SCRIPTURE LESSONS.

brought it to pass. Nothing is too wonderful for Him. I am your father!"

Then he took her in his arms and kissed her. Daisy trembled as he held her, understanding nothing.

"Say it again! What does it all mean?" she whispered.

"That your mother and I hung that locket round your neck. That she was ill, and took you with her to England. That I never saw or heard of her, or you, or the ayah again, but that you are miraculously restored to me, and are my own child."

Yes, Daisy Pennant was Daisy Walpole. In the mysterious ways of Providence Sir George had brought his own child the only remaining memorial of her early life, and the only thing left to her that could have enabled him to recognise her. A few minutes had sufficed to draw back the veil of years, and to prove to him that the young girl who had attracted him from the first was his daughter.

"Thy ways are past finding out!" ejaculated old Farmer Pennant, when he understood what had passed before him.

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Caradoc's feet, until the time when he first saw her at the early Christmas service; and as the old dog, on hearing his name often repeated, went from one to another, the grateful father laid his hand on his great shaggy head and blessed him. His gratitude to Caradoc and the others was too deep for words, but he blessed them also in his heart.

In return for the minute history told to him, he gave a slight sketch of his brief married life. Glancing at Adam Perceval, he said that he had been united somewhat hastily to Daisy's mother the day before they were to set sail for India. She had been delicate then, and the climate of her new home did not agree with her. It was at last decided that she should return to England, and take her child with her. Daisy was then three years old, and Sir George knew that many years must elapse before he could again see his wife and daughter. Shortly before they left him he bought the locket and chain which had been instrumental in the late recognition, caused the word "Daisy" to be engraven amongst the diamonds—the child's name being Marguerite-and had his own and his wife's hair placed within. The trick of the clasp

Mrs. Pennant picked up the locket, and went softly was known only to his wife and Daisy's black nurse, behind Daisy, to clasp it round her neck.

"You are our child all the same," she whispered, as she pressed her motherly lips on her fosterdaughter's cheek.

Daisy leaned her head against her, and burst into tears.

She could not realise what had happened, or that she was other than she had seemed to be.

By degrees, however, as she and Sir George grew calm, they disentangled the strange web of events; and knew that they were in very deed father and daughter. Every one present had something to say of the shipwreck and subsequent communications of the rescued child. Sir George received every possible detail, from the moment when Gwylfa laid Daisy at

who accompanied them on their ill-fated voyage.

The Cleopatra sailed when Sir George was engaged in active service; and about the time that he should have received letters from his wife he learnt that the vessel was reported lost. The rest we already know.

Daisy was much overcome by this brief sketch of her mother's sad story, told by Sir George in broken sentences. She could not realise her position; and while claimed and embraced by Sir George as his daughter, she held out her disengaged hand to David Pennant, and, looking from one to another of her friends, between tears and smiles, she said, "I am indeed fortunate, for I have now two fathers." (To be concluded.)

SCRIPTURE LESSONS FOR SCHOOL AND HOME.
SCRIPTURE STORIES. THIRD SERIES. No. 12. THE LAST TWO PLAGUES.

Chapters to be read-Exodus x., xi., xii. (parts of). NTRODUCTION. (Read Exodus x. 21-29.) What was the ninth plague ? Darkness, in the middle of which Pharaoh relented; would let them go, but flocks and herds must stop, to make up for his own losses. This, the first time relented before plague removed, shows how terrible must have been the darkness. Wicked men always afraid of dark. Does Moses accept the offer? For what are the cattle wanted? So Pharaoh's heart hardened again. What threat does he utter? Never did see Moses again, for before they could meet at the Red Sea he was drowned. Now comes the last, and worst of all.

I. THE WARNING. (Read xi. 1-8.) Here is a message from God, first to the Israelites. What are they to borrow, i.e., ask for? Why would the Egyptians be ready to give them? Would do anything to get rid of them. See, too, the honour in which Moses is held (ver. 3). Then there is a message to Pharaoh. The plague of darkness still lasts, and Moses utters the last solemn warning. What was to happen? at what hour? Even the exact time given; the cry of lamentation foretold, and the safety of the Israelites.

II. THE DEATH OF THE FIRST-BORN. (Read xii. 29-31.) Picture the Egyptians after Moses had given the message. He had gone out from

THE FORBIDDEN FAIRING.

BY THE HON. MRS. GREENE.

