'SHE HATH DONE WHAT SHE

COULD.'

(Continued from p. 59.) HE bells for evening service chimed out, ceased and chimed again, as the people trooped out of the doors in the twilight, and still she sat by little Tim's bedside. She thought him asleep,

but when she softly rose he clutched her dress. Please sing again,' he asked; the first song, Janie's hymn.'

Bertha crept away, feeling as if she must keep little Tim out of the workhouse.

She had passed a strange Easter Sunday, and even in her prayers little Tim's face would come before her, shutting out for a time that shining angel face which she could always picture now as little Janie's. When she fell asleep the two seemed one, and when she woke at dawn her mind was made up the boy with Janie's smile must not be given up to the tender mercies of the workhouse. She dressed herself quickly, resolving the while what to do. Easter Monday though it was, she had no holiday, so she had no time to lose. Mr. and Mrs. Steele were going out for the day with the elder children, the shop would be shut, but Miss Moore was needed to look after the younger ones.

She first visited a house in a neighbouring street where Mr. Steele's shop-boy lived, a good-tempered orphan lad, to whom she had shown a little kindness now and then. He was in bed, taking the first part of his holiday there; she left a message that he should come to her room when he was up. Then she went to the workhouse and had an interview with the officials.

She said that she was a neighbour. of Mrs. Haig's, and wished to take charge of

the sick boy till his mother's fate should be known: there was no objection made, and she ran home to find Stephen Chipps, whistling and merry, in the alley.

Good morning, miss: you wanted me, they said.'

'Yes, Stephen,' said Bertha, smiling. 'You are my only friend in Widebridge, and I wanted to consult you.'

The boy of fourteen reddened with pleasure, and Bertha went on to tell him of Tim Haig, adding, "I want you to help me to get him to Mooreside; it is seven miles off, I know, and this is not the day for the carrier's cart.'

'Can he walk?' said Stephen.
'Very little,' said Bertha.

Stephen mused awhile. I'll manage it,' he said. It's all right, miss: we'll get him there. It's Bill Long's donkey-cart I'm thinking of; we were all going for an out in it, and they meant to go to Stoneley Dykes, which is more than half way to Mooreside, and when they stop I'll manage to carry him on.'

"Get some other lads to help you, Stephen,' said Bertha, and I will pay

them.'

All right, miss,' said Stephen again; ' and now I'll run and get my breakfast and see the Longs,' and off went the boy, whistling more gaily than ever.

Bertha went across the road to her boy, to break the news to him. He was fondling a poor caged lark which some one had given him, and he eagerly asked to take it with him.

Bertha consented. If they don't like it in the hospital you can let it go free, Tim,' she said; it will be in the green country, where it was born.'

Bertha was not expected to be at the Steeles till ten o'clock, so she had time to wrap the boy in her warmest shawl and see

For Bertha was pressing some of her little store of shillings on the lad. He would not take them. All she could do was to run down and purchase half a dozen meat pies at the cookshop round the corner for the party. And then she gave Stephen a letter addressed, ‘To the Cottage Hospital, Mooreside, from Bertha Moore,' and Stephen carefully pocketed it, and then went off to carry Tim downstairs.

The boy was in high spirits, for he looked on going to an hospital as to a sort of earthly paradise; nay, almost a heavenly one, for, as it happened, all of good the poor child ever learned had been in the ward of an hospital. The donkey-cart already held a holiday party, but, loud and boisterous as they seemed, they made room for poor, pale Tim amongst them, and Bertha saw that, as far as kind feeling could manage it, Tim would not suffer on the journey.

He smiled her a farewell as the cart jolted off,-Janie's smile, she thought.

Miss Moore was very cheerful all that day.

'She's all right when the big ones are away,' said little Marmaduke and Emmeline Steele to each other; it was fun trying to catch her round the garden, and she knows such a lot of stories.'

'I think she likes us best,' said Marmaduke; Sophia and Adelaide are so stuck up.'

Yes, Bertha's heart beat to a happier tune to-day than it had done for a long while; she was doing what she could.

It was night before Stephen came in with his 'It's all right.' The old form of speech, but most satisfactory to Bertha.

The cart jolted him a deal, but he was so pleased with the country; and we carried him from Stoneley, slung in your shawl, Miss Moore.'

