RHODA GRANT.

(Continued from p. 11.)

CHAPTER II.

Sweet is the day of sacred rest,

Let no vain thoughts disturb my breast:
O may my heart in tune be found,
Like David's harp of solemn sound!'

ND now the moonlight had died away in its turn, and Sunday morning dawned, first of all in faint grey streaks, and then gradually brightening. It had been broad daylight for some time before a step was heard on the creaking stairs, and Mrs. Grant, who had hastily put her clothes on, crept down into the kitchen. Rhoda, who was a light sleeper, woke with a start; and now her rest and quiet were over for the day, and she could expect no more sleep till night came round again. The mother had brought down the baby, and laid her down on Rhoda's bed while she began to sweep and tidy the room, and light the fire. The baby cried, and the flying dust and smoke from the newly-lighted fire made Rhoda cough; but she bore it patiently, and did all that lay in her power to amuse the restless child and keep it quiet. all the bustle she was able to raise her heart to God, and thank Him for the sleep He had sent her, and to beg Him, for His dear Son's sake, to help her and those dear to her to keep His day holy.

Amid

When Mrs. Grant had to some extent cleaned and tidied the room, and boiled the kettle, she made a cup of tea for Rhoda. and herself, and took the baby and came and sat down by the bed to rest for a few minutes.

Ah, Rhoda dear!' she said, 'I feel quite tired already with all this work. I am sure Sunday is anything but a day of rest to me: it is work, work, from morning to night.'

'Mother dear,' said Rhoda, it makes me sad to think that I must lie here and not do anything to help you: it's a hard case to think that you must do all the work alone.'

It was plain, however, that a great deal of the cleaning might have been got through on Saturday, and Rhoda sighed as she thought how the Sunday's work might have been made lighter by a little management.

'Do, mother dear, if you can, send the children off to the Sunday-school,' she said. 'It is eight o'clock now, and if they don't begin getting up soon, there will not be time enough for them to wash and dress and get their breakfast.'

'I am going upstairs now to wake them,' said Mrs. Grant. I expect I shall have a hard job to get the boys out of bed, and your father is always cross when he is disturbed on Sunday mornings.'

'How I wish poor Richard had some neat clothes!' said Rhoda. I am sure he would go to school and church directly if

he had them.'

"Yes,' said the mother, I am always sorry now that I spent the money we got for the pig on a suit of Sunday clothes for your father. They are no good to him, as he never goes to church; but if Richard had them, he would be glad enough to make himself look decent.'

And then Mrs. Grant went upstairs, and soon her voice was heard waking the children, and the younger ones began to move about. The elder boys were cross at being roused, and they seemed to be refusing to leave their beds; and Grant's voice was heard above the others, finding fault with his wife for not leaving them alone. Then the mother brought the two little girls and youngest boy downstairs, and got them washed and dressed. It seemed a difficult

matter to lay hold of little John at all, as he was playing about the room and nursing the cat; but Mrs. Grant did just manage it, and when they had got through their thick slices of bread and butter it was none too soon to put on their hats and send them off to school.

But where was Tom? Last week he had promised Rhoda that he would begin to go to school regularly this Sunday. After the younger ones had been gone some time Rhoda heard his heavy boots on the stairs, and he came into the room with uncombed hair, looking sleepy and stupid.

'O Tom!' she said, 'this is what your promise comes to, is it? I hoped so much you were going with the others this morning.'

"There, Rhoda,' he said, kissing his sister, I was so sleepy that I could not get up, but I will go to school this afternoon. It is too late now to try to go.'

'Even now, Tom, if you tried you might finish your breakfast and make yourself neat, and be up there in time for church.'

'Perhaps I'll see about it,' said Tom, laughing. But it was only too clear that the good-natured idle boy would let the time slip away, without making an effort to dress and go to church.

The early morning mist had cleared away, and the sun was shining brightly: it was at the end of February, and after a long cold winter the fields were beginning to look green, and the air was mild and springlike. The bells were now going for church, and neatly-dressed people were passing along the road, on their way to God's house. How gladly would Rhoda have joined them! It seemed so hard to have to lie there instead, and hear no sounds of prayer and praise, and always to be with people who only counted Sunday as a holiday and a rest from work. But she lifted her heart to God, as she had become used to do

when she was in any trouble, and received comfort. Contented thoughts took the place of repining ones, and she felt sure that God's providence ordered all things both in Heaven and earth. It was God's will that she was lying here sick, instead of being at church, and doubtless this sickness was for some good purpose, both for herself and others. Her constant presence in the house, and her example, might be of great use to her family. And yet Rhoda was lowly and humble-minded, and her religion had made and kept her so. The more she grew in grace, and in the knowledge of her Lord and Saviour, the more deeply she felt her own unworthiness, and distrusted her own strength.

And now, Grant and his eldest son came downstairs, just as the church-bells had left off ringing. Grant was a strongly - built man, with rather a moody, sullen face; but when he saw Rhoda his look became kinder. He had a soft place in his heart for his poor maid,' as he called her, and it grieved even his rugged, selfish nature, to see her looking so thin and ill. He came and sat over the fire in his shirtsleeves, but he was in other respects decently dressed for Sunday. Poor Richard, who was a tall, overgrown, haggard-looking boy, had put on a clean smock-frock, and was otherwise as neat as he could be. As the father and son sat at the little round table eating their Sunday breakfast of bread and cold bacon, and drinking the tea which had been kept hot for them, Mrs. Grant, who had been to fetch some potatoes from an outhouse, entered the room.

(To be continued.)