"You think not, Mary. Yet this is just what people do who neglect the Bible—who put it away on the shelf; and take no pains to understand it."

"But people are not starved to death because they don't understand the Bible," said Pauline.

"Not in this world perhaps, but in another world, my dear; have you forgotten that? Our lives do not end when we stop living here and our bodies are buried in the ground, do they? What becomes of our souls then?"

"They go to heaven," answered little Jemmie Fisher.

"All of them?" asked Edah. "Do the souls of all sorts of people go to heaven, Jemmie?"

"Only Christians go to heaven," said Selina Bostwick.

"And what becomes of the others?"

"They are lost," said Selina solemnly, after a pause.

"Yes," said Edah, "unless we learn the way to heaven in this world and set out in that way, we shall never find it, and the sooner we set out, the more sure we are of reaching the end of our journey. It is to learn about that way that we come here this afternoon. But it will do us no good to learn the road, unless we set out in it; we must remember that: a great many people know the way, who I fear never take one step forward therein. Now we will read over the lesson for next Sunday, and see if we understand it."

The lesson was accordingly read—a verse by each child in turn; and Edah gave such explanations as she thought necessary. She did not like to keep them too long at first; so she made her remarks as brief as possible. All the children, except Jemmie Fisher, could read pretty fluently, and he made out tolerably, by dint of spelling, and being told the hard words by his sister. Edah gave them a short recess, telling them not to go away from the door or make any noise, and she was glad to find that they obeyed her. After they had taken their seats again, she said—

"Children, there are some words which I wish you to learn to repeat altogether. They are called the Apostles' Creed, and they tell what all Christians believe. I will say it all for you, and then we will repeat it sentence by sentence till we learn it. The meaning of the word Creed is belief."

She repeated it slowly and seriously; then taking the first clause, she said it with them three or four times, till they seemed to know it perfectly.

"I used to know that when I was a little girl," said Ruby-Anne. "I guess I'll say it too; it will kind of help them along."

"Do, if you please," said Edah, and accordingly Ruby-Anne's voice chimed in with those of the little ones. In the course of half an hour the older ones had it perfectly, and then Edah dismissed them, after singing another hymn, and giving them their library books. They all went home, feeling very nicely, and Edah herself was greatly encouraged by this favorable beginning. She thought it very likely that she would have more trouble as she went on, but she did not mean to be discouraged. She was especially pleased at being able to keep the attention of the children fixed, and at finding them all so well-behaved, and looked forward with much pleasure to meeting them again.

The next Sunday all the children made their appearance, with the addition of two or three new faces, and Edah was gratified to find that they had not only learned the words of their lesson, but also that they remembered and comprehended her explanations. She pursued the same course as before, and with the same success, and there seemed now a fair prospect of the school's flourishing, and being useful not only to the children, but to herself. She was surprised to find, when she sat down to think over the verses of the lesson, how very indistinct her own ideas were on the subject, and how much of study and meditation were necessary in order to put them into an available shape.

She was careful not to fatigue her pupils by too many explanations; but instead of their being in a hurry to get away, she found them rather unwilling to go, and very desirous to hear "some more."

This week was destined to be one of trial to Edah. In the first place, the Laurences set out on their journey. Edah had expected to miss them very much, but she was not prepared to find such a blank in her daily life as their departure created. It made her feel desolate not to be expecting to see Annie, or to hear from her, or to ride over to Spring Bank herself. She felt that there was no one left to her.

She had, it is true, formed some acquaintances in the village, particularly with Mrs. Bell, the mother of Abby and Sarah, and with Miss Gilmore, a useful, painstaking maiden lady, Selina Bostwick's aunt, who was much interested in her plans for the Sunday School, and promised to help her whenever she needed assistance; but still they were not very cultivated people, and knew nothing of many of the things which interested her. Mrs. Bell, in particular, thought it very strange that any one should take so much pains to learn a foreign language, when there were so many books in English yet unread, and she could hardly believe that any one whose mind was so much taken up with books and such things could have any attention left for household duties. She was obliged, however, to confess, when Edah laughingly brought in for her inspection a shirt which she had just finished for Sam, that she could not have made it better herself.

Captain Laurence, who was a good deal of a book-collector, had, as he said, made her free of his library, and she was at liberty at any time to carry home whatever volumes she wanted—a precious privilege in a country where books were by no means as plenty as blackberries. Edah took up a course of history with Sam, who had become very fond of reading aloud, and she hoped to make it profitable to both of them. Moreover, she had herself become very much interested in some of our most excellent old English divines, and she was especially delighted with the Scripture Meditations of glorious Bishop Hall, which she studied until she knew them by heart. Still, all these advantages could not make up for the loss of the society of her friends, and she missed them more and more every day.

A few days after their final departure, she was out in the yard, when her attention was attracted by an old negro who was lingering near the gate, and she went out to speak to him. The old man seemed to have some difficulty in getting out what he had to say, and hesitated, till Edah said, good-naturedly—

"What is it, Uncle Jake? I am sure there is something on your mind yet."

"Well, missy, that's a fact. You see I didn't like to trouble missy, if I could get along without, but it's mighty hard times, and this old feller don't make out very well."

"But I don't understand you yet, Jake? Do you want me to help you in any way?"

"No, missy; I don't ask nothing of nobody, only to be paid. You see, missy, I used to work for Mr. Champlin, time and again, hauling boards and driving, and so on, and sometimes he paid me, and then again he didn't; but I didn't get nothing for most a year before Mr. Champlin went away—that's a fact. So I got Mr. Bell to draw off the 'count, 'cause I always kept a 'count, and here it is. You see, missy, I knew there was a good deal going out, and I didn't like to disturb the family; but I'm mighty poor this fall—that's a fact."

Edah took the account. It seemed all fair enough, and the amount was fifteen dollars. She knew that Mr. Bell would have had nothing to do with it unless it were all right, and she felt sorry not to have known of it before.

"You must be paid at once, Jake, of course. I wish you had called before, though I am much obliged to you for your consideration. Walk into the kitchen and sit down, and I will get you the money."

"Missy is very kind. I guess I will sit down, for this old feller gets tired mighty easy, now-a-days."

Edah was startled, on counting over her stock of ready money, to see that it would take half of what she had in hand to pay Jake. It was more than two months to Christmas, when she would receive her next instalment, and what were they to do in the mean time?

"Do you ever work for Mr. Strong, at the Eagle, Jake?" she asked, as she gave the old man his money.

"Yes, missy—sometimes."

"What sort of a man is he?"

"Well, he's a hard man, that's a fact—a regular skinflint, he is. I never see his match for that. Missy had any trouble with him since Captain Laurence paid up the mortgage?"

"Captain Laurence paid up the mortgage! What do you mean, Jake?"

"Don't missy know? Laws sake, I's sorry I said a word."

"But what is it, Jacob? I must know all about it," said Edah.

