C

movements.

OME this way, Mary,' said Minnie to her friend. 'I hear children in the garden. Papa is calling them. Let us take our stand at the side door, and observe their

'There, Harry has heard the signal and has given notice that grandpapa is picking grapes. And now see how quickly they leave their play, and come scampering down the garden steps! Augusta and Clara have thrown away the flowers they have been gathering, and Harry has left his hoop, and is already climbing the ladder in answer to the call, Who wants some grapes? I, sir, and I, and I, echo the girls, as they stretch out their hands to receive the promised treasure.

'This scene is often repeated. Whenever papa can gather a group of children around him, it is his delight to fill their hands with large bunches of grapes. I often think it gives him more pleasure than it does the noisy little urchins themselves, as he is thus robbing his vines of the choicest fruit. They never seem to have their mouths so full, but they can find room for more, and those who are most importunate seem to get the largest clusters of grapes.'

'Let us be encouraged to imitate the simple faith of these children, when we listen to the invitation of our heavenly Father! Open thy mouth wide and I will fill it.' 'Ask and ye shall receive.' Does He not mean exactly what He says when He promises to fill us with the gifts of His Holy Spirit? He says that He is more ready to do it than our earthly parents are to give us good things.'

'I think, dearest,' said Minnie, 'that this is a very sweet lesson for us. See how your father encourages the children to put out their eager little hands and importune him for grapes. But where is Bessie?'

'Look yonder in the arbor; she is still playing with her doll. It amuses her to see the children running so eagerly to papa. She loves to hear their merry shouts, but she does not join them, because she does not love grapes as well as her companions do. When they join her in the garden she will eat a few, but she would not leave her play to ask for them.'

'And when our Saviour is calling "Come unto me," how often, dear Mary, the toys of earth have power to detain us. And when we do come we often ask and receive not, because we ask amiss.'

-Sunday-School Times.

A

CHAPTER IX.

THE CLOUD ROLLS OFF. FTER Mr and Mrs Lauriston were dressed next morning, and before going down stairs, they rang the bell for Jessie.

'Has Lydia come home?' asked Mrs Lauriston, as Jessie came into the room. Yes, ma'am, she came this morning.'

I think I need not ask the question; but did you know, last night, Jessie, that Lydia had gone out?'

'No indeed, ma'am, I didn't even hear her get up.'

'Can you tell me if she ever did the same thing before?'

Jessie looked a little confused, and gave no

answer.

เ

It is your duty to answer me, Jessie: no one can hate tell-tales more than I do, but you ought to answer this question: it is a dreadful thing to think of our house being exposed in that way during the night, not to speak of the disgrace of any young woman going out by stealth at such an hour.'

So Jessie told her master and mistress of the night she had wakened up and found Lydia all dressed; but she also said how Lydia's explanation in the morning about being up had satisfied her. Mr Lauriston said he thought there was no use saying any more about it to Jessie, so she left the room.

Now, my dear, I shall go down stairs immediately, ring for Lydia, and tell her she must leave my house to-day. You must not ask me to overlook it,' said Mr Lauriston; it is evidently not her first offence, and we could have no confidence in a woman like that.'

'Indeed we could not-I should not wish to keep her.'

So Mr Lauriston went down to the parlour and rang the bell, which was answered by old Jean. Will you send Lydia up to speak to me, if you please, Jean ?'

Lydia soon appeared, trying to look as if nothing had happened.

Here are your wages, Lydia. I expect you to leave my house to-day. I need not enter into any reasons; you know them already.' Lydia stood too much in awe of her master to make any reply, so taking what he handed to her, she left the room without saying a word.

When Jessie had finished her morning's work, she went as usual to her room to change her frock before going out with Marjory and the children, and there she found Lydia sitting on a chair, leaning her head against the bed,

sobbing violently. Poor Jessie did not know what to do; she was afraid to offer any sympathy, as it was more than likely Lydia would receive it ungraciously or angrily, and yet she could not bear to see such distress without saying a word; so, summoning up courage, she went and put her hand gently on Lydia's shoulder. Lydia did not make a movement, but went on sobbing violently as before.

เ

Lydia,' said the child, do not cry so; I am very sorry for you; drink a little water, it will do you good.'

To Jessie's surprise Lydia raised herself and took the water which she offered; it seemed to soothe her, for she soon ceased crying, and went about the room collecting the rest of her things.

Jessie did not like to offer any help, in case Lydia would look upon it as a wish to hasten her departure; but her tender little heart felt grieved to see any one in sorrow, even though it was one who had never treated her kindly, and she showed her sympathy in a great many other little ways, which would have touched even a harder heart than Lydia's.

When everything was packed, and the box locked, Lydia fixed her eyes on Jessie and said, Well, you are a good, kind little thing, I will confess, I'll do you a good turn yet.'

Jessie was by this time also ready, so when Lydia had put on her bonnet and shawl, they went together to the nursery, as Lydia wished to say goodbye to Marjory. She had quite recovered her spirits, and wore that 'don't care' expression, which is so disagreeable.

Goodbye, Marjory,' she said, as she went into the night nursery, where Marjory was alone putting on her bonnet.

Are you going already?' asked Marjory; 'well, I only hope you have got a good lesson at last, Lydia-it would have been better for you if you had taken my advice long ago, and maybe you wouldn't have been going away today.'

'I want none o' your preaching,' answered Lydia, sulkily; that's not what I came for.' Now, you needn't be so snappish, Lydia, no one's wanting to preach to you. Are you going over to your aunt's to-day?'

Yes, I'll go there for a few days at any rate, and then I'll go home.'

'You're not going to walk all that way, are

you?'

'Its not more than four miles from here. Jem will call for my box to-morrow evening as he drives home from market;' and as she spoke Lydia was moving towards the door, but she suddenly turned round-That child,' she