Hannah was well pleased at being sent out; the evening was so fair and pleasant, and she had leave to stop and bave tea at her father's, and see them all at home.

She went first to the Masons, and left the jug on the table, little Martha undertaking to give her brother 'a sap' whenever he wished, Mrs. Mason being again 'out of the way."

'Too bad,' muttered Hannah, as she left the cottage. 'An idle, gossiping thing! leaving that poor sick lad, and those young bairns, with no person to see to them but yon' good little lass! Just as Hannah turned down the lane which led to her father's little farm, she came upon two women standing at the door of a cottage, talking so eagerly, that they did not notice her approach. One was standing with her back towards Hannah; she was not in the lazy, take-it-easy attitude of a mere gossip, but in the arms-akimbo, turkey-cock position, of an angry scold. 'I tell you, Mistress Bowes, it's just downright meanness. A stingy old thing! I sent her up word to let us have sup of wine, or something comforting-it would'nt have been wasted if Bob didn't get it—and the meddling old busy-body comes pokin' down to see how he was for herself, and instead of wine or a few good broth, she'll only send him a sup o' barley-water, or some'nt; just like A close old maid as she is! I likes folks to mind their own business, I does.'

'Yes, Mrs. Mason,' burst from Hannah's lips, indignantly, and what would have become of your Robert when he was first took bad in the autumn, if some person had'nt minded him a deal more than his mother did?' Mrs. Mason turned round, very red and very angry. How do you come there, Hannah Green? I wasn't speaking to you-listeners never hear any good of themselves-but perhaps your Missis sends you to pick up news for her; a sharp lass, I don't doubt, at that work.' Hannah's temper was fully roused, and still sharper

words followed, Mrs. Bowes vainly trying to get in a word. Fortunately, before Hannah had time to answer the second torrent of angry clamour which Mrs. Mason poured forth, she spied her father at a little distance returning from milking, and suddenly recalled to herself by his timely appearance, she stopt the retort that trembled on her tongue, and only saying, "I hope, Mrs. Mason, you'll think very different soon,' she ran quickly towards her father without waiting to hear or say another word. Of course the whole tale of Miss Wilton's kindness, and Mrs. Mason's ingratitude, was poured into Father's ear as they walked across the field and farm-yard; of course it was again told, with increasing vehemence, to Mother as they sat down to tea; and sympathetic listeners were both parents. However, presently, Joseph Green said, 'Well, my lass, I don't blame you for tellin' us old folks, but don't ye go and spread this tale no more.'

.

Hannah looked surprised. 'Its only truth, Father,' she said,

'Well, may be it is, but what good'll it do? I only wish you had let her be, altogether; if she was angry and ungrateful before, she's ten times worse now; and you've demeaned yourself with talking to her. So never you mind other folk, lass; and when you're angry at them as has long tongues, mind and keep your own tight and short, honey.'

This was a long speech for Joseph Green to make, for he was a man of few words, and when he had done, he rose from the table, and went out, as if determined to say

no more.

Hannah sat silent, and so did her mother; but presently, taking out her knitting, Mrs. Green said, 'Father's right, my lass.'

'Aye, Mother, but yon' woman

'Never mind yon' woman.'

'But Miss Wilton has been so kind; she's always

agoing about, doing something for some person-and that folk should be so ungrateful! O it does hurt me!

Many's the day that Missis has gone without pudding and taken it down to Robert when he was so fanciful, poor lad, he could'nt hardly eat anything; and in the winter I know she stinted herself in both food and clothing that she might make him comfortable. O Mother, it does put me out, it does!'

'Well, Hannah, I don't say but what it is very bad, but you see it don't hurt anybody but herself-she can't hurt Miss Wilton with all her nonsense. If your Missis were only seeking rewards in what she does, she would have stopped long since. Such as her don't mind for a wrong word, she's somewhat better to look to than the praise of man. No, lassie, let yon' woman gang her own gates. And now here's Father-let's hear you read us a chapter, and then you must be going.'