"Well, missy knows Strong was agoing to take Miss Champlin's things, and the old Captain he heard of it, and he come over and wanted Strong to make over the mortgage to him. Strong swore he wouldn't at first, but he knows which side his bread's buttered, and he dusn't offend the old Captain, you see, so finally he let him have it, and the Captain paid him the money; and if old Strong didn't swear tall, when the old Captain was out of hearing, it's no matter. Real gentleman the old Captain is, missy—none of your new-come-up folks, they ain't. My oldest boy and girl was brung up there. Missy's seen my Jube and Sally at the Captain's, I expect."

"Are Jube and Sally your children, Jake? I did not know that. You must be glad to have them in such good hands."

"Yes, missy, thank the Lord, they's well brought up. Jube is a good boy, and helps his old daddy a sight, he does. I's a deal to be thankful for, that's a fact. Well, I thank you, missy, and bid you good-morning. If you have any little jobs to do, Jake will be glad to do them for you."

"Sam," said Edah that night, "old Jake says that Captain Laurence took that mortgage, and paid Strong the money. Did you know any thing about it?"

"No, indeed!" replied Sam, looking perfectly confounded. "Do you believe it, Edah?"

"Why, Jake says he was there at the time, and that Strong did not want to let him have it, but that he dared not offend him, and so the Captain paid the money."

"How should he know any thing about it?"

"Perhaps Mr. Willson told him. You know he knew all the circumstance; for he was here the same day, and we talked it over with him."

"And the Captain was at Strong's the next day, I know. I remember seeing the young black horses standing there, hitched to the post. That's the reason we have heard no more from Strong. But what do you mean to do about it?"

"It must be paid in some way," said Edah. "I would not pay Strong, if I could help it; but now the debt is to Captain Laurence, and that is quite another thing. It must be paid at some rate."

"It ought to be, certainly; but I declare, Edah, I don't know how. I have only twenty dollars left."

"And I have only twelve, since paying Jake. I shall not have any more till Christmas, and then only fifty dollars. But come in here—" they were standing at the door of Edah's room—"and I will tell you what I have been thinking. Talk low, so as not to wake Polly."

Sam sat down accordingly, and Edah went on: "Do you know whether they have found a teacher for the school yet?"

"I know they have not," replied Sam. "I heard them talking about it at the post-office to-night."

"Do you think they would let me take it?"

"You!" exclaimed Sam, with so much vehemence that Polly started in her sleep. "I guess they would, and be glad of the chance; but you would not think of doing it, would you?"

"Why not?" asked Edah. "Don't you think I am competent to teach a common school?"

"But would you be willing to do it? Just think how it would take up your time, and hew tired you would get. You would have to give up your Spanish and drawing almost entirely; and then to have to teach and manage all sorts of children—boys and girls, rough and smooth, just as they come."

"I have thought of all that," said Edah. "As to the children, I have no fear but that I should manage them, for I am fond of children, and they almost always like me. It would be hard work at first, but I should get used to it, I presume. As to the Spanish and drawing, I should have to give them up, to be sure, but they are not of so much consequence. I shall never feel easy a moment till this debt is paid."

"What in the world are you talking about?" asked Susan, putting her head in at the door.

"About ways and means," said Edah. "Come in and join the committee, will you? I thought you were asleep."

"So I was, till your talking waked me. And what about ways and means? Ways to spend money, and no means of getting it, is what it signifies in our case usually; but what new call is there for money?"

Edah explained what she had heard.

Susan listened in silence, and then said, in a voice which struggled in vain to be calm—

"Captain Laurence is very kind, but I almost wish he had let it alone. I should not care whether Strong ever got a cent of it or not, but now the case is altered. I don't like the idea of Captain Laurence losing by us. How much is it?"

"About one hundred and thirty dollars."

"We never can pay it in the world," said Susan.

"I am not sure of that," replied Edah. "Sam says that they have not yet engaged a teacher for the district school, and he thinks they would take me, if I applied, and in that way I could earn something. I suppose they would give me, at least, twelve dollars a month."

"Sixteen," said Sam. "I heard them say they would give sixteen, if they got a teacher that suited them."

"Well, sixteen dollars a month would go a good way, if well managed, and then I could save my allowance towards the debt, and in time we could get enough."

Susan tried once or twice to speak, and then, bursting into tears, she said, through her sobs—

"I declare it is a perfect shame—you just support the family now, and when it comes to paying father's whisky debts besides—for they are no better—I think we had better break up, and go to the poorhouse at once."

"You forget, Susy, that I am going to spend the winter here," said Edah, smiling, and trying to speak gaily, though the tears stood in her own eyes, "and I should not like to spend it in the poorhouse at all. And after all, what harm will it do me to teach a few months? A great many girls do it from choice; and besides, Sue, you forget that it will give me a chance to extend my Sunday School—my pet, as you call it."

"I believe that is at the bottom of it, after all," said Susan, trying to laugh in her turn; "but it does seem a perfect shame that you should have to give up all your own tastes and studies for the sake of earning money for us. If I were in your place, I would just go off to New York, and leave the family to its own devices."

"I don't believe you would do any such thing," interrupted Edah.

"I have been trying to think of some way in which I can earn something," continued Susan, "but I don't see how I can. I am pretty good at sewing, and I thought I could get some dresses to make; but I cannot sew lately, it gives me such pain in my side, and makes me cough so."

"You must not think of such a thing," said Edah, earnestly. "You do enough, and more than enough, in waiting upon mother and taking care of Eddy, and you could not be more useful in any other way. Well, then, since the committee approves of my plan, I shall make the proposition to Mr. Bell to-morrow. I am sure of his good word, at any rate. And then I shall be the school-ma'am, and you will all have to be very respectful to me. I shall allow no liberties, I assure you."

"And what will become of your drawing and Spanish, and your history-reading, and all that?" asked Susan.

"The drawing and Spanish will have to wait a while," replied Edah; "the history will go on as usual, as it only occupies the evenings. Perhaps I may contrive a little time for drawing, but if not, I must do without for the present."

"Well," said Susan, "all I can say is, I should like to know how you came by your disposition. You did not get it by inheritance, I am sure of that."

"If you will believe me, Susan," replied Edah, earnestly, "I have got whatever there is of good in me from my religious principles. It is to these, and these alone, that I owe any power of good, or of self-sacrifice. I used to think of nothing but myself, and my own pleasure; and now, though I know I often fail, I also know that my greatest desire is to do the will of God, and to glorify Him."

"I am sure you do it," said Sam.

Susan made no remark, but she kissed her sister good-night with unusual affection.

"One thing more before the committee rises," said Edah. "Don't say any thing about it to mother till it is all settled and decided. She might object, and make it difficult to arrange matters. I do not exactly like to act without consulting her either, but, as she is now, I think it will be best. So we will keep it all quiet till I have seen Mr. Bell and the committee."

