AMONG LIONS. (Continued from page 276.)

CHAPTER XVII.

T was late autumn before the party at Moor Thornton Rectory were collected together again. The house, the garagain. den, and even the village, looked much the same as ever, but elsewhere were many changes; little faces were missing in the cottages, new graves had sprung up in the churchyard.

There was a Thanksgiving Service the first Sunday after their return for the disappearance of the pestilence from the neighbourhood.

Both hospitals had done their work, and were now restored to their proper use, and the sick were all recovering, the greater number present at the service. Only the dead lay silent and yet surely it seemed as if some. graves spoke, for the villagers stood quietly by the mound beneath which lay the poor serving-girl, and drew comfort and counsel from the thought that the Master she had so simply and truly served on earth had now given her a place in His Home on high.

There was no other small grave by 'Little Mary's' side. Where, then, was Johnny Weir? Not in his usual place in the choir, neither was he with the schoolchildren, nor sitting with the feeble, agedlooking father and mother, who had with some difficulty made their way to church.

No. Bell and he were both missing, and might be seen seated on little stools in the Weirs' cottage-garden, among the fading hollyhocks and the fluttering leaves.

'Johnny could not go to church yet,' Bell would tell you; 'he can't keep quiet enough.' Clever Johnny could walk about, and take his breakfast and dinner much as in the old

days, but the fever had hurt his head, and he would no more be the top of his class at school and the wonder of the village. He was troublesome too at times, and could not be relied upon to keep silent in church, so he and Bell were left at home on this particular Sunday. Bell had set out to go, but he had cried after her so that Bell, in her little-womanlike way, had said to the mother, You go; I will stay; and Johnny and me will thank God in the garden.'

Which they did, poor children! Bell instructing Johnny when and how to kneel, and she repeating aloud the Lord's Prayer, her texts, and the few hymns she knew. Then she coaxed her charge into the house, where he soon fell asleep on the kitchensettle.

It was a sore trial to the Weirs, this affliction of poor Johnny's; at first they could not and would not believe it, and teased the poor boy with questions which he neither understood nor answered, till Dr. Darell spoke to them most seriously, and told them if ever they wished the child to recover any portion of intellect they must not trouble him. Books and schooling were not to be thought of; he was to | be amused as best could be, and suffered to wander about in the open air.

6

Of all people in the world that this should happen to Johnny!' said Mrs. Weir, wiping away her tears as she talked to Mr. Swayne one day. He that was so bright and knowing! And the rest of the village children come so well through! Little Janie Grant, and the Brewers, and the Singletons, eight of them, and not one but is as well as ever! And my Johnny by a long way the cleverest of them all!*

Perhaps it is for the best for Johnny," said Mr. Swayne, as he stroked the vacant face turned up to him.

He was thinking of the way his parents

had spoilt him in former days, and had fostered the seeds of self-conceit and pride in the child's heart.

But perhaps you don't know, sir,' said poor Mrs. Weir. The doctor says it may be he may never have his proper senses back, but always be just a sort of child in mind.'

'One of God's little ones,' said Mr. Swayne. It is a trial, Mrs. Weir, to you, who expected so much from the little fellow; but for him it may be, as I said, for the best, for a child of wonderful quickness like Johnny is always exposed to special temptations. Who knows but that God may have sent this cloud over him to shield him from greater evil?'

What could be greater than losing his wits?' said poor Mrs. Weir, in astonishment.

'Losing himself by falling into sin,' said Mr. Swayne gravely. It might have been with him as with that clever young Styles, whom we all thought so much of.'

Mrs. Weir was silenced. Young Styles had indeed been the clever boy of the village, but falling into bad company he had taken to drink, and was now in prison for forgery.

was good to Johnny, and saved her a deal of work too.

Yes, poor honest Roger was missed now he was away, and it would grieve him sorely to hear of all that had happened in his home during his short absence.

