deal to doherself, Lucy volunteered to assist her a little. She had always beenaccustomed to perform some household tasks at home, and it was quitean amusement to her and Amy, bringing back old days of her childhood, to vary their mornings by shelling the peas for dinner, or, when itwas not too warm, picking the fruit for Mrs. Browne's preserves. Sopleasant did Lucy find it, that she thought her city cousins reallymissed a good deal of enjoyment, in never, by any chance, employingthemselves in anything of the kind, even when the busy servants werereally over-worked. Indeed it is somewhat surprising that domestics goon as contentedly as they do in their constant treadmill of labour, often too much for their strength, when so many healthy members of thefamilies for whose benefit they toil spend so large a portion of theirtime in luxurious idleness, or in mere pleasure-seeking. 

In the fresh, cool morning, after their early breakfast, and in theevening, when the heat of the day was over, Lucy and Amy always wentfor a short ramble, climbing a little way up one of the hill-paths, orwandering by the side of the stream, which, fringed with elm andbirch, wound through the village that lay on both sides of it, theriver being crossed in two or three places by rustic bridges. From thepoint on the hillside which generally formed the limit of their walk, and where they used to sit on a mossy stone to rest, they had anextensive view over the surrounding country, diversified withcorn-fields, orchards, and deep green woods, and dotted withfarmhouses, while close at their feet lay the white cluster ofvillage-houses, with a few of higher pretensions scattered here andthere on the green slopes by the river-side, among their shrubberiesand embowering trees. 

The fields were beginning to wear the deeper and richer hues ofapproaching autumn, and it was a perpetual pleasure to watch therippling motion of the golden grain waving in the breeze, or the rapidchanges of light and shade on the fields and woods, as the cloudspassed swiftly over the sky. To watch these were their morningpleasures; but better still, perhaps, they loved the quiet sunsethours, when the glowing tints of the sky seemed to clothe thelandscape in an unearthly glory, and then gradually each bright huewould fade out from the sky and from the land below, leaving the sceneto the solemn repose of the shadowy evening, broken only by theflitting fireflies, or to the flood of silver light shed by the risingmoon. But Amy was never to be allowed to be out in the night air, sothat their rambles had to be over before the damp night dews. Theygenerally found Mrs. Browne standing at the gate, awaiting theirreturn, anxious lest her charge should have ventured to remain out toolong. 

More than a week of their stay had passed rapidly by, when, oneevening that Lucy and Amy were spending in wandering by the river, theformer suddenly recognised approaching them the familiar form of herclassmate, Miss Eastwood, the winner of the first history prize. Therecognition was of course mutual, and in the surprise of meeting sounexpectedly, and in explanations of how it had come about, the twogirls exchanged more words than they had ever done when in the sameclasses at Mrs. Wilmot's. 

"And you did not know Oakvale was my home?" said Mary Eastwood, whenLucy had told how she and her cousin came to be there. Lucy had neverheard where Miss Eastwood's home was, and it had not occurred to herto connect the Dr. Eastwood, of whom Mrs. Browne often spoke, with thename of her classmate. Mary showed them her father's house, beautifully situated on the opposite sloping bank of the river, which, with its shady trees and white gate, reminded her a good deal of herown old home, though the house was larger and handsomer. Dr. Eastwood, who was with his daughter, looked at little Amy with a good deal ofinterest, asking a number of questions, while he held her delicatehand in his, and watched her fair, pale face with his keen eye. He andMary walked back with them to Mrs. Browne's cottage, promising to comeand see them soon, and inviting them to visit Mary. 

This unexpected rencontre greatly added to Lucy's enjoyment of herstay at Oakvale. The cousins very soon had the pleasure of spending anafternoon in Dr. Eastwood's family, --a Christian household afterLucy's own heart. Now that the first stiffness of theirschool-relations had been brushed off by the surprise of theirmeeting, the two girls found each other delightful companions, andsoon became fast friends. It was the first time Lucy had ever found acongenial companion of her own sex, and their friendship afforded anew and ever-increasing delight. They saw each other every day, andoften spent the long summer mornings, alike pleasantly and profitably, in reading aloud by turns, from some interesting and improving bookout of Dr. Eastwood's excellent library. Mrs. Eastwood often sat by, also enjoying the reading, and, by her judicious remarks, directingthe minds of her young companions to profitable thought. The bookselected was often a religious one, such as some people would haveconsidered only fit for Sundays; but it was not the less interestingto them on that account, and gave rise to some of their happiestdiscussions, when each perceived, with delight, how thoroughly theother could appreciate and reciprocate her own deepest feelings. Little Amy would listen attentively at such times, showing by herinterest that she comprehended more of what was said than could havebeen expected. But whenever Mrs. Eastwood thought the conversationbeyond her depth, or her mind too much excited, she would send heraway to play with her own younger children, who were always glad toplace all their toys at her disposal, and do all in their power forher amusement. 

At Dr. Eastwood's the readings generally went on under a spreadingwalnut-tree on the lawn, and Amy would roam at large with thechildren, or come and rest within hearing, just as she liked. Sometimes she would lie still for hours on the cushions which Mrs. Eastwood had laid on the grass for her benefit, gazing through theflickering green leaves into the blue depths of the sky, her earnesteyes looking as if they penetrated beyond things visible, and heldcommunion with thoughts not suggested by any mortal voice. 

Often in the afternoons, while Amy was safe and happy with her littlefriends, Mary and Lucy would take a walk of some miles, carryingperhaps some message or comfort for some of Dr. Eastwood's poorpatients, or driving with him on some of his distant rounds, or rowingin a boat on the river with one of Mary's brothers, to gatherwater-lilies, and bring home their snowy or golden flowers in theirwaxlike beauty to delight little Amy, who was sensitively alive to allnatural loveliness. 

During these expeditions the two girls discussed almost everyconceivable topic of mutual interest, and gave each other the historyof their previous lives, though Mary's had flowed on almost asuneventfully as Lucy's had done previous to her father's death. Theycompared notes as to their favourite books, poetry, and theories, their tastes being sufficiently different to give rise to many apleasant, good-humoured controversy. Sometimes, when deeper chordswere touched, they confided to each other some of their spiritualhistory, --what influences had first brought them to know a Saviour'slove, and then led their hearts to Him who had given Himself for them. Mary, who had a little class of her own at Oakvale, listened withmuch interest to the account of Miss Preston's parting words to herclass, and the influence they had had on her scholars. 

About her dear departed father, too, and the beloved home-circle, Lucyhad much to tell. She said much less about the Brooke family; andMary, who could understand how little congenial was the atmosphere ofher uncle's house, respected her reticence. Lucy felt that she had noright to communicate any unfavourable impression of those from whomshe had received so much kindness, and whose hospitality and kindnessshe had enjoyed so long. 

"I always felt as if I wanted to know you better, Mary, when we wereat Mrs. Wilmot's, " said Lucy one evening, as they were returning homefrom a woodland walk, laden with wild-flowers and ferns. Mary coloureda little, and hesitated. 

"I'm afraid I was very stiff and selfish, Lucy dear, " she replied;"but mamma used to give me so many cautions about mingling withworldly people, that I thought it was best to keep apart from themaltogether. And I was told Mr. Brooke's family were so gay andworldly, that I supposed you must be so too; and so I thought I oughtnot to get into any intimacy that might lead me into temptation. "

"I suppose it is right to try to keep out of temptation, " said Lucythoughtfully. 

"Yes; but now I can see that I wasn't right in being so distrustful asto be afraid of what came naturally in my way. Mamma says that to beafraid of what may involve temptation, when God's providence, rightfully construed, leads us into it, is something like the dreadwhich keeps people from doing their duty in cases of infection;whereas they should trust that, so long as they do not exposethemselves to it wilfully and needlessly, God will care for them inthe path by which He leads them, as well as in circumstances whichlook more secure. "

"Yes, I'm sure that's true, " said Lucy, thinking of what Fred had saidto her when she had felt afraid to venture into the temptations of heruncle's house. "But then, whenever we get over our fear and feelsecure, we are sure to fall into some snare. "

"Yes, " replied her friend, "because we forget our own dependence onChrist for strength, and begin to walk in our own, instead of lookingto Him continually for help. "

"Do you know, " said Lucy, "one of my greatest temptations was studyingfor the history prize! I was so determined to have it--so set uponit--that I let it come before everything else, and forgot to ask to bekept from temptation in it, till, just before the examination, I foundI had forgotten part of what was to be studied; and then, in mydisappointment, I found out how wrong I had been. "

"Oh, " exclaimed Mary, "I was almost sorry I got the first prize, whichI hadn't been expecting at all, for I was sure you would be dreadfullydisappointed. You had worked so hard for it--harder than I did. "

"No, I wasn't disappointed then; I was sure I shouldn't get it, anddidn't expect even the second prize; and I felt quite satisfied thatit should be so, for I had been working in so wrong a spirit, that Icould not have felt happy in getting the prize that had led meastray. "

"Well, it's a relief to my mind to hear you say so, " replied Mary, laughing, "for I felt quite guilty whenever I looked at that book, feeling as if I had by some incomprehensible accident taken it fromthe one who really deserved it. "

Mary had as yet known but few temptations. Her life had been so calmand sheltered, that she had had no experience of contrary winds, andher natural disposition was so equable, that she had very littleconsciously to struggle against. Perhaps her chief temptation lay in atendency to placid contemplative Christianity, without sufficientactive interest in others; and Lucy's opposite qualities acted as acounteracting stimulus, while Mary's peaceful spirit of trusting faithcalmed and soothed Lucy's rather impatient disposition. Thus in alltrue loving Christian companionship we may help each other on, makingup what is lacking in one another by mutual edification. 

