his drawers at home: he was fearful lest any one should see them, and guess the truth.

CHAPTER 11.

AT length, however, a change came to his thoughts, and Edward was almost happy again. His father told him one night that his aunt was coming the next day to spend a few weeks with them. With Aunt Anna there, what would it matter how the boys. slighted him? he should not wish to spend the play-hours anywhere but at home. And even if the worst happened, and Miss Cox 'came down upon him' at last, surely Aunt Anna would be some sort of protection! When she really came, and he felt the comfort of her kind presence, he was sometimes almost drawn to tell her of his trouble; it seemed that so he should get rid of half its weight. But then she was so very good, so truthful and upright, so sad if she heard of wrong in others, that Edward shrank from the thought of letting her know what a bad boy he had been.

"You don't seem to get much play, Edward,' she said to him one day. How is it? Why don't you join your schoolfellows in Mr. Woolven's field, where I always see them playing after school? Doesn't your father like it?'

very little about the child's disposition and habits of life.

'I don't call him a good boy,' said Mr. Hewitt. I can't say I have very satisfactory accounts from his master or old Sarah but I have always thought he got on well enough with his companions. However, I don't profess to understand children. If you will look after him a bit I shall be very thankful. And you may punish him as much as you like when he is naughty.'

But Aunt Anna had no thought of punishment, though Edward often gave her trouble. She took quite another course, and was very affectionate and indulgent. She took him out walking, and read and talked with him; and one day she asked if he would not like to invite some of his school-fellows to tea.

Edward caught at the idea eagerly. It seemed just the thing to make all right between him and the other boys. They would not be likely to refuse such an invitation; and if they came they would feel almost obliged to be friendly afterwards. He had leave to ask any four he liked for the next day, and he decided to choose. the three who had been with him at Miss Cox's when he took the marbles, and another lad who seemed to shun him even more than the rest. What was his disappointment and vexation when they all refused to come, and without making any excuses either! Only Johnny Fisher, like the young monkey he was, laughed, and said, after what he supposed was the manner of his elders,

'Should be most happy: only a previous engagement, you know.'

But it is Aunt Anna- Aunt Webb, who asks you,' pleaded Edward, feeling very much inclined to cry. Won't you come

now ?'

Johnny hesitated. His mother and Mrs. Webb knew each other a little, and he was not sure whether he ought to hold out. Edward saw he had not quite made up his mind, and so pressed him farther.

'Aunt says you are to ask leave at home, of course. Come-do now!"

Very well, I will then,' said Johnny; not, perhaps, without a thought of the good things in store for him.

This gave Edward courage to ask some of the other boys, but only one little fellow, younger than himself, promised to come; and he went home mortified and unhappy. His aunt questioned him closely, and at last understood something of the state of the case. Then she said gravely, but kindly:

'I cannot make it out at all, Edward. Last time I was here you seemed on good terms with your companions. I feel sure you must have done something to cause them to dislike you. You know, of course, what it is. Tell me; and we will talk it over, and see if nothing can be done.'

6

With pleasure, your reverence,' answered the shoemaker. 'Please to take off your boot.'

The clergyman did so, and the shoemaker measured his foot from toe to heel, and over the instep, and noted all down in his pocket-book, and then prepared to leave the room.

But as he was putting up the measure the pastor said to him, 'Master, my son also requires a pair of boots.'

'I will make them with pleasure, your Can I take the young gentle

reverence.

man's measure?'

6

It is not necessary,' said the pastor. The lad is fourteen, but you can make my boots and his from the same last.'

'Your reverence, that will never do,' said the shoemaker, with a smile of surprise. 'I tell you, master, to make my boots and son's on the same last.' my 'No, your reverence, I cannot do it.' 'It must be-on the same last.'

'But, your reverence, it is not possible, if the boots are to fit,' said the shoemaker, thinking to himself that the old pastor's wits were leaving him.

'Ah, then, Master Shoemaker,' said the clergyman, 'every pair of boots must be made on their own last, if they are to fit, and yet you think that God is to form all Christians exactly according to your own last of the same measure and growth in religion as yourself. That will not do either.'

The shoemaker was abashed.

Then he said, 'I thank your reverence for this sermon, and I will try to remember it, and to judge my neighbours less harshly for the future.'

A

'GOOD-NIGHT, FATHER!'

CHARMING little girl with blue eyes, the only child who remained to her parents, was their consolation and delight. Every evening the little one of four years old, with her dimpled hand, waved a merry good-night to her father, crying to him from the top of the staircase, Good-night, father; Minnie will see you again to-morrow morning.' Her father, though kind and clever, was, alas! an unbeliever. This was his wife's greatest grief, and her constant prayer was for her husband's conversion.