St. Luke vi. was the lesson for the day. Hannah read it slowly and distinctly, and her father listened silently, laying down his pipe. Her mother looked up for a moment at the verse 'do good, hoping for nothing again.' Hannah knew what she was thinking of, but no observation was made, and she quietly wished them goodnight. But as she walked home, and saw the last sunsetlights streaming upon the trees and the roofs of the cottage, she could not help repeating to herself, 'He maketh His sun to rise on the evil and on the good.' 'He is kind to the unthankful and to the evil.'

CHAPTER III.

"Old folks at home.'

'NURSE,' said Miss Wilton, as she poured out a cup of tea and brought it, with the toast her own hands had made, to the couch-side. 'Nursey, it is just five years to-day since I came back to Hillborough.'

'Aye, Miss Lizzie, honey, is it?' said the old woman, gratefully taking possession of the little tray so temptingly spread for her. 'Well, Ma'am, I dare say it seems longer to you than it does to me, for I am come to that age that years seem like weeks, and indeed I can hardly count them at all now; the time for numbering my days to any purpose is past now, but I hope "my times are in. His Hand."'

'Yes, Nurse. It's been a very happy time indeed to me, though I was sad enough when first I came back to the old place.'

'Well, Miss Lizzie, you were like to feel it, coming back and finding all so changed, and your old home full of strangers.'

All were not changed, Nursey,' said Miss Wilton, looking in the old woman's face with an affectionate smile. 'I found one dear old friend, at least, who had not forgotten us, and thanks to her, I have never found myself a lonely stranger in my old home.'

O Miss Lizzie!' said Mrs. Wood, the tears glistening in her eyes, how you talk! when you know that if it hadn't been for you, old Nurse Wood might have ended her days in the House, for anything we can tell! Any how, it's you that have taken her in and kept her, and nursed her as if she were your own mother, very near—'

'We won't reckon up our debts, Nursey,' said Miss Wilton, fondly, for as to nursing, I am old enough to remember a poor little puny girl, whose life under heaven was again and again owing to her nurse's care and tenderness perhaps you may forget that, but I don't. Now, take your tea, Nursey, and then you shall tell me some of your old nursery tales for a treat-you know it is the wedding-day,' she added, in a low voice, and rising hastily, walked to the fire-place, over which hung two little pictures of her father and mother. She gazed at them long and earnestly, and then took out the little locket she

always wore, containing the hair of her dear and only sister. A few quiet tears came to her eyes, but as she replaced her locket, she repeated to herself :—

"They are all gone into a world of light,

And I alone sit lingering here;

Their very memory is calm and bright,
And my sad heart doth clear.'

And the happy, placid expression that her face habitually. wore returned to her brow, giving to features plain and unattractive, a charm and sweetness that no mere earthly beauty could have bestowed.

Presently Nurse Wood said, The wedding-day, Miss Lizzie? Have I ever told you a story of dear Master and Missis on the first wedding-day after I came into the family?

'No, Nurse, I think not.'

'Well, Miss, I think you will like to hear it. I mind it as well as if it were only yesterday; better, rather, for I can remember things long past better than anything that happens now.. You know there never was parson more respected and loved than Mr. Wilton, and the dear Missis, poor thing, while she lived, no less so; but they say, you know, "No path without a puddle," and that year it seemed that everything the Master did was taken wrong-there was that spirit of ill-temper and discontent in the place, that nothing would please the people. The children were taken away from school, for no purpose but to vex the parson, the church was very near empty even on Sundays, and all sorts of nasty gossip and slanders, for I can call them no less, were spread abroad, and caught up on all sides, so that it seemed really as if the whole parish, and those who had received the greatest of kindness from Master and Missis, were altogether perverted, and set against their best friends. I could see how the Master felt all this, how he tried to keep up a good heart and not fret, but how the wounded feelings would sometimes