'SHE HATH DONE WHAT SHE

COULD.'

(Concluded from p. 79).

N her sober moments she was a fond mother, and now she was overwhelmed with grief at her loss, and specially bemoaned that she had not been by at the last.

'He'll never have a kind thought of me now, up in Heaven,' said the poor thing; for the last word I gave him was a hard one, let alone blows.'

Then Bertha gently raised her up, and told her that Tim had forgotten all that, and how his only wish in dying was that she, his mother, should be cared for.

And Charlotte Haig, the terror of the alley, the byeword among decent women, at hearing of this sat by the new-made grave, and wept the softest tears she had shed for many a long year.

'You did for him? you minded him dying?' she questioned Bertha.

Bertha signed a 'Yes.'

'And he was none of yours,' she said, as if reflecting.

'Are you one of those good people who go about trying to look after poor folk, and do them good?'

Bertha shook her head. No,' she said, but I saw him, your boy, and I loved him. I am only a poor woman like yourself,' she added, gently.

But Charlotte Haig looked at her, and said bitterly, 'No, not like me, not like me! I often think I'll make an end of myself. I'm no good to no one, and the children would be better without me, but I daren't. It's no use any one thinking of caring for me,' she added, in her despair. Go away, please; you was good to Tim, but it's no use your trying on anything with me.'

Some wise angel prompted Bertha to take no notice of this speech, but to ask simply,'Where are the other children ?' The poor overwrought woman wiped her tear-stained face, and looked up bewildered. I In the House,' she said, shortly; but I must get them out,' and she rose as if to go at once.

But Bertha took her to a neighbour's cottage, and got her tea and a comfortable meal, and then put her in the carrier's cart for Widebridge.

'Come and see me in my room the day after to-morrow,' said Miss Moore to Char- | lotte Haig. I shall want to know where you settle.'

It would take too long to tell you how it all came to pass, but somehow the poor daily governess gained a hold over the wretched hopeless woman, and won her back to a quiet and better life. Not all at once, there were slips and falls, but the kind hand was always outstretched to help.

And Charlotte Haig was won back to something more than mere outward decency.

'I can believe in a good God now,' she said one day to her friend, since He sends such people as you on earth. As you can love us, perhaps He does too.'

And Bertha, who would have hushed the words as almost blasphemy, was fain to see that in following our Lord's example in caring for the poor and needy she had unwittingly brought a poor sinful soul to His feet, and made the angels in Heaven rejoice.

'It was for this, then,' she thought, 'that mother and Janie were taken? I was too selfishly happy with them to care how the poor and wretched in the world fared. Well, God knows best. To some He gives peace and rest, like my dear ones and little Tim; and to me He gives work to do, because I am not fit for His Home yet. I shall not mind now, if He lets Charlotte come there

Last

too in time, and I think He will. week she brought me all her wages, and she says she shall always do so for the future, that she may not be tempted to wish to spend them wrongly.'

Bertha's life was one of privation and hard work for some years; but a time came when she occupied a post she had always looked to as the happiest one in life, that of Superintendent of a Cottage Hospital.

Under her orders works a strong but wornlooking woman, who yet is tender and considerate with the patients, and specially with the young children.

It is Charlotte Haig; two of her children are with her, two cared for by a relative, one safe in the neighbouring churchyard.

For this is Mooreside.

My tale is told now. Do you think the title is ill-chosen? H. A. F.

JEPHTHAH'S DAUGHTER. HERE was joy in Israel and rejoicing. Rumours of a great victory over the children of Ammon had reached the camp at Mizpeh, and the fair young daughter of the leader of the expedition had called her maidens and gone out, as the custom was, to meet and welcome the returning army.

Close by his own hearth-stone she met her victorious father, but her blood must have frozen and her heart stood still at the look he cast upon her. Not so was the brave man Jephthah accustomed to gaze on his only child. The timbrels were silenced, and the dancers stayed their feet, while the surprised girl looked anxiously in the woe-stricken face of the Captain in Israel, and eased his trembling hands of his heavy fighting gear.

It had been a glorious victory; why, then, should her father grieve and rend his clothes? she wondered.

Do you know the story, sad and mysterious, that Jephthah poured out to his child?

He had vowed to the Lord, that if He would deliver the children of Ammon into his hands, he would yield up to Him as a burnt-offering the first that came out of his door to meet him on his return.

And this first was his only child, a tender maiden.

She must, one would think, have had some of the spirit of the mighty man of valour, her father, within her; for she neither wept nor pleaded for mercy, but quietly accepted the necessity of keeping the vow.

She only asked for two months' liberty, which she spent wandering on the mountains with her young companions, and then she came back to her father; and he did with her according to his vow which he had vowed. That he actually offered her up as a burnt-offering we cannot really believe, for God has never asked for a human sacrifice; but in some way her gay, happy, earthly life, came to a full end.

There was more fighting in store for the bereaved father, more victorious homecomings; but never again would his young daughter's smiling face greet him on his

return.

If the vow was a rash one, it was sorely punished. Not long did this judge and captain survive the loss of his child; not many years did he watch the daughters of Israel go up at stated times to lament their companion; after judging Israel only six years Jephthah the Gileadite died, and was buried in one of the cities of Gilead.

H. A. F