"You don't know what a queer dream I had last night," said Pauline, at breakfast. "I dreamed that Sam, and sister, and Susan were all in our room talking about keeping a school for Captain Laurence, and that Sue cried about it. Wasn't it curious? It seems to me just as if they had really been there."

CHAPTER VIII.

NEW LABORS AND NEW PLEASURES.

THE next day Edah went over to see her fast friend Mr. Bell, who was one of the school committee. He was much astonished by her offer to take the school at sixteen dollars a month, and at first could hardly believe she was serious; but when she assured him that she was really desirous to undertake it, and that she was ready to begin immediately, he promised to use all his influence in her favor; and with this promise Edah was quite content, for she well knew that his voice was all-powerful with the school committee.

Accordingly the next morning after breakfast, Mr. Bell dropped in.

"Well, Miss Champlin," said he, "we had a meeting last night, and talked it over, and we agreed to let you have the school, but they want you to begin right away next Monday. I told them I didn't know how that would be."

"I am willing to begin at once," replied Edah.

"There's another thing," said Mr. Bell; "you don't know any Latin, do you?"

"Yes," replied Edah; "I have read Virgil, and I have been well drilled in the Latin Grammar."

"There now—I told them it was probable you did. You see there are Bostwick's boy and girls, and my nephew, Bob Raymond: their folks want them to learn Latin. Now if you'd teach them maybe half or three quarters of an hour after school, they'd be perfectly willing to give you a dollar a week more."

"Very well!" said Edah. "I presume I can teach them all they want to know."

"Well then," said Mr. Bell, rising, "I don't see but it's all settled out fair and square. Some of them wanted you to board round; but I told 'em you couldn't do that, on account of your ma's health. You'll find some of the children rather rough customers, but I reckon you will get along. There's Bob Raymond—his folks have nations of trouble with him, but there ain't any need of it. He'll stay three months at a time with me, as good a boy as you'd wish to see. It is with children just as it is with horses: some folks seem as if they put Ned into them the minute they touch them—'tain't so much in the horses as it is in the driving."

Edah had now the hardest task of all on her hands, and that was to communicate to her mother the intelligence that she had engaged as a district school teacher. At first, Mrs. Champlin would hardly believe her, and when she assured herself that it was really so, she was indignant beyond measure.

"You, the daughter of Frederick Champlin, and the niece of John Liston, to be teaching ragged children in a district school! A fine occupation to be sure! And what am I to do while you are away from morning till night, with no one to speak to, and not a soul to do any thing for me?"

"There will be Susan and Ruby-Anne, you know," said Edah gently.

"Susan indeed! Susan is a child, a perfect child! She is no company for me at all. But you all of you think of every thing else before you do of me."

"I don't suppose Edah would teach a district school for the pleasure of it, mother," said Susan, unable to keep silence any longer; "it would be a great deal pleasanter for her to stay at home, and study her Spanish and draw."

"Why doesn't she do it then? You don't pretend to tell me that with all the money your father sent home before he sailed, there is any necessity for it."

This was one of Mrs. Champlin's favorite ideas; she considered the meager supply sent by her husband perfectly inexhaustible. "But you must do as you please. I shall say no more about it, only I do think it is rather hard that I am made a perfect cypher in my own house, and that my own children rebel against me."

Upon this complaint Mrs. Champlin rung the changes for the whole day, till Edah's ears and heart ached with hearing it. Had she not been perfectly satisfied that she was taking the right course, she would have found this state of things perfectly intolerable.

Mrs. Champlin commonly slept all the afternoon, and while she was asleep, Edah took her work and went down to Miss Gilmore's, hoping to find a little rest and refreshment in the society of her kind and sensible friend. Miss Gilmore was sitting in the kitchen cutting carpet-rags, and though rather distressed at the litter around her, she made Edah cordially welcome.

"Do tell if it is really true that you are going to take the school?" she asked. "I heard it for certain, but I can hardly believe it."

"It is really true," replied Edah; "I am going to begin next Monday, and I want you to advise me about it, for I know you have taught."

"The best advice I can give you," said Miss Gilmore, "is to do the very best you can, and then trust to Providence for the result. But if you want to know how to make the most of your time, I can tell you how I used to do."

She then went on with a detailed account of her mode of proceeding, to which Edah listened with great interest.

"You see I am old-fashioned in my notions," she said in conclusion; "but after all, it seems to me that children learned as much when I was young, as they do now. I know when I was thirteen years old, I could read and write, and had been through Murray's Grammar and Pike's Arithmetic, and understood them too, and that is more than many children can my now-a-days."

"I wanted to ask you about one thing," said Edah—"having prayers in school. It seems to me the only right way, but I believe they have not usually done it here."

"About that I would do just as I thought right. I don't think any one would object to it. You could read prayers, I suppose?"

"I think so," replied Edah; "the plan I had in mind was this: first to have all that are able read a chapter in the Testament, and then join in the Lord's Prayer, followed by some short form of prayer. What do you think of it?"

"It seems a good plan enough, unless they would get so tired of a form as not to attend to it, and I don't think there is much danger of that. I don't doubt, my dear, but you will do very well, and be the means of good in this place. Your little Sunday School has done much already: the children all talk about it, and I presume a great many more would like to come, only they are shy."

"I almost wonder that no such thing has been done here before," said Edah.

"It is rather singular; but the fact is, there has been no one to take hold of it. There are hardly any pious people here, for one thing: not more than eight families in the place make any pretensions to religion, and they are very lukewarm, and take but little interest in it. There has never been any thing like a church here. Sometimes Mr. Willson, or some Methodist minister, preaches in the school-house, but not often. I wish it was different, with all my heart; and now that a Sunday School is really started, and the few that go take so much interest, I should not wonder if it was the beginning of better days: at any rate, we will hope and pray that it may be so."

The next Monday morning Edah was ready early, and went over to the school-house in good season. It was beautifully situated, being built just upon the side of a hill, shaded by large trees on one side, while upon the other, the ground descended abruptly to the bed of a brawling mountain stream, which almost made an island of the village in its circuitous course. The deep hollow, as it was called, was a favorite play place with the children, who found the earliest spring flowers on its precipitous sides, birds' nests in the bushes, and curious pebbles and small petrifactions in the bed of the stream. About half-way down the bank, one of the copious springs, so common in that part of the country, issued from under the roots of an old cedar, and ran gaily down into the brook below.

The school-house itself was built of stone, and with its surroundings of trees and rocks formed a very pretty picture. There was no one in the room when she entered, but it had been carefully swept and dusted, and a bunch of late flowers in a broken flower-pot was placed upon the desk. Standing by that desk, Edah offered a silent prayer that she might have grace to fulfil all her duties, and that she might be made the instrument of much good to those under her care.

The children dropped in, one after the other, or three or four at a time, all shy and awkward enough, and replying in monosyllables to the questions put to them by the new school-ma'am. The greater part of them were young, but there was quite a class of great grown-up boys and girls, some of whom looked older than their teacher.