One warm Sunday evening, after a very sultry day, Lucy and Amy weresitting together in Mrs. Browne's verandah. Mary had just left them, having walked home with Lucy from the evening service, and they hadbeen discussing the sermon, which had been chiefly on sin and itshatefulness in the sight of God, as well as upon the fountain openedto remove it. After she was gone, they had sat for some time insilence, watching the fireflies glancing in and out of the dark trees. Suddenly Amy said, "Lucy, do you expect to go to heaven when you die, for sure?"

"I am quite sure there is nothing to prevent my going there, " saidLucy, "for I know Jesus is able and willing to take me there. "

"Shall I go there when I die, Lucy?" she asked, with a solemnearnestness that went to her cousin's heart. 

"Why should you not, dear Amy, when Jesus died that you might?"

"But 'God will not look upon sin, ' the Bible says, and I have a sinfulheart; I feel it, " replied the child. 

"Well, why should Jesus have died for you if you had not? It was justto take away sin that Jesus came to suffer. "

"But it isn't taken away; I know it's there, " persisted Amy, who hadevidently been distressing herself with the question how a heart, sinful on earth, could be fit for the pure atmosphere of heaven. 

Lucy explained, to the best of her knowledge and ability, that whilesin still clings to our mortal natures, Jesus has broken its power forever, and taken away its condemnation, so that when we receive Himinto our hearts by faith, God no longer looks upon us as sinful andrebellious children, but as reconciled through the blood of Christ. And the same blood will also purify our hearts; and when soul and bodyare for ever separated, the last stain of sin will be taken away fromthe ransomed spirit. 

Amy listened, and seemed satisfied, --at least she never recurred tothe subject; and, so far as Lucy knew, it was the last time that anyperplexing doubts clouded the sunshine of her happy, childlike faith. 

Pleasant as were the days of their stay at Oakvale, they came at last, like all earthly things, to an end. The warm August weather had passedaway, and the September breezes blew cool and fresh, permitting themto ramble about with comfort even during the hours which they hadbefore been obliged to spend entirely in the shade. The seaside partyhad already been settled at home for a week or two, before it wasthought advisable that Amy should be brought back to the city. Atlast, however, the summons came, and Lucy spent the last two or threedays in revisiting for the last time all the favourite haunts whereshe had spent so many happy hours. She and her friend did not, however, permit themselves to repine at the ending of what had been tothem both such a very delightful resting-place in their life-journey;since

 "Not enjoyment and not sorrow Is our destined end or way; But to live, that each to-morrow Finds us farther than to-day. "

Mary, who had delayed her own return to school on her friend'saccount, was to accompany them to town, to begin her last year at Mrs. Wilmot's. 

Amy had seemed so well during their stay at Oakvale, that Lucy hadbecome hopeful of her complete recovery. But Dr. Eastwood warned herthat the improvement might be merely temporary, and that in any caseit was, in his judgment, impossible that Amy could ever be quitestrong and well. "And I don't know, " he said kindly to Lucy, who felta sharp pang at the thought of losing her dear little cousin, "that itis well to set your heart on the prolongation of a life which canscarcely be anything but one of weakness and suffering. "

So with many mingled feelings of hope, and fear, and regret, and manykind farewells from all their Oakvale friends, the young party tooktheir departure, and found themselves soon again among city sights andsounds. 

XIV. 

_An Unexpected Recognition. _

 "For love's a flower that will not die For lack of leafy screen; And Christian hope can cheer the eye That ne'er saw vernal green. Then be ye sure that love can bless Even in this crowded loneliness, Where ever-moving myriads seem to say, Go! thou art naught to us, nor we to thee; away!"

Mr. Brooke met the young travellers at the station, anxious about hisyoungest daughter, whose improved appearance he was much pleased tonote; and Stella met them at the door with every demonstration ofdelight. "It has been so dull here without you!" she exclaimed; "thehouse seems so quiet, after all the fun we have been having at theseaside. I've been teasing papa to let me go for you, and I would havegone if you hadn't come soon!"

She was looking prettier than ever, Lucy thought; so blooming, andgay, and graceful, after her seaside sojourn. Her cousin could notwonder that she won her way to most people's hearts, and was forced toadmit the contrast between her and her fragile little sister, whosefaint bloom even now did not remove the appearance of ill-health. Butthere was on her pale face a spiritual beauty, a repose and peace, which Stella, in all the loveliness of a pure rose-tinted complexion, lustrous eyes, and gleaming golden hair, did not possess. It was thereflection, outwardly, of the "peace of God which passethunderstanding. "

Stella talked all the evening without ceasing, and at nightaccompanied Lucy to her room, there to go on talking still, enlarging, in a lively, amusing strain, on the adventures of their seaside life;the "fun, " the "splendid bathing, " the people who were there, theirdress, manners, and conversation; all the flirtations she hadobserved, with the quick eye of a girl who as yet has no personalinterest in such matters. When at last Stella paused in her ownnarration to ask questions about Oakvale, Lucy gladly took advantageof the break to insist on postponing all further conversation untilthe morrow, especially as, she urged, they were keeping Amy from thesleep she needed so much after her long journey, and accustomed as shehad lately been to early hours. Lucy indeed felt determined that thesame thing must not happen again on any account, as the consequencesto Amy of having her mind and nervous system excited so late at night, when she was always too much disposed to wakefulness, might beexceedingly injurious. 

"Oh, how I wish Stella were more like dear Mary!" thought Lucy, as shelaid her head on her pillow, and compared Mary's kind thoughtfulnesswith Stella's impulsive, flighty giddiness. As to externals, Stellahad very much the advantage, for Mary Eastwood could not be calledpretty, and was rather reserved in manner with those whom she did notknow well; but Lucy could not help feeling Mary's great superiority asa companion, when she compared the state of mind in which Stella'sstream of gossip had left her, with the elevating, stimulatingtendency of her conversations with Mary on subjects more worthy ofimmortal beings. They seemed mutually to draw each other on to asphere far above the petty frivolities on which so many fritter awaypowers given for higher ends. Even when they did not touch on topicsdirectly religious, they seemed to be far nearer the Light that is"inaccessible and full of glory, " when discussing the working of God'slaws and providence in nature and history, than if their minds hadbeen lowered and discoloured by dwelling on the faults, follies, andpetty concerns of their neighbours. 

Sophy, who had been a little fagged and worn out by her incessantround of gaiety, previous to her going to the seaside, was now lookingmore brilliantly handsome, Lucy thought, than she had ever seen her. Stella had informed her that Sophy's betrothed had been at the seasidewith them. "And oh, he's so delightful, you can't think! So handsome, and good-natured, and obliging! I can tell you, Sophy looked proud ofhim there! He gave her the loveliest emerald set; you'll see her wearthem. And I'm pretty sure they're to be married next spring, thoughshe won't tell me; but I'll coax it out of Ada. "

Lucy thought Sophy must be very happy; yet she could not help thinkingif both she and her lover were really Christians, how much happierthey would be! Nothing Stella had said led her to suppose that he was;and if he were, what an alloy of anxiety and separation in the mostimportant points would mar the perfection of love!

It was with increased zest, and a fuller appreciation of the interestand value of her studies, that Lucy entered upon them once more. Thehappy weeks at Oakvale had been of permanent benefit to her, inopening new channels of thought and enlarging her sphere of mentalvision, both through the books she had been reading, and the commentsof Dr. And Mrs. Eastwood, both of whom had thoughtful, cultivatedminds. She now studied with very little reference to prizes, or eventhe approbation of masters, but from a deep interest in the studiesthemselves, and a feeling of their beneficial effect in leading her tohigher ranges of thought. Every new attainment was but a step to afresh starting-point in the never-ending pursuit of knowledge; andLongfellow's beautiful lines often recurred to her mind, --

 "The lofty pyramids of stone, That, wedge-like, cleave the desert airs, When nearer seen and better known, Are but gigantic flights of stairs. "

Then the feeling grew to be more and more strong with her, that everynew acquisition--every step in mental discipline which God had givenher the opportunity of making--was a talent to be held in trust andused in His service. Mrs. Eastwood had explained that, though we mayoften have to study during the years of school life without seeingwhat special use we may be called to make of our acquisitions, stillGod will undoubtedly find some use for whatever power we have gainedwhile following the leading of His providence. "Therefore, " she wouldsay, "the doubt whether such and such a thing will ever be of any useto us is no excuse for sloth in acquiring it, when it is clearly ourduty to do so. "

Her studies were rendered doubly interesting by the companionship ofMary Eastwood, who was animated by the same spirit, and in whosefriendship she found her greatest pleasure during the winter. Stellawas rather surprised at the affectionate greeting between her cousinand Miss Eastwood the first day they met at school, for she hadscarcely given Lucy an opportunity of telling her more than that theyhad met often at Oakvale. 

"Well, to think of your having all at once struck up such a violentfriendship with that stiff, quiet Miss Eastwood!" exclaimed Stella, who thought her cousin's choice of a friend rather unaccountable. Lucy's efforts to draw together her cousin and her friend wereunsuccessful, and perhaps this was quite as much Mary's fault asStella's, arising from her strong feeling against cultivating intimacywith any one who was "of the world. " It was almost the only practicalpoint on which she and Lucy disagreed, for Lucy tried to persuade herthat she might do real good if she would come more in contact with herirreligious schoolmates. But Mary replied that this might do for some, but she did not feel strong enough, --she might herself be led away. She was not yet fully persuaded in her own mind. 

