was to go to South Cross. Father had no objection.'

Old nurse was horrified. 'He'll be tired to death, Miss Alice, and he'll dream of the lions at night; just you go and tell your father that. And besides, it's like winter to-day.'

But Alice had made her mind up, and she was not to be beaten. You coddle baby, nurse,' she said, decidedly; 'he'd be all the better for a little more air; and you know he liked the elephant very much.'

"Ah! that was in his own meadow, bless him! But down in that dirty South Cross circus, in the heat, and draught, and smells, it's no place for a baby.'

There was a little more discussion between the two; but the end was that baby was soon seen perched on Alice's knee in the waggonette, nurse on the box looking excessively sour. Alice had not altogether a happy expression on either, something within warned her that she had not been quite honest in her interpretation of her father's permission to take her little brother. All she could do now, however, was to keep him well wrapped up, and try to distract her mind by thinking how pleased Bell would be to see them all.

CHAPTER VIII.

THE wretched wooden building known as the Circus at South Cross was pretty well filled on the occasion of Mr. Pottinger's first exhibition of his celebrated lions, Antony and Cleopatra. The fairy liontamer's name had appeared in sundry flaring bills which were posted up in the town, and had evidently done a good deal to attract visitors.

The little Swaynes had seats in the front row, exactly opposite the waggon containing the lions, and they waited with the utmost eagerness the signal for the commencement

of the entertainment. The lions were lying sulkily in corners, poor, weary things! wondering perhaps what all the stir meant.

There was a little explanation of their life and habits from Mr. Pottinger, and then a bell rang, a door at the back of the den opened, and a tiny figure in white frock, coronet, and wand, stepped in. 'Bell!'

The children could hardly breathe for excitement. The biggest lion opened one eye, and there was a slight sound as if of a growl from the other; but Bell stepped manfully to the front, and made her curtsey to the spectators. She was very pale, and the children could hardly tell if she recognised them, for the child was, very wisely, only thinking of the work she had to do; and though she had described lion-taming as light, yet there was much risk involved in it. And none knew that better than Bell.

There was very little in the whole thing, however, beyond the risk. The little girl stood between the lions, and waved her wand, and muttered some gibberish she had been taught; and then she lightly, vaulted first on to one lion's back, and then on the other, each beast growling slightly the while. Once she put her tiny hand and arm in one lion's mouth; but when some one in the crowd clamoured for a repetition of this, Gilbert cried 'Shame!'

The boy had an uneasy feeling on seeing a child venture her life for the mere amusement of lookers-on. He saw, what few else marked, how Mr. Pottinger and his man stood half-hidden on either side the den, holding what Gilbert knew to be red-hot pokers, in case the lions attacked the little girl; and he knew it was no idle precaution, but that the best-tamed of these wild beasts sometimes turn on their keepers.

(To be continued.)

AMONG LIONS.

(Continued from p. 207.) ISS DAWSON and the girls were more terrified than H pleased at the previous exhibition, and, but for fear of making a disturbance and putting Bell off her guard, would have left the place before the exhibition was half over. As for baby, he had screamed himself almost into fits at the big drum very early in the day, and with nurse was keeping the coachman company at the inn.

Alice was glad they had waited, when Bell, safe through her performance, came among the spectators to collect money. Now she could smile on them, and answer some of the many questions put to her. She was proud of her achievements, poor child! though evidently very glad the performance was over. Bell knew what few else did, how the last tamer had lost an arm by a grip from Antony, and how the one before had left, subject to fits, brought on by a sudden attack of both beasts; from which, however, he escaped, as was thought, almost unhurt. She could

not expect them to be more tender of her a poor, weak child. But still she was a child, and her day's work over, she could smile, and forget that it was all to be repeated to-morrow.

Gilbert put a sixpence into the saucer she held; but Dora slipped a tiny doll, the greatest treasure she had, into Bell's other hand, and the little friends smiled on each other; and amid the sawdust, and grime and spangles, Bell saw the green fields of Moor again, with their fresh scent; and she was no more the fairy liontamer, but the little girl with a Christian

name, and a home in Heaven waiting for her, if she had none on earth.