When nine o'clock came, Edah took her place on the platform, and rang the bell, and the little crowd immediately took their seats in a kind of disorderly order. She waited a few minutes till all was perfectly still, and then said—

"I am very glad to meet so many pleasant faces here this morning. I hope and believe that you have all come prepared to do your best, to learn your lessons well, and behave well. I am pleased too, to see so many large boys and girls, and I presume I shall find them a great assistance. But as no undertaking can be expected to prosper which is not commenced with the blessing of God, we will begin all our mornings with prayer. I wish all present who have Testaments would open to the second chapter of St. Matthew's Gospel."

There were a few glances of surprise interchanged, but the books were produced, and the places found.

"We will read round once two verses to each," continued Edah, "and then you will all kneel and join with me in repeating the Lord's Prayer."

The verses were read round accordingly, and all knelt in a very orderly manner, but only a few voices joined in the prayer: these were Edah's Sunday scholars, one of the older girls, and Bob Raymond.

She was not unprepared for this result; but she had resolved beforehand to persevere till the experiment was fairly tried. She knew she could depend upon her Sunday scholars, and she hoped the rest would fall in by degrees. The oldest girl in the school, whose name was Martha Cowles, was a communicant of the church at Raeburn, a pleasant, unassuming young woman, with mild dark eyes, and very prepossessing in her appearance.

The first day was spent in arranging classes, ascertaining the acquirements of the pupils, and making acquaintance with them. In one of the boys Edah was especially interested, not from any personal beauty, or attractiveness of appearance, but quite the reverse. John Downing was a pale, sullen, dark-haired boy, about fourteen years old. He had good features, and might have been called handsome, but for the settled expression of discontent and ill-humor which deformed his countenance: he seldom smiled or looked up, and Edah could not help thinking that with his sullenness there was also an expression of habitual unhappiness. He seemed rather backward in his studies, and when he was placed in a lower class than the other boys of his own age, the gloom on his face deepened till it was painful to look at him.

Edah resolved to take the first opportunity to attract his confidence, and win his love. The opportunity soon presented itself, though in rather an unexpected manner. One afternoon Jack was complained of by the little ones for pinching them, pulling their hair, and otherwise annoying them. He denied these accusations at once; but Edah was very quick-sighted, and soon saw with her own eyes the offence repeated.

"You will stay a little while after school to-night, John," said she. "I must have a talk with you about this matter."

Accordingly, when the other children were dismissed, John remained in his seat, looking tenfold more dogged and sullen than ever.

When all were gone, Edah turned the key in the door, and took a seat beside him.

"It seems to me, Jack," she said, gently, "that you are a very unhappy boy."

Jack looked up in some astonishment at this address, so different from what he had expected, but dropped his eyes again on meeting Edah's serious but kindly glance.

"It seems to me that you are very unhappy," she went on. "I hardly ever see you smile or laugh, and you seem to have no friends. Why is it?"

"Nobody likes me," replied Jack, speaking suddenly, after a pause of some minutes. "There ain't anybody in the world that can bear me. The boys all hate me, and my father treats me worse than a dog. He wishes I was dead, I know, and I wish so too, I do," he concluded; and bursting into a passion of tears, he laid his head down on his folded arms, and sobbed almost hysterically.

Edah put her arm round his neck, stroked his head, and tried by caresses and kind words to compose and reassure him.

"I know I'm the worst boy that ever was," he said, after another pause, "but how can I help it! Father never speaks to me except to find fault, and never touches me except to whip me; and ma's pretty much so. They never seem to notice when I try to do right; but just as sure as I go wrong, I get a whipping. It's just so in school."

"Did I ever whip you, Jack," interrupted Edah, "or find fault with you when I could help it?"

"No, not you—there ain't many like you; but all the teachers we have had before have done so; and they always told father, and then I'd have to take it again. Well, I am hateful, I know. Sometimes it makes me feel as though I'd like to do all the mischief I can, and then I plague and tease folks, right and left."

"And does that make you feel any better?"

"No, I don't know as it does. There don't any thing make me feel better. I believe there was some good in me once, but there ain't any now, and I don't expect there ever will be again."

"Jack," said Edah, "do you believe that I am your friend? Will you believe me if I tell you that I am really anxious to befriend you, and make you happy?"

"Yes," replied Jack, after some deliberation. "If you said so, I should believe it, though it don't seem as if any one really could care for me."

"And will you follow my advice, and do as I want to have you?"

"Yes. I will try, any way."

Edah paused for a moment, and then said, in a still more serious and affectionate tone—

"Jack, do you ever think that you have a Friend in heaven, who can do more for you than any earthly friend—who loves you, and is ready to help you, as soon as you ask Him?"

"Miss Champlin," said Jack, looking at her earnestly for the first time, "do you really believe—now really and truly—that God cares anything for such a boy as I am?"

"Certainly I do, my dear; as truly as I believe I am sitting here. I know it is so, and if you ask Him, He will give you help."

"How?"

"He will show you some way out of your difficulties, and will give you strength to bear them better, and to be a better boy. For there is no doubt, Jack, that a good many of your troubles are owing to your own faults. You say that people don't like you; but is that strange? Did you expect to make Jemmy Fisher like you by pulling his hair? Or yesterday, when you threw Bob Raymond's cap up into the tree, was that the way to make friends with him? In both these cases you had no sort of provocation: is it strange that the boys do not like you when you tease them so? Now the first thing for you to do, is to get over this bad habit of teasing and annoying others. Try to think what you can do to please people instead of contriving ways to injure them, and you will soon find an alteration in their feelings towards you, and of yours towards them. The best way of learning to like those around us is to do them good.

"Now if you will take my advice, you will begin to-morrow morning with thinking what you can do to please Bob and Jemmy, and make them some amends. I know you can contrive some way, if you try: don't be discouraged, if you don't succeed well at first, but keep on trying. Be diligent in your studies, and see if you do not have a pleasant day. And first of all, ask God to give you the help you need, to be a better boy, and you may be sure He will hear you, and be glad to see you making an effort to reform, whether any one else is or not."

"I'll try," said Jack, after a moment's thought; "but I know they will only laugh at me."

"Never mind it if they do; try all the more, and by and by they will see that you are in earnest, and they will be glad to help you. Now run home, and don't stop by the way."

The next day Edah was on the watch to see the effect of her lessons. Jack came to school in excellent time, and was very industrious and quiet all the morning.

At noon a good many of the children were gathered around the door, and Jemmie Fisher, who had a great talent for tumbling, contrived to fall off the steps with his slate in his hand. He was not much hurt, but the frame of the new slate, alas! was broken, and came off.

"Never mind, Jemmie!" said Jack, taking it out of his hands. "I'll mend it for you. Don't cry, but run and find me a little bit of hard wood."