So Lucy gave up the point, and had a somewhat difficult position tomaintain between her cousin and her friend, --not that Mary was everjealous, but Stella did not at all like the affection her friends tobe diverted towards any one else; indeed, it was the only thing thatever seemed really to a "put her out. " She was conscious to someextent that a much deeper sympathy existed between Lucy and MissEastwood than between Lucy and her, and she feared that if itincreased, her cousin's regard for her must necessarily diminish. 

One bright, sunny October day, when the air was clear and bracing, andthe wind was tossing the red leaves that fell from the trees in thesquares, Lucy and Stella were on their way home from school, when theyheard at a slight distance the plaintive strains of a hand-organ, carried by a meagre, careworn Italian, who seemed to be working hisinstrument mechanically, while his eye had a fixed, sad, stedfastgaze, unconscious, seemingly, of anything around him. Lucy was lookingcompassionately at the dark, sorrowful face, and wondering what hisprevious history might have been, when her eye was suddenly caught bythe familiar form and face of the girl who stood by with hertambourine, singing a simple ditty, which somehow brought old days atAshleigh back to her mind. The figure she saw, though arrayed intattered garments, and the face, though sunburnt to a deep brown, werenot so much altered as to prevent almost instant recognition. Lucygrasped Stella's arm, and exclaimed, "Why, it's Nelly!" and before theastonished Stella comprehended her meaning, she hastily steppedforward towards the tambourine-girl, who almost at the same momentstopped singing and sprang forward, exclaiming, "Oh, it's Miss Lucy, her own self!"

Both were quite unconscious, in their surprise, of the bystandersaround them; but Stella was by no means so insensible to thesituation, and was somewhat scandalized at being connected with such ascene "in the street. " She begged Lucy to ask Nelly to follow themhome, which was not far off, and then they could have any number ofexplanations at leisure. Lucy at once assented, and asked Nelly if shecould be spared for a little while. With a happy face, flushed withher surprise and delight, Nelly went up to the organ-grinder and saida few words, at which he smiled and nodded. She then followed herfriends home at a respectful distance, while the man went on his wayfrom house to house. 

Nelly's explanation of her present odd circumstances was very simple, and, on the whole, satisfactory. In the hot July weather, when shefelt her overtasked strength failing, and could scarcely manage todrag herself about to perform her daily round of duty, often scoldedfor doing it inefficiently, the poor organ-grinder came one day with aface more sorrowful than ever, and told Nelly, weeping, that hisdaughter--his _povera picciola_--had been carried off by one of thosesudden attacks that so soon run their course and snap the thread ofweakly lives. He was so lonely now, he said, he could not bear it!Would Nelly come and be his daughter, and take poor Teresa's forsakentambourine? She had a voice sweet as Teresa's own, and he would teachher to sing when he played. She should have no hard work, and noscolding, and they would take care of each other. 

It was a tempting offer to poor Nelly, pining under continual chillingindifference and fault-finding. While she was hesitating, hermistress, hearing a strange voice in the kitchen, came down in wrathto dismiss the intruder, who rose instantly at the sound of her harshvoice. "I go, signora, " he said in his foreign English, "and this girlgoes with me. You give her too hard work and hard words. I will takecare for her, and she shall be to me as the _povera_ who is dead!Come, _picciola_!"

Mrs. Williams had by this time so far recovered from her amazement asto find voice enough to demand of Nelly whether she was really goingto be so ungrateful as to leave a place where she had been so kindlytreated, and ruin herself for life, by going off with a wanderingcharacter like that. But Nelly's reply was ready. "You said, ma'am, you'd have to send me away because I couldn't do your work properly. So I think I'd better go. "

And hurriedly collecting her few possessions, she was ready in twominutes to accompany her newly-found protector. Mrs. Williamsendeavoured to detain her, threatening to "take the law of her. " ButNelly was determined. Anything was better than remaining there; andMrs. Williams, who was somewhat overawed by the Italian's determinedeye, gave up what she saw was a vain attempt. She shut the door afterthem with expressive force, and then went up-stairs to discourse toher daughter on the incredible ingratitude and heartlessness of suchcreatures. 

Nelly had faithfully served Mrs. Williams to the utmost of herstrength and ability for five months, and her mistress had in returngiven her food of the poorest quality, and one old print dress of herown, worn almost to tatters. Yet Mrs. Williams, having herself apretty hard struggle to make both ends meet, was at least moreexcusable than those who, themselves abounding in wealth and luxury, grind down, so far as they can, the poor hirelings who may be in theirpower. 

Since then Nelly had faithfully followed the poor Italian, whom, athis own desire, she called "_padre_. " It did not to her mean the sameas "father, " nor would she have given to any one else the name sacredto her own unforgotten father. But she was to the poor man as adaughter; and her brown face, though still thin, had lost the pining, wistful look which had been previously habitual to it. Lucy observedthe glow of pleasure that lighted up her face when she heard again thefamiliar sound of the organ in the distance. The _padre_ was very goodto her, she said, and though they often had long weary rounds, with ascant allowance of pennies, they always had enough to eat; andhitherto it had been very pleasant, and she had no hard scrubbing orwashing to do. 

"I'd have died soon, Miss Lucy, if I'd stayed at Mrs. Williams'. Wasit wrong to come away?"

Lucy could not say it was, in spite of the irregularity of theprecedent. 

"But the _padre_ won't be able to go about in the winter time, MissLucy, for he has such a cough and pain in his breast whenever he getswet or cold; and some days he's hardly able to play his organ, andthen I don't know what he'll do. What could I do, Miss Lucy, to helphim?"

Lucy promised to consider the matter. She had obtained leave to givethe organ-grinder and Nelly a good substantial meal in the kitchen, which was greatly relished by both. She took down the name of thestreet in which they lived, and got a minute description of the house, promising soon to visit them. The man was evidently far from strong, and his bright, hollow eye and haggard face, sometimes unnaturallyflushed, betokened too surely incipient disease. 

"And why did you never come to see me, Nelly? You knew where I was, "said Lucy, as they were going away. 

"Oh, Miss Lucy, " exclaimed Nelly eagerly, "but I did, three times, butyou weren't in; I was ashamed to come any more. The last times theysaid you were away in the country. "

"But why didn't you leave word where you were living, and I would havefound you out?"

"Oh, Miss Lucy, I couldn't think you'd be at the trouble of coming tosee me!"

"Well, I will come, though, now I know where you live, " said Lucy asshe bade them good-bye. 

Little Amy had been very much interested in the history of Nelly, asLucy had told it to her, and had come down to see her. She stood by, putting her thin hand on hers, and looking up wonderingly in her face, exciting Nelly's compassion and interest by her sweet, delicate look. "She's more like an angel than Miss Stella, though I used to think herlike one, " thought Nelly. 

Amy asked many questions about Nelly and the "poor man, " and beggedLucy to take her when she went to see them. But so long a walk was outof the question for Amy, nor would her mother have consented to leteither her or Stella go to such a quarter of the city. Even Lucy'sgoing was a matter for some consideration, but she begged hard to beallowed to fulfil her promise. At last Edwin good-naturedly said he"didn't mind going with Lucy, to see that she wasn't carried off forher clothes, like the little girl in the story-books;" and they madethe expedition together, her cousin waiting outside while Lucy paidher most welcome visit. 

They found the place a very quiet one, and the street, though poor, not at all disreputable. Edwin gave the best account of it he could, that Lucy might be able in future, without his escort, to visit Nelly, as she occasionally did, accompanied by her friend Mary Eastwood, whosometimes spent the Saturday afternoon with her at Mr. Brooke's. Theirvisits and little gifts of money were very timely, for the poororgan-grinder was growing less and less able to persevere in hisuncertain calling; and though Nelly was practising plain sewing, thatshe might be able to earn something herself, it was not likely thather exertions could bring in much. 

In these visits to Nelly the two friends soon found out other poorpeople in the same locality, even more urgently needing a kind wordand a helping hand. In work of this kind, as in most other things, "itis only the first step which costs. " One has only to make a beginning, and straightway one case leads to another, and that interest growswith the work, until to some happy and highly-privileged people itreally becomes their meat and drink thus to do their Father'sbusiness. 

This new kind of work was a great interest to Lucy, and in planninghow best to aid the poor in whom she was interested, and in diligentand happy study, the autumn months passed rapidly away. 

XV. 

_The Flower Fadeth. _

 "And yet His words mean more than they, And yet He owns their praise; Why should we think He turns away From infants' simple lays?"

As the autumn deepened into winter, bringing cold, damp days, andchilling, keen winds, little Amy's strength seemed steadily todecrease, notwithstanding all the care taken to reinforce it by themost nourishing diet that money could command. Every delicacy thatcould tempt her appetite, every kind of nourishment that couldstrengthen her system, was tried, without success. Dr. Eastwood hadbeen right in his augury, that her seeming improvement had been onlytemporary, and that the delicately-organized constitution was notmeant for the wear and tear of long life. So evident at last did thedecline become, that a consultation was held as to whether it wouldnot be advisable to remove her for the winter to a warmer climate;but the more experienced physicians were decidedly of opinion thattaking her away from her home and family would be a needless cruelty, and that, since no human skill could now arrest the disease, it wasbetter to leave the little patient to live, as long as she might, surrounded by the comforts and the kind nursing at home. This opinionwas not fully communicated to her parents, but they instinctivelyfelt, what was really the case, that their child was only left intheir home because she must ere long be removed from it for ever. 

