MATTY'S BIBLE.

(Continued from page 3.)

CHAPTER II.

HE only drawback to Matty's content in her new position was dread of her old enemy the porter, but as the time passed and she saw nothing of him, she began to hope he

might have left the place altogether. Once another man put his head in at the door for a moment to see that the fire was burning, but, as a train was expected in shortly, he probably thought Matty was waiting for it, and made no remark on her appearance. When the room got crowded, the little intruder felt more at her ease; there was then less fear of detection, and she decided that if she made the station a frequent place of resort during the rest of the winter, she would slip away every now and then between the comings-in and goings-out of the trains, that she might run less chance of being found in the waiting-room alone.

The morning passed so happily that Mattie, who, child-like, had no idea of reserving her good things for the future, could not resist, when the afternoon came, turning her steps once again towards the station, though, as the weather had cleared, it might have been more prudent to leave the comfortable refuge for some worse day. Many people were flocking up to the entrance-door as she drew near, so Matty knew a train must be about to start, and hurried in with the others. It was very amusing watching the proceedings on the platform; the bustle of the passengers; the loading and unloading of trucks; the getting-up of the steam, and the actual

start of the engine. Matty waited about curiously, keeping meanwhile a sharp lookout for her particular porter. Certainly he must have left; not once did she catch sight of him. Another train was in, and almost before it had stopped a gentleman sprang out of a carriage, carpet-bag in hand, and, stepping up to an official standing close by Mattie, inquired hurriedly:

I'm in time, I hope, for the express to Valley Junction?'

'Just ten minutes late, sir,' was the cool reply. And there's not another train till 4.30.'

'How provoking! Two full hours to wait!' exclaimed the gentleman in a tone of disappointment. However, there's no help for it, I suppose. Here, take care of my bag, will you? I think I'll have a walk in the town.'

At this point, Matty, seeing that the platform was gradually clearing, retreated into the waiting-room once more. She had scarcely seated herself in her old place by the fire, when the gentleman also entered. She drew a little, on one side, so as not to intrude herself on him as he stood for a few moments warming himself, and stirring up the coals with his boot.

'No poker!' he muttered. Well, who knows how we might abuse the privilege; eh, little girl?' turning suddenly upon Matty, his clear eyes scanning her rapidly all over.

Matty felt somehow as though she were being accused of something, and she looked down half frightened. But she was a townbred child, and ready with her answers, so she said: 'It's a niceish fire as 'tis, aw thinks, sir.'

'Oh, that's your opinion, is it?' he said smiling. So you wouldn't use the poker if they allowed us one?'

'I durstn't,' was the truthful reply.

He laughed slightly. It seems fear is a very wholesome preventive in some cases. Well, good-bye, little woman'-and he was off.

Matty sat thinking about him after he was gone. He had a pleasant face and smile, but she did not quite see the drift of his remarks. One thing, however, was certain; his manner towards herself had been kind and friendly, and Matty was not much. used to kindness and friendliness, and they impressed her mind accordingly. Such a cheery voice, too! Why couldn't her father and Jack speak so? But they were not gentlemen, she reflected; and it was that, no doubt, which made the difference. Still she had heard gay tones from people of her own class, only, of course, not so soft and polished. There was Sam Cluckeo, the milk-boy, who had always a merry word for every one; but small wonder, considering the happy, easy life he led, riding about half his time in a cart on springs. Once or twice he had given Matty a lift,' as he called it; and she looked back upon the rare treat as a thing almost too good to be repeated. And to pass on to the women she knew. There was Mrs. Lane's sick daughter at the bread-shop; what a kind way she had with her! But then she had lots of books, and could sit and read by the hour; and books contained wonderful stores of delight in Matty's opinion, though her actual knowledge on the subject was very limited, extending, indeed, scarcely further than to the primers of the infantschool she had attended before her mother died, and to the loose leaves in which the cheese and bacon had sometimes come wrapped from the shop.