THE FORBIDDEN FAIRING.

and where that may be, for if he's not at the mill he may be away down at the far forge, and it's a good four miles from here to the mill, let alone having to go any further."

"And what about the fair?" asked Barbara, taking off her hat, and smoothing its crumpled ribbons; "surely you are not going to give up the fun of going there with me, and all the spree we were talking of having together! Why, you would be a born silly to lose such fun, and it's all on the road to your father's place!"

"But mother says I am not to go through the town, that I must walk by the fields, and no other way," and Anastatia's lips began to quiver afresh, and the tears to fall on her holland pinafore.

"And why aint you to go by the town? Aint it a deal safer, and less lonely-like than long turnip fields and dark paths through the woods? If I was you I would no more go that way by myself than I would walk through the churchyard at dead of night."

"But what is the use of saying such things to me, Barbara! I tell you mother says I must do it. She would not have me go to the fair, no, not for nothing in the world; and she said as how I had no notion of the danger and harm of such places, and that I should not be a bit safer with you, for that you were quite as ignorant of the mischief might happen to us as I was myself."

Danger and mischief, fiddlesticks!" cried Barbara, with supreme contempt. “One would think we were chickens just out of the shell to hear her speak after such a fashion. I tell you what, Anna, if one talks of danger, there was a fellow in the wood as I came through it this morning as would have taken the very breath out of your body with fear."

"It is very unkind of you to try and frighten me so, when-when-when you know I must do what I'm bid," sobbed Anastatia, piteously.

And why need you, that's what I want to know! Who's to be a bit wiser which way you go? And even if they were, aint you old enough to walk on whatever road you have the most fancy to take? I tell you what, if I bent my head like you to every whim and fancy they have at home, it's little peace we should have in the house. No, no! they go their way and I go mine, and so we don't cross each other's paths. Come, that's a good girl!" she cried, suddenly changing her voice to a more coaxing tone, "put on your hat quick, that's a dear, and we shall see the fair like the man in the song, and all that's there, and you'll be safe to catch your father at the mill, that much I promise you;" and Barbara, catching Anna by the dress, sought to draw her into the inner room.

"I cannot; I must go by the fields. Mother would be so vexed, and she's so troubled already; don't ask me to do it, Barbara."

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Barbara, incredulously; "it's the troubling you that seems to be the chief aim of her life."

"Oh don't say that! It is not true! Mother is awfully kind, really; and Bob has been nearly drowned, and his arm broken in two places, and I'm to go and tell father all about it; and, oh dear!" she cried, raising her tearful eyes to the American clock beside the fireplace, "see how late I am already! I shall never catch father at the mill, and the doctor will be gone before he can see him. Why-whywhy did I stand talking here and let the time slip by! Now mother will be right vexed with me in earnest!" and Anna wrung her hands in despair, while she hastily sought round the room for her hat and every-day tippet.

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Well, good-bye then," said Barbara, not too unkindly, as she noticed her friend's trouble. "I see I can be no more use here, so I had better be off on my own business. I'll call in in the evening and hear how Bob is." "You could not go with me, could you, even a piece of the way?" asked Anna, plaintively, “just to see me over the wood."

"Aye, and come back all by myself; that's a good idea. No, no! I have no fancy to be made a hare of by that black-bearded ruffian. You see the difference is just this: I may go where I like and you mayn't, though if your mother were here this minute I doubt but she'd change her mind, and send you straight off through the town, for you've as much chance now of catching your father at the mill as I have of coming to grief at the fair."

Anastatia looked hesitatingly at the clock, and then at the common straw hat which she held in her hand.

"I could not go into the fair with such an old rubbishing concern as this on my head, could I?” she asked, doubtfully.

"No, no, of course not! If you go to the fair you must make yourself smart. Put on your new blueand-white gingham dress, and I'll run down to the hay field for your Sunday hat. While you were away I sewed on the strings, and it looks as gay and fresh as a daisy."

"If I only knew what mother would say!"

"Say! what can she say when you tell her that you only passed through the fair because you found you could never catch your father in time at the mill, and so, rather than he should be late for the doctor, you had to make a short cut through the town?"

"I do really think I should miss him if I went through the woods," pleaded Anna, as if speaking to Barbara, but really holding parley with her own conscience.

"Of course you would, there can be no doubt about the matter at all; and now, de make haste, that's a good girl, and fig yourself out as smart as sixpence while I run down to the field for your hat, "Why, what has your mother to trouble her," asked and don't forget to put your purse in your pocket,

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