Lucy had long taught herself to think of such an issue as at least aprobability; but her cousins by no means realized the advanced stateof Amy's disease. They persuaded themselves that, with care, she would"get over" her delicacy, and they would not even think of thepossibility of a fatal termination of it. One cause of this wasprobably the circumstance that the winter gaieties had commenced, andthat invitations, parties, and dress were now uppermost in theirminds. Had they been convinced that their little sister was dying, they could hardly have had the heart to join in their usual round ofgaiety; but they easily persuaded themselves of the contrary, and feltno scruples about going on as usual. 

Stella, who had shot up almost to womanly height within the last year, had assumed the dress and appearance of a "young lady, " asdistinguished from a little girl. The foretaste of gay life she hadhad at the seaside had made her impatient to plunge into it at once, and she besieged her parents with entreaties that she might be allowedto "come out" that winter. She succeeded so far with her father, whocould seldom deny her anything, as to obtain leave to go to as manyprivate parties as she could, without interfering with her studies. But of course, with a limit so indefinite, the bounds were oftenoverstepped. Her love of gaiety only grew with the indulgence of thetaste, and she felt really unhappy when she had to see her sisters goto a party without her. 

But late hours and excitement very soon affected a constitution whichhad never before been so severely tried; and as she would conceal anyindisposition when she thought it might keep her at home, theconsequences sometimes became serious. At last, her rashness in goingout, thinly dressed, one cold winter evening, when she was alreadysuffering from a slight cold, brought on a severe attack ofinflammation of the lungs, by which she was prostrated for severalweeks, and which left behind a slight cough. This, the doctor warnedher, would require the utmost care, to prevent its growing into whatmight prove very serious indeed. 

Lucy, of course, owing to her deep mourning, and the school-work whichengrossed her mind and time, had had no temptation to mingle in any ofher cousins' amusements, though, had it been otherwise, she could notconscientiously have frequented scenes of amusement which she had beentaught by her father to consider unworthy of those who have made uptheir minds to leave all and follow Christ. For the same reason, shehad refused Stella's urgent solicitations to accompany her inoccasional visits to the opera and theatre, places of which her fatherhad often told her the spiritual atmosphere was entirely foreign tothat in which Christians should seek ever to dwell. Though Stella'sglowing descriptions sometimes excited the longing to see the magicsights and hear the magnificent music of which they told, she feltthat she could not sincerely pray, "Lead us not into temptation, " ifshe wilfully went into it; nor could she from the heart have asked herSaviour's blessing on the evening's amusement. 

During the general engrossment of the household with Stella's alarmingattack, Amy's rapid sinking of strength was not for some time muchnoticed, except by Lucy, who felt, in spite of her hopes, that the endwas drawing near. 

Lucy had been forbidden to speak to her little cousin about death, asif the avoidance of the thought could have anything to do withdelaying the event; but happily there was no need for doing so, sinceher little heart was evidently resting on her Saviour, and she wasthus prepared for whatever He should send her. Her childlike faith, and her vivid realization of heavenly things, seemed to grow strongeras her bodily strength failed; and though she never specially referredto death, the approach of which a child is not able to realize, hermind was evidently full of thoughts about heaven, about its gloriesand occupations, about Him who is "the resurrection and the life. " Shewas always asking questions about the childhood of Jesus, --questionswhich Lucy often found it impossible to answer, --and was never tiredof hearing the few passages in the New Testament which referred to it. 

Some instances of childish sin seemed to weigh upon her conscience;but Lucy reminded her that the Lamb of God had washed away her sinswith His own blood, and that the moment we come to Him by faith, weare sure of the forgiveness of past sin, as well as of deliverancefrom its present power. This perfectly satisfied her, and nothing elseseemed to trouble her. 

The little girl was intensely interested in the poor Italian, who wassinking almost as fast as she was. He seldom now stirred from hischair in the warmest corner of the room, and his cough had becometerribly harassing, especially at night. His breathing, too, was muchoppressed; and poor Nelly had often a heavy heart, as the convictionforced itself upon her that she was about to lose the kind friend andprotector around whom her warm heart had closely entwined itself. Shetried hard to earn a little for his support and her own, by the sewingwhich she occasionally got, often from people nearly as poor asherself; but her utmost exertions in this way would not have sufficedto keep them from starvation, had it not been for the timely aidbrought by Lucy and by Mary Eastwood, whose well-supplied purse wasalways ready to furnish what was needed for their comfort. Lucy hadvery little to give of her own, but Mrs. Brooke was sufficientlyinterested in her account of the case to be very willing to help, forshe was not at all indisposed to benevolent actions, if she had hadthe energy to discover the way. Amy, too, always insisted that aportion of the delicacies prepared for her should be kept for "thepoor organ-grinder;" and one of her greatest pleasures was in hearingfrom Lucy how the invalid liked what had been sent him, and howgratefully he sent his thanks to the little "signorina. " She askedLucy whether the poor man loved Jesus, and would go to heaven when hedied, and seemed much grieved at hearing of his praying to the Virgin, the mother of Jesus. 

"What a pity!" she would say, "for she can't hear him, nor save him, can she? And so his prayers will be of no use!"

She lay still for a short time, considering the matter, and then said, as if a ray of comfort had come to her, "But Jesus can hear him, andperhaps He will give him what he needs, though he didn't ask Him. "

Lucy would hope so too, and agree with her that when he got to heavenhe would know better; for she had reason to believe, notwithstandingAntonio's prayers to the Virgin, --the remnant of the superstitiousfaith he had held from childhood, --that he was nevertheless graduallycoming to the knowledge of the Saviour as the only mediator andsacrifice for sin. Nelly's treasured card was fastened upconspicuously in their little room, and the rich colours in which thetext "Looking unto Jesus" was printed, pleased the Italian's southernlove of colour, and led his eye often to rest upon it, as he spent thelong hours sitting wearily in his chair. And gradually he came toattach some real meaning to the words, which at first he had regardedmerely as a pleasant thing to look at. Nelly would sometimes tell himsome of the things Miss Preston said to her about it, which clungtenaciously to her memory; and how the thought that Jesus was herFriend and Saviour, to whom she must always look in her need, had beenher one comfort when left friendless and alone. She often read to hima chapter out of the little Bible which was Lucy's parting gift whenshe left Ashleigh, and had ever since been Nelly's dearest treasure. And he would always listen with deep interest to the history of thewonderful life which has come home to the hearts of thousands in allthe centuries which have elapsed since it was lived among the hillsand valleys of Palestine. He loved to hear Nelly sing, in her rich, sweet voice, her favourite hymn, "I lay my sins on Jesus, " and wouldsometimes try to join in the strains himself as well as his feeblenesswould let him. He showed his appreciation of the motto, in his ownway, by placing his crucifix above the card, and he would sit forhours gazing silently at both. 

Lucy, in her frequent visits, often read to him the passages whichbear most directly on the love of Christ, and the full and freeforgiveness of sin through Him; and she sometimes added simplecomments of her own, preferring, however, in general, to leave God'swords to work their own way into his heart. His church prejudices shenever ventured to touch, feeling that to do so might arouse themagainst the reception of the simple gospel, and do him harm, byexciting his mind injuriously and bewildering him with conflictingopinions. She avoided all collision with ideas which had been so longclosely intertwined with the only ideas of religion he had, feelingsure that the light of gospel truth, once introduced into the heart, would sooner or later disperse the darkness of error by its own power. 

Except for the one dark foreboding, that became, month by month, andweek by week, more distinct, these would have been very happy days forNelly. Her warm Irish heart found scope for its action, incontinually ministering to the comfort of one to whom she was bound byties of love and gratitude, and no harsh or unkind word now fell uponher ear. The poor Italian, always of a gentle nature, except wheninfluenced by passion, had ever treated her with indulgent kindness, and she had given him her warm affection in return. Her assiduousattentions were labours of love, and so was the needlework at whichshe stitched away with diligent though unpractised hands. Coarse, hardsewing it was; but Nelly did not mind that, in the feeling that shewas earning something, however small. While she sat plying her needlethrough the short days and long evenings of the winter, the invalid'sthoughts would wander back to long past, but unforgotten days, and hewould amuse Nelly with little bits of his past history. He woulddescribe, over and over again, his childhood's home in the lovely_Riviera_, where the intense azure of the sky, and the pure sapphireof the Mediterranean, contrasted sharply with the white glitter of therocks as they emerged in bold relief from their drapery of rich, deep-hued vegetation. He would tell her about the white Italianvillage, nestling among the vine-clad terraces and sloping hill-sidesclad with olive and myrtle, and about the trellised house where he wasborn, and his father's little vineyard, where the rich purple andamber clusters, such as little Amy now sent him as costly luxuries, hung down in rich masses which any hand could pick. Such descriptionswere intensely fascinating to Nelly's quick Celtic imagination, andshe would speak in her turn of the breezy slopes by the sea where shehad so often played in days she could still vividly remember; of thearomatic scent of the burning heaps of sea-weed, whose smoulderingfires she used to fan; of the fresh, bracing sea-air, and dancing bluewaves with their snowy crests of foam, and the distant white sailswinging their way to some unknown haven. 

Their talk always took a sadder tone when the Italian spoke of hislater life, and told how he left his quiet village, hoping to make hisfortune in the great world as a musician; how his hopes had beengradually crushed down, and he wandered from place to place till heemigrated to America, where the deadly cholera carried off his wifeand her infant boy, leaving him only his little daughter; how, sincethen, dispirited and weary, he had managed to pick up a living as besthe could, gradually forsaking more ambitious instruments for hisbarrel-organ, till the tide of life, gradually running low, wasreduced to its lowest ebb by the shock of his daughter's death, superadded to the decline which had long been insidiously undermininghis system. 

