there she felt better, though more tears fell over the little grave with its flowery wreath.

London though it was, there was the blue sky above, and even the sunshine seemed to comfort and warm the poor mother; she prayed, too, to be made gentle and submissive under this great trial, and when she turned homewards her face looked quieter and happier.

But it was a long business, this getting used to live without baby; and though Mrs. Lorimer tried every day to seem cheerful before her husband, he found out how deeply she was suffering, and tried to think of something to divert her mind.

His first thought was to take her abroad, but this plan could not be managed, so he bought a beautiful country-house, and chose the loveliest shrubs and flowers with which to adorn it, and for a while Mrs. Lorimer was busy directing the arrangement of them. Baby had been a year in Heaven now, and his mother, with a sigh, had put off her black. So Mr. Lorimer fondly hoped she was more resigned to her loss. But in the country she was more alone, as her husband had to go daily to his bank in London, and just at this time it seemed almost worse for her to have no crowing happy little child to keep her company.

She longed for every baby she saw; tears came to her eyes when she watched her coachman's children at play in the fields, and when they made a wreath of flowers in their play it reminded her of the grave at St. Margaret's, and made her heart ache almost to bursting.

Poor Mr. Lorimer saw it all, and wondered what next he could do for his wife: he drew her from the window on pretence of speaking to her on some subject, but it was no use pretending, and perhaps it was

best that both should shed a few tears together over the recollection of baby-boy. Mrs. Lorimer was the first to speak.

'Don't mind me, dear, I will be brave,' she said. 'I did not mean to be so repining; I think I am too idle, too much alone I will get your nephews to be with me these holidays.'

The nephews were just big schoolboys, not at all really companions for Mrs. Lorimer, but it was kind of her to have them, as they had no home in which to spend their holidays, and they tried to be gentle and good to the sorrowful aunt who had lost her baby.

They enjoyed themselves mightily, fishing, and riding, and cricket-playing, and it was some relief for Aunt Amy to arrange these pleasures for them.

The holidays were nearly over, when one day Gerard, the eldest boy, who was studying the newspaper at breakfast, suddenly exclaimed,

I say, auntie, here's an odd thing! listen-"Baby found in a hole in a wall!"'

Here Regie, his brother, kicked him so hard under the table, that Gerard turned very red, muttering that it was nothing; would auntie pass the toast?

But auntie stroked his cheek and smiled at Regie, to show she felt their consideration, and then said in a very firm voice,

Go on, dear Gerard; I should like to hear about the poor baby-found in a wall, did you say?'

So Gerard read the account,-a policeman had found a little child of six months old, hid in a hole in a wall in the suburbs of London, deserted, and crying feebly from cold and hunger.

'Only the night before last, when we were warm in bed!' said Mrs. Lorimer. Awful shame of its mother to leave it,' said Regie.

'Sent to the workhouse, I suppose,' said Mrs. Lorimer. Well, well, London is a sad place. Now, dear, what are the plans for to-day?'

But through all that day Mrs. Lorimer could do nothing but think of that tiny baby, just the age of hers when it left her, lying unowned and. uncared for in a workhouse.

At night she told her husband that she wanted to have it for her own. He hardly thought it would do, but he promised to send money and have the child cared for better in the workhouse, but Mrs. Lorimer pleaded the more to have it to bring up.

There was a long article in the newspaper next day about the cruel mother who could leave her child to perish by the wayside, or at best to be reared by the hands of a workhouse nurse; and many people felt grieved about the poor little waif, but few troubled themselves more about it, or knew that even then it was on its way to a home of love and comfort. (To be continued.)

HOSPITALITY AND
CHARITY.

N the movements of troops which took place in France during the war, a regiment arrived in a town where the soldiers had to be billeted on the inhabitants. A sergeant and two grenadiers received their tickets for the same house, where they presented themselves. A good old woman came to open the door to them, and she appeared at first much alarmed at seeing them.

'Make yourself easy, good mother,' said the sergeant; 'we are not bad sort of people, and we will give you as little trouble as

possible. possible. Only, if you can give us something to eat, you will do us great kindness, for we are very hungry and much fatigued.'

'Oh, my poor friends!' she replied, ‘I wish I had the best things in the world to offer you; but I have nothing but the contents of this little saucepan you see here on the fire, and it is quite a chance that it is there now, for I haven't it every day: so I am sure they must have made a mistake in sending three of you to an old woman like me. I will give up my bed to you, but I have only that, and it is not large. enough for three, nor comfortable either for brave soldiers tired as you must be. I have only this little room, and if that is enough for you I will sleep upon a chair.'

'Never mind, good mother, we will make the best of it. I see, indeed,' said the sergeant, they made a mistake in sending us here: but if you will keep us we will be content with what you can offer us. Here is some money to add something to the saucepan; get it for us as quickly as you can, and we shall be much obliged.'

Thank God for having sent me such brave, honest men!' said the good old woman. 'I will make as much haste as possible.'

She went out and soon came back with enough to make a good meal, which she shared with her guests. She had not had such a good supper for so long that she became quite talkative over it, so that the tired soldiers were at last obliged to ask her permission to go to bed. The sergeant had the mattress, and the two soldiers the palliasse, while the old woman persisted in having no other bed than a chair. I shall be able to sleep to-morrow,' she said, while you will be obliged to march-who knows where ? Alas! perhaps you may be killed. Oh, how many prayers I will say for you!'

Next morning the three soldiers took a kindly farewell of their old hostess.