6

This evening again the father heard the silvery voice, Good-night, father; Minnie will see you again to-morrow morning.' But the voice was not so clear as usual; all was not well. The child is sick. The doctor is sent for. He tries to cheer the parents. The father is not to be deceived. Certain signs terrify him. His heart is broken. The prayer at last rises to his lips, O God, spare her! Preserve her to me! I was ungrateful never to have thought of blessing Thee for such a treasure. I only think of it now that Thou threatenest to take her from me!'

But God judged that the trial should bear its fruits. The illness increased. The child no longer came upon the staircase, but still in bed, with a painful effort, dear Minnie said every evening, Good-night, father; Minnie will see you again to-morrow." Even the night before her death she could just pronounce these words, Minnie too ill -can no more say-But yes- can sayFather-see you again to-morrow morning.' And she died.

The father's heart was torn. But faith had entered it.

'Yes,' he repeated, with grief mingled with happiness, 'Yes, to meet again, to meet again to-morrow morning!" J. F. C.

THE FLASK OF OIL.

Remove from me the way of lying.-Ps. exix. 29. LOUD crying was heard just outside the diningroom door, and when it was opened nurse led in the sobbing child, a little be thing of four years old, and a sad object to look at just then, for her bright curls were streaming down

with oil, which was dripping on to her plump shoulders and muslin pinafore.

'Sce, ma'am,' said nurse, to the little girl's mother; see what Missy has been doing! I left the oil-flask on the nursery chimneypiece while I went down to fetch something from the kitchen, and she's gone and emptied it all over her head!'

'I didn't do it! I didn't do it!' cried the child, without waiting for any rebuke.

Oh, Missy! Missy don't say that! You know no one else was in the nursery; no one but baby, and he asleep in his cot.' 'It wasn't me! it wasn't me!' still persisted Missy.

Go to baby, nurse, he's awake now,' said Mrs. Thompson; and then she led Missy upstairs, where she took off her stained frock and pinafore, and rubbed her head with a towel, while the little creature kept repeating her cry,

'It wasn't me! it wasn't me!'

"Hush hush!' said her mother, taking her on her lap. I want you to listen to me. I am not going to scold you at all, if you will only speak the truth. But I cannot let you go on telling stories like this.'

I not telling stories! I not, I not!' was the wilful answer.

is a great deal worse than meddling with the oil-flask. I know you have always been told not to touch anything on the chimneypiece; but I will forgive you this time, if you will own you did it.'

But the child had grown obstinate, and only kept on sobbing and crying,— 6 But I didn't! I didn't!'

Who did, then?' asked her mother. Was it nurse?'

'No.'

'Was it baby?'

'No.'

'Nor Sarah ? nor mother?'
'No.'

Then, Missy, don't you see I must know it was you? for there is no one else in the house. And so I shall punish you-not for touching the oil-bottle, inind, but for telling the same story over and over again. I shall put you into this closet, because the only fit place for any one who tells lies is in the dark; but, remember, God will see you even there.'

Missy struggled and screamed, but her mother did as she had said, and, shutting the door, turned the key in the lock. The child only screamed the more for a time, and kicked with all her small strength against the panels. But when she found it was of no use she left off; and by-andbye the punishment began to do its work, and the little prisoner called out that she was good.

'I am so glad my little girl has spoken the truth at last. But just think, Missy, how many shocking stories you have told! You must never, never, do so again. It makes mother very unhappy to have her child so naughty. And it grieves God, too; the Bible says "Lying lips are an abomination. to Him." That means, that He does not like them at all. You did not like being shut up in the dark, did you?'

'No, no!'

'Well, lying is as bad to God as a dark cupboard is to you. It is almost the worst sin a little child can be guilty of. And we must not sin and make God angry, because He is our kind Father, and loves us when. we are good, and gives us all the nice things we have. He has given my little girl her mother to take care of her, and her dear little brother to play with, and so she must be good to show that she thanks Him. She must never tell a story again. You will try-won't you, my pet?'

'Yes, darling, it is much better to have mother love you, than to have her angry and obliged to punish you. We are never happy when we are naughty, and it is very, very naughty to tell stories.'

'I never tell no such naughty story again. I won't! I won't!' promised Missy.

And more than once afterwards, when she was tempted to break her word, the thought of the dark closet and her mother's grave look held her back, and the little thing would say to herself, Stories are as bad to God as the cupboard is to me.'

EMMA RHODES.