So Matty dreamed on, and forgot all about her intention to slip away between the arrivals of the trains. But her forgetfulness brought no ill results. No one

molested her in her pleasant retreat, the passengers went and came, and once a porter brought in a coal-scuttle and made up the fire, but the room was fortunately full at the time, and Matty contrived to place herself behind a group of women, so that she was sure he did not observe her.

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The afternoon sped on, and Matty grew drowsy it would not do, however, to go to sleep; she might be found, and in that case would be sure to be ordered off without ceremony: so she kept pinching her cheeks and rubbing her eyes to keep herself awake.

'Halloo!' cried a voice close to her. 'Here still, little woman?'

She started; but when she found it was only the gentleman again, she felt easy, though the fright had thoroughly roused her.

'And have you never gone away? Have you been here all this time?' he asked wonderingly. You are not travelling, are you? I suppose, then, you come here for the sake of the fire?'

Matty confessed the truth in some fear; but as question after question followed, his gentle manner won her confidence, and he soon knew as much of her history as our readers know.

'Poor child!' he said tenderly, and then he was silent for a minute or so, thinking what he could do to help her. He had come from a long distance, and was travelling some way further, so that there was very little likelihood of his ever seeing her again; but the desolate condition in which she seemed to pass her days appealed urgently to his interest and pity, and he cast earnestly about in his mind for the best means of doing her some effectual service.

(To be continued.)

SUBAH THE GIPSY.

From the German.

N the year 1665 there lived at Hermannsburg a Squire named Hans Christopher von Haselhorst. He was noted for the charity which he showed to every one, so that he was, in the true sense of the word, a father to the poor; and in his noble efforts he was faithfully assisted by his like-minded wife, Anna Margaretha. With the pastor at Hermannsburg, Paulus Boccatius, the Squire lived in sincere friendship, and helped him heartily in all his benevolent schemes. At that time bands of gipsies wandered. throughout Germany. These strange people were partly feared by the inhabitants of the villages, and partly regarded with favour; for though they begged and stole in a shameless way, yet they were good tinkers and fortune-tellers, too, and people could not do without kettle-mending, and, sad to say, they liked fortune-telling.

Squire Haselhorst and Pastor Boccatius often talked together about those strangers, and mourned over their heathen ignorance. Every time the gipsies came to the Squire's Court and to the Parsonage they were kindly treated. The two good men visited them also at their camp, and spoke to them of the Lord Jesus, and told them that even for them the Saviour had shed His Blood. At first it was difficult to gain a hearing from the gipsies; but gradually, love so far won the victory, that they seemed pleased to listen quietly. One thing which greatly helped this was that the two gentlemen would never let the gipsies tell their fortunes, neither would they suffer their wives, children, or servants, to have theirs told by them; explaining to them that for

tune-telling was an invention of the devil, which an honest Christian should abhor.

One Sunday afternoon, while Herr von Haselhorst was with Pastor Boccatius, conversing after the service, a gipsy ran to the Parsonage, and asked to speak to the Pastor. When he came in, he said that the gipsies had left behind in one of their encampments a boy of fifteen, who for the last few months had been growing weaker and weaker, and who now could go no further with them. Since they had been taught by the Squire and Pastor, they no longer killed their sick and aged people, as they used to do; but they could not take this boy with them in the winter season, and would the Pastor or the Squire have pity on him and receive him? They would willingly leave him to them, even if he should desire to be baptized.'

Then the two gentlemen went at once with the gipsy to the encampment, where they found a good farmer named Richardson, from the neighbouring village of Baven, already with the sick lad.

'Subah,' for so the gipsy addressed the boy, which of these three shall be thy father?"

Subah pointed to the Pastor, and said, My father with the book;' then he pointed to the Squire, and said, 'My father with the sword;' and lastly, to the farmer, My father with the bread.' All three took his hand, and promised they would do for him as he desired. And they faithfully kept their promise. The Pastor instructed him, the Squire protected him, and the farmer fed him and took him into his house.

Baven is only a quarter of a mile from Hermannsburg, and thither the Pastor went almost every day, sometimes alone, often accompanied by the Squire, to teach the boy and pray with him. And the Lord gave a wonderful blessing to his instruc