For many a long day after the sound of church bells, or the sight of a little fairhaired girl like 'Miss Dora,' would bring happy thoughts to Bell's mind, and happy visions of a day when she might go back to Moor and learn to be good. For Bell now knew that many things she did were not good; she did not always tell the truth when it involved a possible blow or shaking from the master, and she often evaded Mrs. Pottinger's call when she was at play, or not inclined to help her. But she was mending a little of this last naughtiness. That good angel, Pity, had crept into Bell's heart of late, and led her to use her little strength in aiding the poor sick woman, who was weaker even than a child. Bell was brave in a way, too, and could shelter the poor woman from her husband's violent temper, which too often broke in bursts of fury on her helpless head.

'Don't do that, God sees you!' she once said to the passionate man, as he was on the point of striking his wife.

He paused, amazed to hear such language from neglected Bell; his face turned crimson, and he never again used violence towards the poor woman in the child's presence.

She very soon took to her bed, poor thing!-if the sort of shelf in the cart could be so called,-only dragging herself up for half-an-hour at a time to perform little duties beyond Bell's understanding, and soon she had to give even that up.

Bell was very handy in those days, and waited with unchildlike patience on the sick woman: not that Mrs. Pottinger wanted much; as before, she was content to lie and wait for death. Something, however, prompted Bell to try and cheer up

the dying woman on her dull bed, and

nothing to her seemed so likely to do that as talking of Moor.

So the happy week was gone over and over again, church, and school, and Marching Hymn, the verses she had learned from the Bible, one for each of those seven bright days, Miss Dora, Miss Brett, and Roger, Mr. Prince, who stroked her head, and Mr. Swayne, who promised to have her back there one day; the childish tongue never wearied of telling all her recollections of them.

And then the Scripture stories, which had made a strong impression on the mind of the untaught child, followed. Eden, with its flowers, its fruits, its river, its sin and sorrows, its terrified inhabitants and flaming angels, was clearly set forth by eager Bell sitting on the cart floor. Daniel, that good man in the lions' den, was, as may be imagined, also a theme of interest. Likewise the three children in the fiery furnace, with whom a form like the Son of God walked.

And then the great story of Redemption, losing nothing by falling from childish lips, came like an echo of long ago to the listener. It was new to Bell, but not to her; and yet she had lived long years, forgetting or ignoring it. The woman moaned as she pondered on this; but Bell still went on with the clear voice and earnest accent of one who feels a deep interest in the tale. His birth, His life, His sufferings, His death, His resurrection and ascension, and His home on high for those for whom He died; all these subjects Bell treated as fully and accurately as they had been entrusted to her. To her it was as yet but a story, but to poor Mrs. Pottinger it might be life or death.

Is it true, child?' she asked, feebly, one day of Bell; 'true, I mean, that He died for me, as well as for good folks?'

'No, dear,' said Mrs. Pottinger; 'not that.' But Bell had said enough, had shown her that the Saviour could save the sinful, and her poor feeble mind clung to this. She, then, might look to Him, too.

Bell was a quick child, and had made the most of her one week of teaching and care. Perhaps, knowing the time was short, Miss Brett and her other friends had tried too quickly to make up for years of ignorance. Perhaps it might have been better for herself to have had less instruction in doctrine and history, and more incitement to practise the good they taught her but they did their best, and certainly it was for poor Mrs. Pottinger's comfort that her memory was stored with those sweet stories of old.

Bell never imagined they could tire any one; so day by day, and often in the hot summer nights, her voice might be heard going over and over them, only ceasing when slumber fell on one or the other,the fading listener, or the blooming child.

Bell played about, too, all the same, dressed in her spangled frock, and went about her lion-taming duties at every place where they stopped. Mr. Pottinger took very little heed of her, and none of his dying wife; but the surly man with the pipe began to notice her more, helped her to carry water and such heavy weights as were beyond her strength, did what little cooking was wanted, and even now and then brought eggs or fresh butter for the sick

woman.