It was wonderful the difference a week of notice and teaching had done for Bell. She was naturally a clever, independent child, and with her clean face and tidy frock self-respect woke up within her; she no more crept under hedges and avoided the villagers, but skipped along with a pleasant smile for one and another.

The Show' child was a general favourite. But her affections specially fixed themselves on Miss Brett and the heavylooking lad Roger Weir. Quiet Miss Brett, who was.apt to despond over little black sheep, was greatly touched by the love shown to her by this poor waif. Bell hung about the school after hours, longing to be told to do some errand for her kind teacher, and never so pleased as when allowed to brush the schoolroom or put out Miss Brett's tea-things.

Roger she liked in another way, a sort of gratitude for the notice he took of her. For heavy Roger had an admiration for this quick, bright-eyed child; he was slow and clumsy, and she was so deft and agile.

He first made acquaintance with her by offering to disentangle the precious blue frock, which had got caught in the hedge, and then he offered her two or three wild roses he had in his hand. Bell practised her newly-taught Thank you' on him, and Roger turned very red with shamefacedness. The next day, however, he met her again; this time the offering was a sweet-smelling double-stock in a little red pot, which sent poor Bell wild with delight, and gave Roger no less pleasure. Radishes out of his own garden followed; but for the future there was no occasion for these little gifts to break the ice, for Bell was ready enough to run up to Roger and talk to him. as he stood leaning against the school-house wall, or came along the road cracking his carter's whip after the day's work was over.

Their chief topics were the school and Mr. Prince, a real good 'un,' as Roger said; and Bell nodded her head and agreed with him, for Mr. Prince had smiled on her too, and bid her be a good lass and come to church again on Sunday.

It was Bell's great wish to be allowed to remain over Sunday at Moor, and to join her own self in the Marching Hymn. She felt already a sort of pity for the little. crouching Bell behind the hedge of last Sunday, and wanted to efface her memory in the triumphant marching Bell that was to come. This she confided to Roger, who promised her the most beautiful posy in Moor to walk with-most of the children carried posies on Sunday-and Bell was delighted.

Saturday afternoon Bell spent by invitation at the Parsonage, and urged thereto by Alice and Dora, told all she could remember of her past life, as the children sat on the grass together.

'I don't remember no beginning, Miss Dora,' said Bell, when first questioned. 'I only know what I did before the master got me.' got me.' She always called Mr. Pottinger 'the master.'

And what was that?' asked Dora, her particular friend by reason of being nearly of the same age.

6

'I sold cat's meat,' said Bell, gravely. 'What's that?' said Dora, puzzled ; ' our pussy eats the scraps in the kitchen."

Ah, but this is Moor, and I was in London,' said Bell.

Tell us about it,' said Gilbert, lying lazily on the grass.

'I don't think the cats in London get any scraps,' said Bell, gravely: at least in the small streets such as I went in, for they were so hungry. It was just roasted horse stuck on skewers, and I had it all in a basket.'

'No, I liked it very much,' simply: there was no one to and the cats all loved me so.

said Bell, scold me, They would

come running out when I was ever so far off, for I used to call " Me-eat," you know, quite loud, and they trotted all down the street by my side with their tails straight up in the air. Then people bought the meat; some took a farthing's worth, and some a ha'porth, and some never bought at all. I couldn't bear that, for then the poor cat had to go without its dinner. Several times,' said Bell, lowering her voice, I gave a cat a bit without money, and pretended I had lost the halfpenny.'

'That was naughty, Bell,' said Alice. Bell looked surprised. 'It cried so, Miss Alice, fit to break your heart.'

'But you ought to have told the truth,' said Alice.

So I did, two times,' said Bell, stoutly; 'but they beat me at home and called me a fool.'

'I had succeeded, with much difficulty, in gaining admission into one of the fortresses where numerous soldiers were held captives. Passing through the streets I met them at every step, and it seemed to me that I had only to accost them to be able openly to speak to them of Jesus Christ. But I found them so thoroughly weighed down and absorbed by the thought of their misfortunes, that I could not succeed in getting them to listen to me. I entered the hospital where the sick were assembled. In long wards these unfortunate men were lying in their beds, pale, haggard, wasted by fever. These at least, I thought, will open their hearts to me. But the same reception again awaited me. At last I approached a young man smitten with typhus, who appeared to me very ill indeed. I spoke to him with tenderness, he did not seem to listen to me. His wandering eyes seemed to be absorbed by some distant vision, and tears rolled down his cheeks. Not knowing what more I could say to him, and overcome by sadness, I was silent at last, and I could not help silently weeping at his bedside. A few soldiers had approached us, when I arose to leave. I returned the next day. At the door were a group of prisoners. As I was announcing myself to gain admittance, I overheard one of these men say to his comrades, "It is the man who wept with i the corporal!" and from that moment, as if by some sudden charm, the ice was broken; those hearts, formerly so closed against me, now received me as a friend, and listened to me as if I were a brother. I always passed among them by the name of "The man who wept with the J. F. C.

FINDING THE TEXT.

ELFIE HILTON was sitting in church,

but her thoughts were not there; her eyes wandered to the people round, to the painted windows, even to the flies on the wall, and her mind was fixed upon one thing,-When would the service be over, so that she might be free to go home? But there was the sermon to come yet, and worse still, it must be listened to; for mother would question her about it when she got home, and Elfie did not wish to bring a grieved look to her mother's face by having to confess that she knew nothing about it.