"But it will soon be over now, my child, " he said, --"all the troubleand the nursing. You have been very good to the poor _forestiere_since the _povera_ went to the blessed saints. I shall soon see heragain, and Anita, and the little Giulio, in the better country thatthe _signorina_ was reading about, --better, she says, than the_patria_ itself, with its olives and vines. Ah! I think I see itagain, when I dream. "

Such a speech as this always melted poor Nelly into tears; and, seeingthe pain it gave her, he did not often refer to his approaching death. To Lucy, however, he sometimes spoke of his concern for the future lotof his adopted daughter, who was again to be left desolate. Lucyherself had been thinking a good deal about it, and wondering whethershe could induce her aunt to take Nelly. Amy, however, arranged thematter unexpectedly. She had been asking Lucy, with great earnestness, what poor Nelly would do when the organ-grinder should die; and whenMrs. Brooke next came into the room, she surprised her with thequestion, "Mamma, may Nelly come and live here when the organ-grinderdies?"

Mrs. Brooke looked bewildered, until Lucy explained the matter. Shehesitated, and would have put Amy off with the promise that she "wouldsee about it. " But Amy was so anxious to have the point settled, thather mother at last gave the absolute promise she asked; and Lucy hadthe satisfaction of announcing to poor Antonio, the next time shevisited him, to his great relief and satisfaction, that Nelly's futurehome, so long as she desired it, should be with Mrs. Brooke. 

XVI. 

_Darkness and Light. _

 "Tell me the old, old story, If you would really be In any time of trouble A comforter to me. "

Fred came to town for a few days in his Christmas vacation, just asStella was beginning to recover from the severe attack which hadprostrated her. Mr. Brooke's house being so full of sickness, Lucy, though very unwilling to leave Amy, thought it best, on Fred'saccount, to accept an urgent invitation from the Eastwoods that theyshould both spend a week at Oakvale. He would thus have a pleasantervacation than under the circumstances he could have at his uncle's, where he felt himself in the way, and where Lucy had so many demandsupon her time that she could see but little of a brother whose visitswere so rare. The change of scene was very much needed by her, for theconfinement and fatigue of her sick-room attendance had had adepressing influence on her health and spirits. 

It was certainly, in spite of all her anxiety about Amy, a veryenjoyable change to the bright, cheerful, Christian atmosphere of Dr. Eastwood's house, and the bracing influence of the outdoor exercise inwhich the others made her participate. She felt as if it were wrong toenjoy it so much, when Amy, she knew, was dying, and Stella as yet inso precarious a condition. But God sometimes gives, in very tryingcircumstances, a buoyancy and cheerfulness of feeling quiteindependent of the circumstances, which seem specially sent tocommunicate a strength that will be greatly needed in approaching daysof trial, --a pleasant "land of Beulah, " before the watchers standquite on the shore of "the dark river. " And it can never be rightsullenly to close the heart in determined sadness against the cheeringinfluences of God's light, and air, and bright sunshine; nor can weusually, if we would, act so foolishly and ungratefully. That happyweek at Oakvale often seemed to Lucy a sort of oasis of sunshine, ascompared with the depressing weeks that preceded and followed it. 

Oakvale looked scarcely less beautiful now that the surrounding hillswore their white mantle of snow, contrasting with the intense blue ofthe winter sky and the dark green of the pines, while the little riverlay, a strip of glittering ice, under the trees, leafless now, whichovershadowed its ceaseless ripple in the warm summer days. The youngparty had pleasant sleigh-rides to see old favourite spots in theirwinter aspect, and Fred joined the younger children in their skatingand snowballing, though he enjoyed much more the walks in which heaccompanied his sister and her friend. Mary and he got on as well asLucy had expected, although she was disappointed that, after theirvisit was over, she could not draw from him any enthusiastic praiseof Miss Eastwood; at which she would have been a little vexed, but forthe reflection that Fred, unlike most people, never said the half ofwhat he thought. He did not, however, leave Oakvale without a promiseto renew his visit during the summer vacation. 

Lucy, on her return home, found her little cousin evidently sinkingfast. Her strength was almost exhausted, and she suffered a good dealfrom pain and restlessness; but scarcely a complaint ever escaped herlips. She often talked now about going to Jesus, the thought on whichher mind seemed most to dwell. Mrs. Brooke, seeing this, at last sentfor the minister whose church the family usually attended on Sundays, that being the extent of their connection with it. But he was astranger to Amy, --for his ministerial visits had never been desired orencouraged, --and though she was grateful to him for coming to see herand praying beside her bed, she could not speak to him, as she couldto Lucy, about her willingness to go to the happy home which herSaviour was preparing for her. Still her visitor could see enough ofthe change God had wrought in her heart, to make him marvel, as hetook his leave, at the wonderful way in which God sometimes raises upto Himself a witness in the most worldly homes, and perfects praise"out of the mouth of babes and sucklings. "

The little invalid was sometimes slightly delirious when the hecticfever was at its height, but her wandering fancies were always ofgentle and pleasant things. She would ask if they did not hear thesweet singing in her room; and when Lucy would ask what was sung, would say, "Jerusalem, " meaning "Jerusalem the Golden, " her favouritehymn next to the one she loved best of all, "I lay my sins on Jesus. "

One night, when she had been asleep for some time, with Lucy onlywatching beside her, she suddenly awoke, a flash of joy lighting upher face. "Lucy, " she murmured faintly; but when Lucy bent over her, she could catch but one word--"Jesus. " Lucy saw a change come over hercountenance, which she had seen once before, and ere the others, hastily summoned, could be with her, the little form lay lifeless, itsimmortal tenant having escaped to the heavenly home, whither she hadbeen longing to go. 

No one could help being thankful that the sufferings of the patientlittle invalid were over. Indeed, with the exception of Mrs. Brooke, Lucy, and Stella, no one showed any profound grief for the death of achild who had always been very much secluded, and but littleappreciated. But Mrs. Brooke's sorrow was mingled with someself-reproach that she had not been to her departed child all that amother should have been, and she suffered now for the wilfulnesswhich, when deprived of one blessing, had turned petulantly fromanother. Lucy constantly missed her little favourite, and her sorrowfor the loss of her father, never quite removed, seemed revived anewby her cousin's death. But she could feel that Amy was infinitelyhappier in her heavenly home than she could ever have been on earth;and she felt not only that she should join her there, but also thatthere might be an intercourse and communion of spirit in Christ, incomprehensible to those who look only to things "seen andtemporal. "

It was Lucy's greatest solace to visit poor Antonio, and speak to himof Amy's concern for him, and her desire that he should find rest andpeace in the love of that Saviour in whom she had so fully trusted. Hewas deeply touched on hearing some of the things she had said, and thetears came to his eyes when he spoke of her kindness in sending somany things for his comfort. 

"But, " he said with deep feeling, "it was very different for ablessed, innocent child like her, and a sinful man like me. " Lucyexplained that all are under the condemnation of sin, since none arewithout it; and that no sins are too great to be taken away by theLamb of God once offered as a sacrifice for "the sin of the world. " Helistened silently, while an expression of hope stole over his haggardcountenance; and Nelly told Miss Lucy, with much pleasure, that afterthat he prayed much less to the Virgin, and his prayers were moregenerally spontaneous ejaculations, expressing the deeply-felt need ofa Redeemer. 

Stella's grief for her little sister, partly owing, perhaps, to herphysical weakness, had seemed more violent than that of any one else. The paroxysms of hysterical crying which frequently came on, and anaversion to take necessary nourishment, very much retarded herrecovery, and prevented her regaining strength. As the acuteness ofher sorrow gradually wore itself out, the unaccustomed feelings ofweakness and depression brought on fits of fretfulness, in which allLucy's forbearance was called for; but she remembered howgood-naturedly her cousin had borne with her own fit of nervousirritability, and she generally managed to soothe and pacify her, evenwhen she was most unreasonable, and tired out the patience of bothSophy and Ada. 

After the first few weeks had passed, the shadowy hush and solemnitybrought by death gradually passed away, and except for the deep blackcrape of the dresses, and the abstinence from all gaieties, the familylife seemed to have returned to its former tone. So far as externalsigns went, there was no more realizing sense of that invisible worldto which one of their number had gone--no more "looking unto" Him whohad been her support in the dark valley--than there had been before. And when a bereavement does not draw the heart nearer to God, there isevery reason to fear that it drives it farther from Him. 

But another heavy sorrow, to one at least of the number, soonfollowed. One wild, stormy morning in March, when the letters were, asusual, brought in at breakfast-time, Sophy quickly looked up for thewelcome letter, with its firm, manly superscription, which regularlyappeared twice or thrice a-week. There was one with the usualpostmark, but in a different handwriting, and addressed not to her, but to Mr. Brooke. Sophy's misgivings were awakened at once, and onseeing her father's expression as he hurriedly glanced through theletter, she forgot her usual self-control, and exclaimed in agitatedtones, "O papa, what is it?" But his only reply was to lead her fromthe room, signing to his wife to follow. 

Sophy did not appear again that day, and the atmosphere of gloomseemed again to descend over the house. Lucy waited long alone, notliking to intrude upon the family distress, till Stella at lastreturned, still hysterically sobbing. 

"They say 'troubles never come singly, '" she said, "and I'm sure it'strue. Poor Sophy! Mr. Langton has been killed by the upsetting of hiscarriage. The horse ran away, and he fell on his head, and never spokeagain. Poor Sophy is almost insensible. I don't believe sheunderstands yet what has happened. Oh, what will she do?"

Lucy's heart was repeating the same question. All her sympathies werecalled forth by so crushing a sorrow, and as she could do nothing elsefor her cousin, she prayed earnestly that He who could, would bind upthe broken heart. 