Mrs. Weir had taken great pains over a letter to him, detailing at length the sickness and misfortune that had visited them. The only pleasant bit was a passing mention of Bell.

The little show-child is come back to Moor,' she wrote, and Johnny took to her so when he was ill that we have got her to stay on a bit. Father likes her about, too; he thinks she has a look of little Mary that died but that's as people see it.'

Mrs. Weir never quite liked any living child to be compared to her lost darling, though she secretly noticed the quick glance of Bell's eye and the dark lashes as favouring little Mary,' and the child was none the less welcome in the house for that. (To be continued.)

A WORD TO THE WISE. INEAS was an excellent orator and

You thought more of his growing up clever than good, Mrs. Weir,' he said, and God would not have it so; for your sake and his, believe me, He has laid His hand on the child. But you are dwelling altogether on the worst side of your trouble; remember, the doctor says there is yet a chance that he may come round, and meantime be thankful you have such a kind little nurse and companion for him.'

Yes; Mrs. Weir owned she could do nothing without Bell, for Johnny fretted against her now. It made her feel to want Roger back, this trouble, she said. Roger

statesman, and the chief friend and counsellor to Pyrrhus, who was a most ambitious king. One day Pyrrhus told Cineas that he intended to make war upon Italy, and hoped to conquer it.

Cineas asked him- Sir, what will you do then ?'

IT

THE FILTER-TAP.

'Stolen waters are sweet.'-Prov. ix. 17.

T was warm summer weather, and the children had been in the hayfield all day, and were hot and tired.

'I wish tea-time would come,' said Fanny, throwing herself upon a large haycock; 'I'm so thirsty!'

And so am I!' sighed little Charley. 'Well, you oughtn't to be, that's all I can say,' said Tom, with a grand air. It's not long since Jane brought us the milk. And, still, one is rather hot. I shan't be sorry either when tea's ready.'

'I wish we might have some water; water is the nicest of all,' said Charley.

'Only you know quite well we mayn't, when we are all so hot,' returned Tom. 'Mother says it's bad for us then, and that was why she sent us the milk. Don't bother, but wait till tea. I'm as thirsty as either of you, but you see I don't make a fuss about it.'

I'll go

'I shan't forget,' said Charley. in and see if Jane won't give me some water.' 'It's of no use, dear; I'm quite sure she won't, because mother would be cross." 'I'll go and see, though,' said the thirsty child, and he set off as he spoke.

He went in at the open kitchen-door, and came upon Jane, busy baking.

'Please, Jane, give me a drink of water,' he entreated.

'No, love, your mother wouldn't like you to have it, all in such a heat as you are. And it's not an hour since I brought you some milk.'

'An hour's a long, long time, Jane, and I'm so thirsty!'

'Well, you'll be having your tea directly. I'm going to get it as soon as ever I've made up this last loaf and put away mỹ things.'

'Oh, but that will be ever such a time! Do just give me a little water first.'

"You know you mustn't have water, so don't tease. But I'd give you another sup of milk, only then there would not be enough milk for all of you at tea; and, besides, I'm busy. busy. So run away and be patient, there's a good boy!'

Charley obeyed; passing, not out at once into the yard, but on into the other part of the house. When he came to the pantry he found the door wide open, and a sudden temptation seized him. There, on a low cupboard, stood the stone filter, looking very cool in the shade. There was no glass or cup near; they were all ranged neatly on the shelves above, quite out of his reach. But it was better so, perhaps; Charley was quick enough to see that if he used either, and left it unwiped or out of its place, he might be found out, but that if he drank from the tap, neither his mother nor Jane would be any the wiser. So, looking cautiously round to make sure that no one was coming, he put up his mouth and turned the handle gently. Oh, how delicious the cold water was as it went trickling down kis parched throat! sweeter than the sweetest milk; better far than hot tea! Charley thought he had never known before how refreshing water was, and he drank on and on until he was quite satisfied, and felt that now he didn't mind so much about his tea.