The clergyman went into the pulpit and gave out his text, and Elfie and Mary Hilton opened their Bibles at once to look for the words, 'Come unto me all ye that are weary and heavy laden, and I will give you rest; and then they prepared to listen to what would be said, so that they might tell their mother, who had been ill and kept away from church so many Sundays. But Elfie's quick eyes lighted upon a decent-looking old woman near by, who was fumbling in vain at the leaves of her largeprinted Testament, unable to find the place. Elfie got up and went softly to the old woman's side, and found the words of the text for her.

It was only a little thing, but it pleased God, and it pleased good old Mrs. Watson too, for she loved children and delighted to be noticed by them; so that she gave Elfie such a grateful smile, and God bless you,' that the little girl could not forget it, and for several seconds she was pondering over why, if kindness was so pleasant, she and every one else couldn't always be kind? Then Elfie suddenly remembered she was not thinking of the sermon, and she roused herself to hear the clergyman speaking of those who were weary,' weary of sin, of

pain, of sorrow, to whom Christ offered rest, the rest and peace of Ilis pardon and love. Elfie did not care very much about it; she looked at Mary, who sat so still, and seemed so thoughtful, and almost envied her power of being so good in church; she was forgetting all about Mr. Sumner and his sermon, when a word caught her ear and arrested her wandering thoughts,— Every one has the power of being kind, of helping others for the love of God.' What had gone before Elfie did not know, but as she listened she began to see that the preacher must have been speaking of the great sorrow which is always around us, and which all, however poor, or young, or humble, can make lighter by sympathy and help in little ways.

It chimed in so well with her own thoughts after she had found the text for the old woman, that Elfie had no trouble in making herself listen now; and when the, sermon ended by the clergyman describing to them the Saviour waiting to hear and help them, not far off, but all around and about them in every time and place: full of pity, full of love, it seemed to her as if she could almost see a picture of the gentle Jesus calling every one to come to Him.

As Elfie walked home, her thoughts ran somewhat in this fashion,- Well, it is very nice to be good, and I am not good. I don't behave well at home sometimes, and I don't love church and prayers as I ought. But I'll try. I am weary of being naughty, it is a very unhappy way of going on, and I'll begin this very day to do better. I wonder if there is any one near us who is very weary or very unhappy to whom I could be kind? I like being kind: I am glad I left off laughing at that old woman and found her the text, she did seem so

pleased.' And then Elfie's thoughts turned

into words.

'Mary, did you see that old woman near us?' she said.

"Yes! I was so glad you found her place: I was going to, only you got up first. I wonder who she is!' And Elfie wondered too, and wondered still more every Sunday

for many weeks to come, as the old lady was regularly in her place, and as regularly wanted the text found for her.

They grew quite friendly after a while, and gave each other little smiles, and byand-bye Elfie would beg a flower from their cottage garden and quietly lay it on the old woman's books, because she believed it pleased her; but still she knew no more about her old friend, or where she came from.

Weeks went by. Mrs. Hilton was well at last and able to go with her children to church on Sundays, and the first morning Elfie had said to her, "Now, mother, you will see my old woman.'

But the service began and the old woman's place was empty, and empty it remained, to the little girl's very great disappointment. Next Sunday it was still the same, and Elfie said that her friend must be ill, and she wished still more she knew something about her; but the third Sunday a stranger was in that seat, who looked inquiringly at Mrs. Hilton and her children, and came to them when the service ended.

'Is it one of these little girls who has been so kind to an old woman, finding her text for her and bringing her flowers?' she asked.

Mrs. Hilton answered that it was Elfie, and then she inquired if the woman was ill. "Yes, and confined to bed,' was the reply. 'But she wishes much to see your little girl, and I came on purpose to find her out and ask her if she would go to her now;' and then, giving the name and number of the street, the stranger went away.

'You'll let me go, won't you, mother?' asked Elfie. Poor old woman! I hope she isn't very ill: I shouldn't like her to die. I quite miss her these three Sundays.'

Mrs. Hilton made no objection, and that afternoon Elfie and her sister went together to No. 10 Clarence Row, and found the old woman in bed-not dying, but laid up by weakness, and wishing so much to see her little Sunday friend,' as she said, that she had asked a neighbour to seek her out in the church.

It grew quite a habit then for Elfie to go and sit awhile with poor Mrs. Watson on half-holidays, or in spare moments, sometimes reading from the Bible which the old lady loved, sometimes listening to tales of the troubles and joys which she had known. in her long life, of her dead husband and children.

And you are all alone, then?' Elfie would say, wondering how, if she had lost such dear friends, her face could be so peaceful and happy; and then the old woman answered,

Ah, dearie, I was weary, like the good clergyman told us that first Sunday you smiled up in my face and found the text for me, weary of sorrow, till I came and laid it all down at the feet of Jesus, and now He has given me rest.'

Elfie liked those visits: weeks and months went on, and still Mrs. Watson was lying at home and her seat in church was vacant, or filled by some one else: but the little girl did not tire of sitting with her, and of reading to her; she was trying to do something for the love of God to cheer the lonely and helpless; trying to keep some of the resolutions she had made on her way from church after listening to the sermon that Sunday morning, when she and her 'old woman' first made friends. F. S.