Sophy remained for two days in her own room, and then came down againto join the family circle, evidently trying her best to avoid anyoutward demonstration of sorrow, though her deadly paleness, and eyeswhich looked as if they never closed, told how acutely she wassuffering. She was not of a nature to encourage or even bear sympathy, and almost resented any instance of special consideration which seemedto spring from pity for her great sorrow. 

It was only when shut up in her own room that she gave way to thebursts of agonized feeling which, to some extent, relieved theconstant pressure upon her heart. When in the family, she seemed toseek constant employment, not in the light reading in which she hadbeen accustomed to indulge, but in books requiring much more thought, and even some effort to master them. Lucy's class-books were calledinto requisition, and her drawing was resumed, though she now shrankfrom touching the disused piano. She had a good deal of artistictalent; and had art ever been placed before her as an ennoblingpursuit, she might have attained very considerable excellence in someof its departments. But hitherto she had confined herself to theexecution of a few graceful trifles, since her drawing-lessons hadbeen given up on leaving school. Now, however, she seemed to havetaken a fresh start, and copied studies and practised touchesindefatigably, without speaking or moving for hours. 

She would sit, too, for half the morning apparently absorbed in abook; but Lucy noticed that, while thus seemingly occupied, she wouldgaze abstractedly at a page for long intervals without seeming to turna leaf or get a line farther on. Lucy longed to be able to direct themourner to the "balm in Gilead, " whose efficacy she knew byexperience, --to the kind Physician who can bind up so tenderly thewounds that other healers cannot touch without aggravating. But shedared not utter a word of the sympathies of which her heart was full, and could only pray that a Higher Hand might deal with the sufferer. 

One wet Sunday evening in April, Lucy came down in her waterproofcloak and rubbers, ready to set out for the neighbouring church, theone to which she had gone on the first Sunday of her arrival, andwhich she frequently attended when the weather was unfavourable, orwhen she had to go alone. She was not sorry when circumstances madethis desirable, for she enjoyed the service and the sermon more thanshe did at the church the family usually attended. The words of thepreacher seemed to come with more power and tenderness, --perhapsbecause he had himself been brought through much tribulation to knowthe God of all consolation, and had thus been made able to comfortothers "by the comfort wherewith he himself was comforted of God. " Atall events, it was certain that of the consolation abounding in Christhe was an earnest and able expounder. 

"What! are you going out when it is so very wet?" asked Stella, as hercousin entered the room. Sophy, who had been gazing moodily into thefire over the book she was holding, started up, saying, "I think I'llgo with you, Lucy. Wait a few minutes for me. " Her mother remonstrateda little; but Sophy's restless longing for change and action of somekind was often uncontrollable, and the two girls set out through thewind and rain, clinging closely together to support each other on thewet and slippery pavement. 

How earnestly Lucy prayed in silence, as they traversed the shortdistance, that the preacher they were going to hear might have aspecial message to the troubled, heavy heart beside her, and howintensely did she listen to the prayers the minister offered up, tocatch any petitions that might seem suited to her cousin's need! Shewas slightly disappointed when he announced his text, "O Israel, thouhast destroyed thyself, but in me is thy help found, " for she hadhoped that it would be one of the many beautiful, comforting passagesin which the New Testament abounds. But her disappointment wore off ashe proceeded with his discourse. 

He first briefly sketched the history of the rebellion of Israel indeparting from the God of her help, and in transferring to the idolsof the heathen the allegiance which was due to the living God. Hevividly described the "destruction" which must be the natural resultof such a departure from the source of her highest life. Then he spokeof the means by which God sought to bring her back, --of the purifyingjudgments which He sent, in love and mercy, to restore her tospiritual health, and of the inexhaustible supply of "help, " of tendercompassion and restoring power, with which He was ready to meet her onher return. 

Having finished this part of his subject, he drew a striking parallelbetween the ancient Israel and the multitudes of human beings in everyage, who, instead of loving and serving the living God with all theirsoul, are continually setting up for themselves earthly idols of everyvariety, which fill up His place in their hearts, and exclude Him fromtheir thoughts. Wealth, splendour, position, power, fame, pleasure, --even man's highest earthly blessing, human loveitself, --were set up and worshipped, as if they contained for theirworshipper the highest end and happiness of his soul. What was thecause of all the broken hearts and blighted lives from which iscontinually ascending such a wailing symphony of sorrow without hope?What but the perverse determination of the heart to find reposeelsewhere than in its true resting-place, --to set up the veryblessings which flow from the hand of its God in the place of theGiver?

Then, in a few touching, earnest words, he showed how God must often, in mercy to the soul, send severe judgments and afflictions to bringthe wanderers back to their "Help;" and of the depths of compassion, of love, of tenderness, of healing, of purest happiness, which wereto be found in that divine Helper, who hath said, "Come unto me, allye that labour and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest. "

Never had Lucy heard the speaker more impressive, and she thanked Godin her heart her cousin should have been brought to listen to truthswhich she had probably never before heard with any real understandingof them. Sophy sat back in a corner of the seat, her head resting onher hand, and her face hidden in her thick black veil. She remainedalmost motionless until the sermon was concluded, and then theysilently left the church, Lucy not daring to speak to her. 

Before they reached home, however, Sophy suddenly broke the silence bysaying, in a low, agitated voice:

"Lucy, you seem to be what people call a Christian. Can you say, fromyour own heart and experience, that you believe all that is true aboutChrist giving such peace and comfort in trouble?"

Lucy replied, earnestly and sincerely, that she could, --that she hadfelt that peace and comfort when sorrow had been sent her. 

"And how does it come? how do you get it?" Sophy asked. 

"I don't know any other way, Sophy dear, than by going to Him andbelieving His own words. They often seem to come straight from Him, asa message of comfort. "

Nothing more was said, but from that time Sophy's Bible was often inher hands. Its study, indeed, took the place of her other self-chosenlabours, and she read it with an attention and interest it had neverawakened before. That she did not study it in vain, seemed evident inher softened, gentler manner, in the more peaceful expression of hercountenance, and in the quiet thoughtfulness which she began to showfor others. She would sometimes ask Lucy what she thought about apassage of Scripture in which she was interested, and the few wordsshe said about it would give her cousin a clue to the working of hermind. But her habitual reserve had not yet worn off, and Lucy did notventure to trespass upon it. 

She expressed a desire to accompany Lucy in some of her visits to thepoor Italian, who was perceptibly sinking fast with the advancingspring. He had, however, grown much in trust in his Saviour, and inspiritual knowledge, especially since Lucy had procured for him anItalian Bible, which he could read with much more ease and profit thanan English one. He seemed now to have a deep sense of the evil of hispast careless life, when even the external forms of religion had beengiven up, and he had been, like the prodigal, wandering in a farcountry. 

"And how good is the Father in heaven, that He has a welcome home anda fatted calf for His wanderer!" he would say earnestly, the tearsrising to the dark lustrous eyes, that sparkled so brightly in thepale, sunken face. 

Sophy listened, half wonderingly, half wistfully, to the few andbroken, but earnest words in which he told of the pardon and peace hehad found in "Looking unto Jesus. " "I see the blessed words there allthe day, " he said, pointing to the wall, "and they make me glad. "

"Lucy, you have a card like that, " said Sophy, as they left the house. "I wish you would give it to me to keep in my room, to remind me ofthat poor man's words. "

Lucy gladly complied with the request, though she missed her card agood deal, and hoped that its motto might be of use to its new owner. Sophy, however, painted the motto in much more elaborate and beautifulworkmanship, had it framed and glazed, and hung it up in her cousin'sroom one day while she was out, with a little slip of paper attached, bearing the inscription, "With Sophy's love and hearty thanks. "

One lovely day in May, when all nature seemed rejoicing in thegladness of the approaching summer, Lucy went as usual to visitAntonio, carrying some of the delicacies which Mrs. Brooke stillcontinued to send him, chiefly for Amy's sake. How often might therich greatly alleviate the sufferings of sickness in poverty, bytimely gifts of luxuries, which at such a time are almost necessaries, yet which the poor cannot buy!

Lucy found the patient unable now to rise, and struggling with thesuffocating sensation of oppressed breathing. He could scarcely speak, but he listened with pleasure to the few words she read to him; and asshe left him, he pressed her hand convulsively, saying in a low, expressive tone, "Good-bye. "

Lucy felt she should not see him again in life, and was not surprisedwhen Nelly came next day, crying bitterly, to tell her that heradopted father's weary pilgrimage was ended. 

The poor girl remained in the now desolate home only until the simplefuneral was over, and then entered Mrs. Brooke's family, where herwarm, grateful heart found comfort in doing everything she could forMiss Lucy, whose presence made her new place seem again a home. 

XVII. 

_Home Again. _

 "And this was once my home; The leaves, light rustling, o'er me whisper clear, The sun but shines on thee where thou dost roam, It smiled upon thee here!"

Stella had been losing instead of gaining strength since the warmweather came on, and her parents were now really alarmed about her, and were considering what would be the best and most bracing place tosend her to during the heat of the summer. But Stella, with aninvalid's capricious fancy, had formed a plan of her own, and sheinsisted, with all her old wilfulness, on its being carried out. Itwas, that Lucy and she should go together to Ashleigh, to stay at MillBank Farm, if Mrs. Ford would consent to receive them as boarders. Herformer visit was connected in her mind with pure, healthful, and happyassociations, and she thought that the fresh country air, which she sowell remembered, and the delicious milk from Mrs. Ford's sleek cows, would do her more good than anything else. It need not be said thatthe project was a delightful one for Lucy; and as Ashleigh wascertainly a healthy place, it was decided that they should go thitherunder the escort of Fred, who also wished to pay a short visit to hisold home. Bessie wrote that her mother would be delighted to receivethem; and Stella, with more of her old light-heartedness than she hadshown for a long time, hurried the preparations for her journey. 