"What's going to happen now?" exclaimed Bob Raymond, who was rather a thoughtless boy. "I think the world must be coming to an end when Jack Downing offers to help any one."

The angry words, "Mind your own business—" came at once to Jack's lips, but did not pass them. He controlled himself, and said pleasantly enough—

"Better late than never, you know, Bob!" And then adding, "I wonder what that young one is about," he went in search of Jemmie.

"Bob," said Selina Bostwick, "suppose you had fallen down on the ice, and were trying to get up, and every time you got up, a little some one gave you a shove, and pushed you down again. I guess you would think it was rather mean, wouldn't you?"

"Of course I should," returned Bob; "but what of that?"

"That's just what you did to Jack just now. Now it seems to me, if he is really trying to do better, it would be kinder and more generous to help him than to hinder him."

"It wasn't quite fair, Selina, that's a fact," said Bob, coloring; "but you see I was taken by surprise. However, I'll try to make it up to him, somehow."

"Well, Jack, how have you succeeded?" asked Edah, when school was out at night. "Have you had a pleasant day?"

"Yes, ma'am," replied Jack, smiling; "a great deal pleasanter than yesterday. It was hard work to begin though, I tell you, and I'd like to have spoiled all when Bob Raymond laughed at me. But I didn't though, and I know he was sorry he laughed, for he offered to lend me his ball of his own accord afterwards."

"I see you have made a good beginning," said Edah, "and what you have now to do is to keep on, and try to do better every day. But you cannot do this in your own strength, and as sure as you try, you will fail again and again. It is only the strength which God gives that enables us to stand against temptation and to do right."

"I did say my prayers last night and this morning," said Jack, looking down; "but I could hardly believe it would do any good. It didn't seem as though there was any one to hear me."

"But have you not found it easier to be good since?"

"Yes, I think I did; and, Miss Champlin, when Bob laughed at me, I was just going to say, 'Mind your own business,' when I remembered what you said, and I don't know whether it was a prayer or not, but I wished He would help me, and then I found I could answer pleasantly. But I can hardly believe that He really did."

"I can," said Edah, "and I believe He will help you more and more, the more you ask Him. But you must try to have faith. I shall always like to have you ask me any questions, or tell me any thing that puzzles you, and I will answer you as well as I can."

Every one noticed the change in Jack from this time. He was frequently sad, and even gloomy when he came to school in the morning, or when it was time to return at night; but he was obliging, kind, and gentle, especially to the little ones, and to Edah his devotion was unbounded. She was indeed his first and for some time his only friend, but he was soon to have others raised up for him. Bob Raymond related to his uncle the change that had come over Jack, and told how sorry the boys felt for him when he came to school with his face so pale, and his eyes all swelled with crying.

"I suppose," said Mr. Bell, after a little reflection, "if I was to take Jack for an apprentice, you and he'd raise Ned together, wouldn't you?"

"We would try not to," returned Bob, laughing. "I wish you would take him, Uncle Joshua, and see if something couldn't be made of him."

"I want a boy," continued Mr. Bell, "and I don't know but I might as well have him as another. Well, don't say any thing just now, Bob, but let me see about it."

Mr. Bell saw about it accordingly, and in the course of a week Jack was established as an apprentice in his workshop, and boarding in his family. The Bells were very plain people, and not very rich, but they were kind to each other, and the children were governed on a very different plan from any to which Jack had been accustomed. It was like a heaven on earth to him. He lost his gloomy frown and downcast look; his eyes grew brighter, his manners frank and open, and though he had some pretty serious faults, Mr. Bell pronounced him, at the end of his three months' trial, a pretty good boy.

Edah had little trouble in her school. She possessed that quiet dignity of manner which seems to take obedience always for granted, and which goes so far with children. Moreover, she was their friend and counsellor in all their plans and amusements, was always ready to hear and advise them in their little troubles, and she even went so far as to assist at the construction of a playhouse in the cavity formed by a jutting rock, which sheltered a deep recess in the hill-side.

When Mrs. Downing heard of this last performance, she at once prophesied the downfall of the school. Whoever heard of a school-ma'am playing with the children, and having any authority afterwards?

But as Edah's authority suffered no diminution whatever, and the children were undeniably well-behaved, she was obliged to content herself with the declaration that children were not so managed in her time.

Meantime, the Sunday School flourished till it seemed likely to out-grow the kitchen. The numbers were now increased to twenty, and the children seemed to take more and more interest in their lessons, often doing more than was required of them, and very seldom less. Of course the Sunday exercises formed a subject of conversation among the school children during the week, and almost all the scholars became interested in it. Edah felt that she could not possibly take any more children at home. Her mother had begun to make many objections to having them there at all, and for two or three weeks her mind had been much troubled about it. She could not bear to think of giving up her little flock, and yet she felt that it was not right to annoy her mother by having them in her house against her wishes.

One day, after she had been revolving the matter in her mind, and trying to see her way out of her difficulties, three or four of the elder girls came to her in recess, and with some hesitation requested to be admitted into her Sunday School.

"I should be very glad, indeed, to have you," said Edah, "but the truth is, I have no room for you. It rather disturbs my mother now to have so many children about, and I do not exactly know what to do with those I have already."

There was a good deal of disappointment expressed in the faces of the girls, but, as if struck with a bright thought, one of them said—

"Miss Champlin, why could you not have the Sunday School here? Then there would be room enough for as many as wanted to come."

"Do you think the trustees would be willing?" asked Edah.

"I don't see why they shouldn't. They always let every one preach and lecture here, and all the town meetings are held here. Oh yes, I am sure they would."

"Then we should want fires, you know, and that would use up a good deal of wood. How should we manage about that?"

"I don't know," answered Martha Cowles. "Some of the trustees would be willing we should have what wood we wanted; but there's Mr. Downing would grudge the very water out of the spring. I dare say we could manage it somehow."

Edah promised to take the plan into consideration, and see what could be done. She saw at once that it would greatly enlarge her labors, and that she should need an assistant; but she knew Miss Gilmore would help her at any time, as well as Martha Cowles, who was a well-instructed girl, and truly pious. It seemed like taking a great deal on herself, young as she was; but she already succeeded so well in teaching, that she had no fears upon that score, and she finally decided that if she could get the use of the school-room, she would see what she could do. She mentioned the plan at tea.

"I should think you had enough to do already," said Susan. "You will make yourself sick before winter is over, and then what will become of us?"

"I do not look much like being sick just now," said Edah, smiling, and glancing in the glass. "I shall not mind the fatigue at all, if I am not needed at home. What do you say, mother?"

"You might as well be there as here, if you are going to have them at all," said Mrs. Champlin, peevishly. "We do not see you now from one week's end to another. For my part, I like to have people attend to their home duties first, and I think if you were to spend part of the time that you give to the children in attending to me, you would do quite as well."

"But you are always asleep when I am with the children on Sunday afternoon, mother."