'But did they take him in at once?' asked Bertha. And who did you see?'

'They read your note, miss, and talked a bit, and looked at Tim, and they said. But I've a note,' said Stephen, fumbling in his pocket. I never was much of a hand at telling about things.'

The note said that poor little Tim's form of entrance into the Cottage Hospital was not regular, but considering his sad case, and the person who recommended him, and who pledged herself to pay the small weekly sum demanded, he should be permitted to remain.

And now Bertha had no lack of hopeful thoughts to buoy her up in solitary hours. She could think of little Tim safe and happy, in sight of the Chestnut Farm; in sight, too, of that dearer spot still, the quiet green bed where father, mother, and Janie slept. (To be continued.)

AN EVENING PRAYER.

JESUS, tender Shepherd, hear me;

Bless Thy little lamb to-night: Through the darkness be Thou near me,

Watch my sleep till morning light. All this day Thy hand has led me,

And I thank Thee for Thy care; Thou hast clothed me, warmed me, fed me; Listen to my evening prayer.

Let my sins be all forgiven,

Bless the friends I love so well; Take me when I die to Heaven, Happy there with Thee to dwell.

M. L. DUNCAN.

TALES ON TEXTS.

THE

FORBIDDEN FRUIT.

she

'And when the woman saw that the tree was good for food, and that it was pleasant to the eyes, took of the fruit thereof, and did eat.'-Gen. iii. 6. THE table was laid for dinner-laid with extra care and nicety, and decked with choice flowers and tastefully garnished dishes of fruit; for company was expected, and six o'clock was not very far off. Little Eva Clare had stolen softly into the dining-room to get a glimpse of the pretty show, and as she gazed admiringly at the heavy clusters of grapes with the delicate bloom still upon them, at the crystallised plums and pink-sugared cakes, she found herself wishing that the clock on the mantel-shelf would not tick so slowly, but that the time for dessert would hasten itself. It was of no use to be impatient, however; nurse was busy with baby and would not hear of dressing her yet, even if that would have done any good. Dear, dear! only half-past five! And then, after the company arrived, there were still all the long courses of dinner to be gone through before she and her little brother would be allowed to come downstairs. Now her eyes turned from the time-piece once again to the table; the splendour of the hot-house flowers chained them but for a moment, then they rested anew and with increased longing on the inviting sweets and fruit.

Eva was not, perhaps, a specially greedy child; but what little girl or boy is altogether indifferent to attractions such as those spread out so alluringly in this little girl's sight? It is not wrong to like nice things, but if we suffer our liking to lead us into temptation, then the fear comes that the temptation may be too powerful for us, and that wrong-doing may begin.

So little Eva stayed longer at the table. than was safe for her; like the first Eve,

she gazed too eagerly at the forbidden fruit; the desire to taste grew stronger and stronger upon her as she lingered and looked: at last one little quick hand was raised, and a dainty piece of crystallised orange was transferred from the épergne to her mouth. It was all over in a moment-the first wrong step-and then the poor trespasser rushed on blindly; the spirit of evil was repelled no more. Scarcely a dish with which she dared to meddle without fear of detection was left untouched, and it was only at the approach of footsteps that Eva paused to think, and started back in terror at what she had done.

"You here, miss!' said John. haven't we a pretty set-out?'

'And

'Very pretty,' Eva answered, as well as her full mouth would let her; and then she crept out of the room nervously, and passed upstairs to the nursery with a strange weight upon her spirits. She no longer cared much about being dressed; the prospect of dessert had lost its charm; she shrank from the thought of being kindly received by her parents and their guests, and having all sorts of good things piled upon her plate she was ashamed of her greediness, and miserable at the thought of her deceit. How could she have been so mean and silly as to take slily what would so soon be given to her!

6

Well, Miss Eva, I never knew you stand so still before to be dressed,' said nurse. And what's become of your tongue, I wonder? Why, you're as grave as though you were going to a funeral !'

Eva blushed, and tried to assume her usual manner, but the effort failed entirely And it was the same at dessert.

'Where's my little chatterbox?' asked her father. 'Will she come to life again when all these grapes are disposed of?'

'No grapes, thank you,' said Eva, pushing