Nelly was to remain in the house with a kind, trustworthy woman duringthe absence of the rest of the family at the seaside. Although she wassorry to lose her dear Miss Lucy, she was much interested in thecircumstance that she was going to Ashleigh, and sent many gratefulmessages to Mrs. Ford and Bessie. To the latter she sent a present ofa little silk necktie, bought, with great satisfaction, out of herfirst wages. 

Any one who has ever revisited a dearly loved home can easily imagineLucy's delight, when from the deck of the steamboat her straining eyescaught the first glimpse of the white houses of Ashleigh and the greychurch on the hill; can imagine her delight at recognising thewell-known faces, and the familiar objects which, after her longabsence, seemed so strangely natural! But the happiness of being oncemore among scenes so associated with early and happy recollections wasnot untinged with sadness; for the vividness with which the old lifewas recalled made the changes seem as vivid also, and stirred up inall its acuteness the sense of loss, which had of late been partiallydeadened by the exciting changes of her present life. Every stepcalled up her father's image with intense force in scenes sointerwoven with her memories of him. It was strange to see the housewhich had been her home from infancy tenanted by strangers, and tomiss all the familiar faces of the home circle, whom she had almostexpected to find there still. It gave her a dreary sense ofloneliness, even in the midst of the many kind friends who were eagerto welcome back, both for her father's sake and her own, the daughterof their beloved pastor. 

Stella's highest spirits seemed to return when she found herselfdriving rapidly along the road to the farm in the conveyance whichBessie and her eldest brother--whom Lucy would scarcely haverecognised--had brought to meet them. Bessie was not much changed. Hergood-humoured face had more sweetness and earnestness of expressionthan it had once worn, and her manner at home had the considerate, half-maternal air of an eldest daughter. Mrs. Ford, too, was lessbustling, with a quiet repose about her hospitable kindliness thatgave a feeling of rest and comfort, and was the result of being less"cumbered about much serving, " and more disposed to let her heartdwell on the "better part, " on which she now set a truer value. A moreperceptible regard for it, indeed, pervaded, the whole family, andBessie and her brother were, both of them, Sunday-school teachers now. 

Mrs. Ford and Bessie were much shocked at the change in Stella, whoseblooming appearance they well remembered. Lucy, had become soaccustomed to her cousin's altered looks, that she thought her lookingrather better than usual, under the influence of the change andexcitement. But Mrs. Ford shook her head mournfully over her inprivate. "She looks to me in a decline, " she said to her husband. "I'm afraid she hasn't many years before her in this world!"

But another change besides the external one had come over her, sogradually that Lucy had not observed it till now, when the placebrought back so vividly the recollection of the gay, flippant Stellaof old. She had certainly grown more thoughtful, more quiet, even moreserious; and Lucy observed that her former levity had quite departed, and that a flippant remark never now fell from her lips. Her oldwilfulness of manner continued to characterize her, but it was owingchiefly to the caprice of disease. She was shy of joining in religiousconversation, but seemed to listen with great interest whenever Lucyand Bessie spoke to each other of things connected with the "lifehidden with Christ in God. " At such times she would look as if shewere trying to gain a clue to a mystery which puzzled, and yetintensely interested her. 

It was with mingled pleasure and sadness that Lucy once more took herseat in her father's church, and listened to the voice of another fromhis old pulpit. His successor, Mr. Edwards, though a man of adifferent stamp, resembled him a good deal in the earnestness of hisspirit and the simplicity of his gospel preaching. The message was thesame, though the mode of delivering it was slightly different. Hereceived with kindness and courtesy the daughter of his predecessor, and invited her during her stay to take a share in the teaching of theSunday school, --an invitation which she willingly accepted, and hadthe pleasure of finding in her new class a few of her old scholars. 

As Stella had a fancy for seeing the Sunday school, Lucy accepted theinvitation, given to them both by Mr. Edwards, to spend with hisfamily the interval between the morning and evening service. Stella'szeal for seeing the Sunday school, however, died out with the firstSunday; and after that she always remained with Mrs. Edwards, who, being very delicate, and having a young infant, had been obliged toresign her own class, the one now taken by Lucy. Mrs. Edwards was asweet, gentle woman, overflowing with Christian love and kindness; andas Stella at once took a great fancy to her, she exercised a verybeneficial influence over one who was much more easily swayed bykindness than by any other power. 

The celebration of the Lord's Supper was approaching, and as Bessiewas looking forward to participating for the first time in the holyordinance, Lucy gladly embraced the opportunity of making a formalconfession of her faith in Christ, and claiming the blessing attachedto the ordinance by Him who instituted it. It was pleasant, too, to doso in the very place in which He had first, by the cords of love, drawn her heart to Himself. Solemn as she knew the step to be, she hadlived too long on the principle of "looking unto Jesus" not to feelthat she had only to look to Him still to give her the fittingpreparation of heart for receiving the tokens of His broken body andshed blood; and in this happy confidence she came forward to obey Hisdying command. 

Stella had seemed much interested about the approaching communion, andhad asked a good many questions respecting it, and as to the nature ofthe qualification for worthily partaking in it. At last, much toLucy's surprise, she asked her, with a timidity altogether new toher, whether she thought _she_ might come forward also. 

It was with difficulty that Lucy could restrain the expression of hersurprise at the unexpected question, but she did repress it, andreplied:

"It all depends on whether you have made up your mind to take Jesusfor your Lord and Saviour, and to follow Him, dear Stella!"

"I should like to, if I knew how, " she said. "I have been speaking toMrs. Edwards about it, and she thinks I might come. I know I'm notwhat I ought to be, and that I've been very careless and wicked; butMrs. Edwards says if I'm really in earnest, and I think I am, I maycome to the communion, and that I shall be made fit, if I ask to be. "

Lucy had not lost her faith in the Hearer and Answerer of prayer, butshe had been so long accustomed to regard Stella as one who "cared fornone of these things, " that she could scarcely believe in the realityof so sudden a change. But it was not so very sudden, and Lucy's ownearnestness and simple faith had been one means of bringing it about. Her daily intercourse with her cousin had, in spite of herself, impressed Stella gradually with a conviction of the importance of whatshe felt to be all-important. And Stella's illness and subsequentweakness, with perhaps a sense of her precarious tenure of life, hadcombined to make her realize its importance to herself personally, more than she had ever done before. Amy's happy death had made herfeel how blessed a thing was that trust in Jesus which could removeall fear of the mysterious change, so awful to those who have theirhope only in the visible world. Indeed, she told Lucy that one of herchief reasons for wishing to come to Ashleigh was the vague feeling, derived from her recollections of her former visit, that it would beeasier for her to be a Christian in a place so closely associated withher first impressions of living Christianity. And He who never turnsaway from any who seek Him, had answered her expectations, and senther a true helper in Mrs. Edwards, whose simple words seemed to cometo her with peculiar power; for, from some hidden sympathy of feeling, one person often seems more specially adapted to help us on thananother, and Mrs. Edwards had been a special helper to Stella. 

Lucy, when she found her cousin so much in earnest, did not dare toadvise her on her own responsibility. Stella felt rather afraid of aconversation with Mr. Edwards, but her cousin told her that he was thebest person to give her counsel in the matter. Her fear of him soonvanished when the conversation was really entered upon, and she foundthat she could speak to him much more freely than she had previouslythought. He talked with her long and kindly, and finding that she hadreally a deep sense of sin, and that she desired to come to Christ inhumble penitence to have her sins forgiven and her darknessenlightened, he felt that he had no right to discourage her from theordinance which is specially designed to enlighten and strengthen. Atthe same time, he took care to explain to her most fully the nature ofthe solemn vows in which she would take upon herself theresponsibilities and obligations of a follower of Christ. 

It was with a quiet, serious humility, very different from the formermien of the once careless Stella, that she, with Lucy and Bessie, reverently approached the Lord's table, where He graciously meets Hispeople, and gives the blessings suited to their special needs. As theyleft the church at the close of the service, and Lucy glanced at hercousin, whose delicacy was made more perceptible by the deep black ofher dress, she thought that, notwithstanding the loss of bloom andbrightness, the expression of serene happiness that now rested on herface gave it a nobler beauty than she had ever seen it wear before. 

Before the stay of the cousins at Ashleigh came to an end, Lucy andBessie had the great pleasure of meeting once more their old teacher, Mrs. Harris, who had come to pay a short visit to her former home. What a pleasant meeting it was, and with what grateful gladness Mrs. Harris found out how well her old scholars had followed out theirwatchword, may easily be imagined; as well as the interest with whichthe story of poor Nelly's changeful life and steady faith in theSaviour, of whom Miss Preston had first told her, was narrated andheard. 

Lucy did not forget to visit Nelly's stepmother, whose circumstancesremained much the same as in former times. She did not seem muchgratified by Lucy's praises of Nelly's good conduct. She had alwayspredicted that Nelly would "come to no good, " and she did not like tohave her opinions in such matters proved fallacious. Lucy, however, rather enjoyed dilating upon Nelly's industry and usefulness, thatMrs. Connor might feel the mistake she had made, even in a worldlypoint of view, by her heartless conduct. 

When the heat of the summer was subsiding into the coolness ofSeptember, Lucy and Stella prepared to return home, --not, however, without having revisited all the spots which had been the scenes offormer excursions, and, in particular, the scene of the "strawberrypicnic, " where every little event of the happy summer afternoon, nowso long past, was eagerly recalled. 