"I do not sleep all the week, do I? You are away from morning till night. But I do not mean to object, for I know very well that I am nobody. It is very foolish in me to pretend to any authority, for no one regards me. It was not so when your father was at home," &c., &c.

"Can you manage to do without me on Sunday afternoons, Sue?" asked Edah, as soon as she had an opportunity.

"Oh, yes," replied Susan. "It is only because I am afraid you will make yourself sick that I care any thing about it. Mother always sleeps all the afternoon, and Eddy is as good as can be, poor little fellow," she added, looking tenderly at him, as he lay in her arms.

"You used to say you did not like babies," observed Edah.

"I don't like babies in general, but no one could help loving Eddy, he is so good and so helpless. I don't believe he will last much longer: he grows lighter every day."

In the course of the evening, Edah went in to have a talk with Mr. Bell, and found him quite ready to give her all the assistance in his power. He offered at once to provide all the wood that would be wanted, and Jack Downing claimed the privilege of making the fires. Miss Gilmore also was ready to assist her. She would not consent to assume the general direction, but proposed taking the younger children under her care, and Edah assigned another class to Martha Cowles.

Pauline at first demurred at being placed in Miss Gilmore's class, but she was easily brought to give up the point when she heard Edah's reasons, and thus all was settled.

On Saturday morning, Edah announced the arrangement to the scholars, and invited all who wished to attend the Sunday School to be present at two o'clock next day.

About two-thirds of the school accepted the invitation. Edah divided them into three classes, giving the younger children to Miss Gilmore and Martha, and taking the older girls and boys herself. She felt a degree of repugnance to taking the lead with an elder person present, but as Miss Gilmore positively refused the office of superintendent, she was obliged to assume it. Of course there were not books enough for all the children, and some of them looked a little disappointed, till Edah told them she hoped to have some more books before long. She had three or four dollars of her own, which she had laid by to purchase some new Spanish books, and this she now determined to devote to the library, trusting that more funds would be provided in some way.

Every thing passed off very pleasantly: the children were orderly and attentive, and seemed desirous to learn, and Edah returned home very well satisfied with the success of her experiment.

CHAPTER IX.

THE CHRISTMAS SERVICE.

EVER since the departure of the Laurence family, Edah had been in the habit of going over to Spring Bank now and then upon Saturday afternoons, to get such books as she wanted out of the library, and to practice upon Annie's piano. Mrs. Millar, the housekeeper, knew when to expect her, and always had a comfortable fire in the parlor, and Edah greatly enjoyed these solitary afternoons. It happened once in the beginning of winter, that three weeks passed without her being able to ride over as usual. Susan was not very well, Mrs. Champlin was more infirm and fretful than usual, and Edah remained at home all the time that she was out of school to assist in taking care of Eddy.

One Saturday afternoon, about a week before Christmas, Mr. Bell came in, with his greatcoat on, apparently prepared for a drive.

"Come, Miss Champlin," said he, "wrap yourself up, and ride over to Spring Bank with me. 'Miss' Bell will come in, and sit with your ma."

"Do," said Susan; "the ride will do you good, and you can get us some new books."

Edah was doubtful about it, but finally yielded to Susan's urging, and went out with Mr. Bell, who left her at the gate, and went on his way to Raeburn, promising to call for her about six o'clock. She went into Mrs. Millar's room, which she found empty, though there was a good fire. The library key was not in its usual place, and Edah supposed that Mrs. Millar was engaged in dusting the books; and as soon as she had laid aside her cloak and bonnet, and warmed her feet, she went in search of her.

She was not in the library, however, though the room was open and warmed, nor in the parlor, where there was also a good fire; and Edah, presuming that she was engaged in some other part of the house, selected what books she wanted, and then going into the parlor, she sat down to the piano. She had been playing some time, when in turning round for a music-hook, she caught a glimpse of some one in the adjoining apartment, the folding-doors of which were half-open.

"Is that you, Mrs. Millar?" she called. "You see I have taken possession of the premises."

There was no answer, and on looking around again, she was surprised and somewhat startled to see a young gentleman standing in the door, and regarding her with a look of some amazement. She rose at once from the music-stool, and the stranger, advancing at the same time, said very politely—

"Permit me to introduce myself. I am Richard Laurence, the brother of Annie and Louisa, and you, I presume, are Miss Champlin, of whom I have heard so much."

The instant he spoke, Edah had guessed who he was, and though a little confused by the unexpected meeting, she responded with civility to the address of the stranger.

"You must have been rather astonished to find that a stranger had taken such unceremonious possession of your sister's instrument," said she. "You see I have been foraging in the library also."

"Not altogether surprised," replied the stranger. "I had heard of you from Annie and Louisa before I came, and from Mrs. Millar since. Moreover, I missed a favorite edition of Bishop Hall from its place, and on applying to the library list, found it credited to Miss Champlin, with other books equally solid in their character. I think you must be fond of grave reading, to judge from your selections."

"I am so," replied Edah smiling; "I have always had a partiality for big books and old books ever since I can remember; and moreover I have been reading history with my brother this winter. But when did you arrive, and when have you heard from Annie?"

"I came yesterday, and I heard from Annie the day before. They have arrived at their destination, and find themselves very comfortably situated. Louisa seems, on the whole, to be improving, and my mother and father are well, but Annie, poor child, is desperately homesick. She regrets her leisure, her studies, and above all her little Sunday School. I hear that you are making a successful experiment of the same kind at Brooksville."

"I have done very well thus far," replied Edah, "though we are sadly in want of books."

"You must be supplied in some way," said Mr. Laurence; "I will try to procure a library for you when I return to New York. Do you have any preaching?"

"There has been none since I came," replied Edah. "Mr. Willson is unable to take any more duty on his hands than he has at present, and there is no one else. I wish you would stay and preach for us."

Mr. Laurence smiled.

"I have thought of it myself," said he. "I am entirely at leisure just now, and can as well as not remain here till after New Year's. I think I will place myself at Mr. Willson's orders for a few weeks to come."

"I wish we could have a Christmas Service," exclaimed Edah. "Why could we not? Or if not upon Christmas-day, at least the day after. It falls upon Saturday, this year, you know; why could you not preach for us the next Sunday? I will have the school-house trimmed properly—the children will enjoy that; and it will be like living in a Christian land again."

"I see no objection to it," replied Mr. Laurence, after a moment's consideration; "but I must first consult Mr. Willson. Do you think we could get a congregation together?"

"Oh, there is no doubt of it, I think. The children would all be interested, I know, and they would bring their parents. I will talk to my good friend Mr. Bell about it, and see what he says."

Mrs. Millar was delighted that Miss Champlin should have chanced to come over while Mr. Richard was there. She insisted on getting tea for her before she left, and produced her richest cake and choicest sweetmeats upon the occasion.

Edah enjoyed very much her conversation with Mr. Laurence, and she could hardly believe it when Mr. Bell told her that he had been detained in the village an hour later than he expected, and that it was after seven o'clock.

Mr. Bell cordially approved of the idea of having service in the school-house, though he expressed a fear that there would not be many responses. He undertook to have the notice published properly, and promised that Jack and Robert should have the horse and wagon to go after the evergreens necessary for the Christmas decorations, upon which Edah had set her heart.

"I really think I will make an effort to go to church, if Mr. Laurence comes to preach," said Susan, when they were talking the matter over. "Perhaps I shall find him more enlivening than Mr. Willson, who always puts me to sleep."

"I should like to hear him too," remarked Ruby-Anne, who was in the room. "My folks will expect me home to stay over Christmas, and I'll get pa to hitch up, and fetch us over. I should like to hear what sort of a sermon Dick Laurence would write."

"I presume he will write a very good one," said Edah: "he appears very intelligent;" and thereupon she fell into a reverie, which lasted for some little time.

The next afternoon Edah announced to the children that there would be preaching in the school-house the following Sunday morning. She said she hoped all who understood the service would be prepared to unite audibly in the responses, and as for those who did not, if they would apply to her, or to Martha Cowles, they would be glad to afford all the explanations necessary.

The result was, that a great many old Prayer-Books were hunted up during the week. Martha enjoyed giving the necessary instructions about finding places, and so forth, in which she was greatly assisted by Sam, and by Selina and Jane Bostwick, who had been used to attending church regularly; and thus before Sunday came a pretty fair proportion of the congregation were prepared to unite understandingly in the services.

Early on Friday morning the evergreens were drawn, no objection being made to dismissing the school for that day, as Edah professed her willingness to make it up at the end of the quarter. Boys and girls united their efforts, and worked with such hearty good-will that before dark the trimmings were all put up, the litter cleared away, the floor washed, and Edah, as she looked around, felt very well satisfied with the result of her labors. The children, of course, were in fine spirits, and thought nothing had ever looked so pretty before, and they were all delighted with the idea of going to church on Sunday.

On Saturday morning—Christmas morning—the same old horse which had brought the evergreens was again put in requisition to convey Edah and Sum to Raeburn to church. The morning was so fine and mild, and the sleighing so good, that Edah thought she should run no risk in taking Pauline; and the little girl was seated, warmly wrapped up, on a stool at her sister's feet, delighted with the ride and the prospect of going to church.

She behaved as well as possible, joining her little voice in the Lord's Prayer and the Creed, as well as in the psalms, for she had now learned to read perfectly well, and she was also greatly interested in the Communion Service, which Edah had explained to her beforehand.

Mr. Laurence was in the chancel, and Edah was well pleased when he ascended the pulpit. His manner was pleasant, and his delivery much finer than Mr. Willson's, and, better than all, his sermon was just such as Edah desired to hear. She only hoped he would preach the same one at Brooksville the next day. There were almost twice as many communicants as usual, and some who had never been at the Table before: among them our friend Long John, whose appearance excited almost as much wonder as if one of the bears for which the valley was formerly celebrated had taken his place with the congregation.

This was the first Christmas Communion which Edah had ever attended, and she enjoyed it very much. As she contrasted her feelings of to-day with those of a year before, and thought how she had been occupied at that time with dress and other worldly and foolish trifles, she could hardly believe that she was the same person, and she felt for the first time the force of the Apostle's declaration, "If any man be in Christ, he is a new creature: old things are passed away; behold, all things are become new."

"Shall you be with us all day to-morrow, Mr. Laurence?" asked Edah, as they met in the porch after service.

"If you wish it," replied Mr. Laurence. "I have a great desire to see your school in operation."

"Then will you please give notice in the morning that the school will meet as usual at two o'clock?"

"Certainly," said Mr. Laurence; "but will you not be present yourself?"

"I think not in the morning. Sister Susan will wish to go, and some one must stay with mother. I shall be at Sunday School, however, and shall be very glad to resign into your hands my office of superintendent."

"That is more than I bargained for," said Mr. Laurence, smiling, "but I suppose I must not refuse."

Susan was at first rather unwilling to accede to the proposition that Edah should stay at home and take care of Eddy while she went to church; but she yielded at last, and took Pauline with her, to whom Edah had given some special charges about behaving well. Edah enjoyed her morning at home very much. Eddy was good and quiet, her mother was absorbed in a new book, and she was able to read, as well as to study the noon's lesson, as she always made a point of doing. Being fully occupied, the morning passed quickly away, and she was rather surprised when the family returned.

"How do you like Mr. Laurence, Susy?" she asked.

"Oh, very well," replied Susan. "He reads beautifully, and his sermon was very well written, indeed—different from any thing we have had before. On the whole, I was very glad I went."

"I wish Mr. Laurence would stay and preach all the time," remarked Pauline.

"Maybe he will," said Sam. "I heard Mr. Bell and Mr. Bostwick talking to him about it, and he said he would take it into consideration."

"What in the world should he come here for?" asked Susan. "They could not pay him any salary, at least not what he would consider any thing, and there will be places enough where he will be wanted. I don't see why he should stay here."

"Perhaps to do good," remarked Edah.

"Pshaw! Do you think a young man of such talents and prospects is going to bury himself in such a place as this for the sake of doing good? I presume he will want to be paid for all he does."

"Any one who heard you talk without knowing you, Sue, would think you the most selfish of mortals," said Sam, smiling. "Happily we all know better."

"Thank you," returned Susan; "you are in a complimentary humor, Master Sam. I am sure I, for one, would be very glad to have Mr. Laurence stay, and if he wants to go on a mission to the heathen, he could not find a better field than Brooksville. You would have been delighted, Edah, to hear the way in which the responses were made. Sam and Bob took the lead, and the rest, followed very well. I think they did better than they do at Raeburn."

When Edah entered the school-room, a little before the appointed time, she was surprised to find the room full. The children occupied their usual places, every one of her day-scholars being present, from the oldest to the youngest, while a number of the elders were seated near the door, upon chairs provided by those who lived near the school-house. In a few minutes Mr. Laurence made his appearance, with Mr. Bell and Mr. Bostwick. He made some brief remark, the children sung as usual, and then joined audibly in the Confession and the Lord's Prayer. This over, the business of the school commenced, and the room was filled with the hum of voices reciting collects, hymns, and Scripture verses.

Mr. Laurence walked from class to class, conversed both with children and grown persons, asked questions, and interested himself in all that was going on. When the lessons were over, and the books distributed as far as they would go, he again took his place in the desk, and made some remarks on the lesson that had just been recited, asking a number of questions, which were readily answered by the children.

Before dismissing the school, he announced that he should preach again the next Sunday, and in the mean time he should be glad to meet any who desired an opportunity for personal religious conversation at Mr. Bell's house, on Wednesday and Friday.

"Does he mean any of us scholars, Miss Champlin, or only the grown-up people?" asked one of the boys, in a whisper.