"And do you remember, Lucy, " asked Stella, "how hateful I was aboutpoor Nelly, when we discovered her here? Oh, how wicked and heartlessI used to be in those days! And I don't believe I should ever havebeen any better if you hadn't come to live with us!"

Her physical health had been very much benefited by her sojourn in thecountry, under the kind, motherly care of Mrs. Ford, who had fed herwith cream and new milk till she declared she had grown quite fat. That, however, was only a relative expression. She was still very farfrom being the plump, blooming Stella of former times. 

But the chief benefit she had gained was not to be discerned by theoutward eye. It lay deep in her heart--the "pearl of great price, "which her wandering spirit had at last sought and found. 

XVIII. 

_A Farewell Chapter. _

 "Come near and bless us when we wake. Ere through the world our way we take, Till in the ocean of Thy love We lose ourselves in heaven above. "

Though Mr. And Mrs. Brooke marked with much delight the improvedappearance of their darling Stella, her medical attendant was far fromconsidering the improvement a radical one, and strongly advised thatshe should be removed to a warmer climate for the winter. On heraccount, therefore, as well as on that of Sophy, who very much neededchange of scene, it was decided that the family should spend thewinter months in the south. Stella was anxious that her cousin shouldaccompany them; but just at this time Lucy received a summons--by nomeans unwelcome--in another direction, in a letter from Mrs. Steele. 

Her aunt had been feeling her strength fail very much during the pastyear, and expressed a very strong desire that her niece should cometo her again, for a time at least. Lucy owed her aunt almost adaughter's affection; and as she had not seen her brother Harry fornearly two years, and as her lessons at school must necessarily bediscontinued, it seemed the best arrangement that she should accede toMrs. Steele's request, and go to the West under the escort which hadbeen proposed for her, --that of a friend of Alick who had comeeastward for his wife, and was soon to return to his prairie home. 

There was some doubt as to what should be done with Nelly during thelong absence of all her friends, but an unexpected event whichhappened previous to Lucy's departure settled that question mostsatisfactorily. A young market-gardener, who had lately started inbusiness for himself, came to Mr. Brooke's to be paid for vegetables, furnished during the summer. Lucy was sent down to pay him, and wassurprised to find Nelly, who had happened to pass through the hallwhere he was waiting, staring at him in an unaccountable manner, withan excited look in her dark eyes. 

"Miss Lucy, " she said in a trembling undertone, seizing Lucy's dressin her eagerness, "won't you please ask him his name?"

Lucy, considerably bewildered, did as she desired, and was startled bythe answer. "Richard Connor, " and equally so by the joyful exclamationwith which Nelly rushed forward: "Oh, it's my own brother Dick!"

It turned out to be really Nelly's long-lost brother. He had followedthe rest of his family out to America by the next vessel in which hecould procure a passage, but had never been able to discover anytrace of them. Getting work for a time as he best could, he had atlast entered the service of a market-gardener, where he had done sowell as to be able in time to begin business on his own account. Hecould not have recognised his little sister Nelly in the tall, good-looking girl before him; but time had not changed him somaterially as to prevent Nelly's loving heart from recognising heronly relative, and the moment her eye fell upon him, a thrill ofalmost certain recognition chained her to the spot. 

It is unnecessary to dwell upon the delight of both brother and sisterat their unexpected reunion, and the torrent of inquiries and repliesthat followed. Dick had for so long a time given up all hope offinding his kindred, that the joy of recovering Nelly overpowered hissorrow at finding that she was the only one who survived to him; andas the young gardener had been intending to live in a small cottage ofhis own, he was only too glad to claim Nelly as his housekeeper. Andbefore Lucy went away, she had the pleasure of seeing Nellycomfortably installed in a home which she could consider as really herown. 

It was no small trial to Lucy, when the time came, to say a longfarewell to her aunt and cousins, especially to Sophy, between whomand herself there was now a strong bond of attachment; and to Stella, as to whom she felt a strong foreboding that she should never see heragain. Her only comfort was that she could leave the matter in thehands of Him who knew best, and that Stella could safely be trusted tothat protecting love which will never leave nor forsake any who humblyseek its true blessing. 

With Mary Eastwood, too, it was another hard parting. She spent a dayor two at Oakvale before her departure, and both long looked back tothat short visit as to a time tinged indeed with sadness, but chargedwith many sweet and blessed memories. 

At last the preparations for the long journey were all made, thepacking completed, even to the stowing away of the little gifts fromeach, and of the large packet of bonbons and cream-candy which Edwinbrought in at the last moment for his cousin's regalement during herlong journey. Then the cab was at the door before half had been saidthat they wanted to say, and the long-dreaded good-bye was crowdedinto such a brief space of time, that when Lucy found herself on theway to the station, she could scarcely believe that the formidableseparation was really over, and that she had finally left her home ofnearly two years. She well remembered the winter afternoon of herarrival, and thought with gratitude how many blessings had met herthere, and with what different feelings she left it from those withwhich she arrived there. 

The sadness of her departure soon wore off amid the pleasantexcitement of the long and interesting journey, made doubly pleasantby the lively and genial companionship of her new friends, who won herheart at once by their warm praises of Alick and Harry; and she beganalready to look forward to the happiness of their complete reunion asa family, --for Fred was to follow her to the West at the close of histheological studies, in the ensuing spring. 

When at last the somewhat fatiguing but very pleasant journey was atan end, Lucy found Mrs. Steele ready to receive her with a warmmaternal welcome, and Harry wild with delight, as much grown andimproved as they all declared she was. Alick had grown considerablyolder and graver-looking under the responsibilities of life and hisprofession, though he still retained much of his old flow of spirits;and Lucy had the very great pleasure of finding that he had become anearnest Christian man, using his profession to the utmost of his poweras a means not only of doing temporal good, but of advancing hisMaster's cause. 

Lucy soon saw that her household aid was so much needed by her aunt, whose health had become very feeble, that she relinquished the planshe had formed of endeavouring to get employment in teaching duringthe winter; and between her housekeeping avocations and the claims ofAlick's poor patients, whom she often visited on errands of charity, and the carrying on of her own studies, which she was anxious tocontinue, the winter flew past with incredible rapidity. 

When the season of budding leaves and opening blossoms returned, therecame tidings--sad indeed, yet by no means unexpected--from the sandyplains of Florida. Stella was dead, but she had died "looking untoJesus, " and in the feeling of her perfect safety and happiness withher Saviour. Lucy could acquiesce in the earthly separation from her. She had seemed to be one over whom "things seen and temporal" held somuch power, that perhaps only the pressure of physical disease, andthe realization of the possible approach of death, could have broughther to the invisible but ever-present Saviour. Her temporal loss hadthus been her great gain; yet still "more blessed are they" whowithout such pressure "have believed. "

Our young friends have now arrived at an age when their history isscarcely so well adapted for the youthful readers of these pages. Butas we all like to hear tidings of our friends after years haveelapsed, it may be pleasant to catch at least a glimpse of their laterlife. Lucy never returned to her uncle's house: she became toovaluable a member of her cousin's household to be spared from it, andshe is now its mistress in a legal and permanent sense, aiding herhusband most efficiently in his labours of love. Fred has long sincefinished his studies and been settled as the minister of a villagechurch near his sister's home. Thither he has lately brought MaryEastwood as the minister's wife, and has found that she admirablyfills that important post. The two old friends, united now by closerties than ever, still delight to maintain their Christiancompanionship, and to revive, in the frequent visits interchanged, thehappy memories of former days. 

Nelly still keeps house for her brother, who would not know how todispense with her multifarious services in weeding his beds, gatheringhis fruit for market, and tying up his flowers. But as some of hisfriends are equally sensible of her good qualities, he has made up hismind that, sooner or later, he will have to let her go. 

Ada Brooke has been married for several years, and is much, the same, in her present luxurious home, as when we first made her acquaintance, with no more aspiration beyond the transient pleasures of the world. Sophy, who has remained faithful to the memory of her betrothed, is avery angel of mercy, ministering continually to the poor and sick anddisconsolate, and finding therein a higher happiness than she everknew, even in the days when she was most admired and envied. Mr. AndMrs. Brooke, since the death of their darling Stella, have thoughtmore of that unseen world into which she has entered, and less of thepresent one, which formerly so completely engrossed them. And Edwin, finding all earthly sources of pleasure to be but "broken cisterns, "has at last turned to drink of "the living water, of which if a mandrink he shall never thirst again. "

Bessie Ford is still the wise, motherly eldest daughter at Mill BankFarm. If, from the uneventful character of her quiet country life, shehas not filled so prominent a place in these pages as her classmates, it is not that the watchword "Looking unto Jesus" has had lessinfluence on her life than on theirs; and though its fruits may havebeen more obscure, they have been as real, in the thorough Christiankindness and faithfulness, patience and industry, which make her amuch-prized blessing to her family and her friends. 

And now, my young reader, that you have seen the effect of taking"Looking unto Jesus" for the watchword of life to some extentillustrated, will you not, henceforward, take it as your own?

If only you come by faith to that Saviour who is waiting to receiveyou and to renew your sinful heart, and go on living by that faith inHim, you will find, ever flowing from Him, a life-giving power, whichwill furnish you with the strength that you need more than you nowknow, for the battle of life before you. And though you may never becalled upon to do things which the world calls great and noble, youwill do common things in a noble spirit, which is the same thing toHim who looks upon the heart, and

 "So make life, death, and the vast for ever, One grand, sweet song. "

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