"Children or grown persons either," replied Mr. Laurence, overhearing the question; "any one desirous of personal religious instruction. Shook I decide to remain here for any length of time, I intend to form a Bible Class for older persons in connection with Miss Champlin's school, and shall be glad to receive into it as many as wish to join."

He then dismissed the school with prayer.

The villagers were all delighted with the services of the day, and the prospect of their continuance, and the proposition to form a Bible Class met with universal favor, though Mrs. Downing and one or two others hinted that it was a great piece of presumption in Mr. Laurence to pretend to be capable of instructing older Christians than himself. Mrs. Downing thought it would be a great shame if the Sunday School was to be taken out of Miss Champlin's hands, after she had got it up and done so much for it, forgetting that she had thought Miss Champlin very much out of her place in presuming to superintend a Sunday School at all.

But the dissenting voices were few in number. Most of the influential men in the little village were rejoiced at the prospect of having a church among them at last—some from a genuine love to the cause of Christ, some because it offered a way of getting rid of the time which often hung heavily on Sundays, and still others because it would add to the desirableness of the place as a residence, and thus raise the price of property.

Miss Champlin herself was not distressed at being deprived of her sceptre. I will not say that she had not felt some slight emotion resembling jealousy at finding herself reduced to play a subordinate part where she had so long been first, but the feeling passed away almost without being recognized, and she was thankful from her heart that the little seed planted by her hands in doubt and weakness was likely to become a flourishing tree.

The next Sunday the school-house was again filled. And Ruby-Anne offering to remain at home to take care of Eddy, Edah and Susan both went to church. The sermon was an excellent one, having an especial reference to the New Year. Every one was pleased; and when Mr. Laurence announced that he had decided to accept the invitation tendered to him by a committee of citizens and remain with them for a year, there was a general interchange of glances of congratulations. Notice was given of the formation of the Bible Class, and when the time came, Mr. Laurence found a goodly number assembled to meet him. The Sunday School, too, was so full that it was decided, after some consultation, to employ mere teachers, and accordingly three new classes were formed, and committed to the care of Mr. Bell, Mr. Bostwick, and Mrs. Stevens.

The want of books was a serious evil, but it was hoped that it would in time be remedied. Some of the men were already talking of a subscription for the purpose, and Mr. Laurence promised, if they would raise a certain sum, to see what he could do for them in New York. It would have been quite as easy to procure all that was necessary, but he well knew that what costs nothing is worth nothing. He knew that a library paid for by themselves would be worth twice as much as one bestowed gratuitously.

CHAPTER X.

LETTERS.

From the Rev. Richard Laurence to a Friend.

   "I RECEIVED your letter a week ago, my dear friend, and with it another containing a call from the vestry of Christ Church in P. You mention the probability of this call, and say very confidently—'I suppose we shall see you among us soon, before Lent commences.' What will you say when I tell you that I have declined the call to P., and accepted an invitation from the inhabitants of Brooksville to preach for them a year in the district school-house? Now, imagining you to have exhausted all your exclamations, I will tell you briefly my reasons for so doing.

   "But passing over all other reasons, I come to my principal one, which you know we always put last. The vestrymen of Christ Church will easily find some one else who will suit them as well as I should, for such places do not go a-begging, but what will become of these poor souls here if I leave them? They cannot pay, at the outside, more than two or three hundred dollars salary. I have some doubt whether they will do even that, and no one who has not other resources could live on such a sum. By the almost unassisted efforts of one young girl, a Sunday School has been established, without books, without maps, almost without teachers, but still an efficient and flourishing school. By the same agency an increasing interest in the things of God has been awakened in the community, and the ground has been made ready for the seed. It may indeed be said of her, 'she hath done what she could.' The question now is, shall this ground be left for the occupation of the devil, or shall it be made as the garden of the Lord? Shall the seed already sown be left to die for want of care, or shall it be nurtured and watered?

   "You will perhaps tell me I might do much more good in P. I doubt it. That is a common phrase in these circumstances; but I think those who use it overlook the fact, that all souls are of equal value in the sight of God, whether rich or poor, cultivated or ignorant, refined or vulgar; and it is just as necessary that these souls should be saved here as those in P. The Word of Gad may be as faithfully preached in a district school-house as in a Gothic church, and while there are many able and willing to enjoy the one, there are but few that can or will serve in the other. I am fully aware of the advantages I resign in giving myself up to this work: I have considered them all, and I am content with my choice. When you were thinking of going to China with Bishop B., you did not hesitate a moment from the thought of the inconveniences you were to suffer, though you would have resigned much more than I shall do in staying here. You counted all things but dross in comparison to Christ's work and service; and why should I not do the same?

   "'With whom hast thou left those few sheep in the wilderness?' would be the question continually sounding in my ears if I should, for the sake of my own gain or pleasure, accept this call to P., and I could not answer with David, 'What have I done? Is there not a cause?'

   "In short, I have made my election, and am satisfied with it, and God willing, I will devote my time and my talents to building up His Church in this place. I hope to meet you in New York next week, and to talk more fully upon this and other kindred matters."

From Milly to Edah.

   "I take the opportunity of Mr. Laurence's return, my dear Edah, to send you a package of books and other matters, which I hope may prove acceptable. We have found your friend a very pleasant guest, and the more so, because he could tell us all about you. And first and foremost, what is the reason of your teaching school, and why have you kept it a secret from us so long? Father thought the allowance Mr. Liston made would be amply sufficient for all your wants in such a place as Brooksville, and thinks you must have some other reason than want of funds. Aunty is sure that it grows out of some of your Quixotic notions about doing good, and is quite certain that you will ruin your health by so much labor, but Mr. Laurence assures us that you are as well as possible. For my part, I cannot understand it at all, but presume you have some very good reason. Don't forget to tell us all about it when you write.

   "You do not know how much we were all interested in the account Mr. Laurence gave us of your little school, though indeed it seems to have grown into a large one. Who would have anticipated, when you began with teaching three or four children in the kitchen at home, that it would have been the commencement of a church, as it seems likely to prove? What an encouragement not to despise the day of small things! Father was very much pleased, and I imagine he put some funds into Mr. Laurence's hands for you, though I am not sure. I send my contribution in the shape of a large package of Scripture and other prints, cards, &c., for the instruction and entertainment of the infant department. How I should like to look in, and see you at work! I must tell you, by the by, that I have a class in Sunday School myself, and enjoy it very much. Father was rather unwilling at first, but I persuaded him to let me begin, and as I am most undeniably fat and rosy, he is content to let me go on.

   "I have discovered a new way of making myself useful to him: his German clerk has left him suddenly, and he finds it difficult to supply his place at once, so I have taken up his pen, and daily indite most interesting documents relative to domestic cottons, prints, &c., &c., rather to the scandal of Aunt Maria, who considers such pursuits vain and frivolous, compared to the creation of worsted cats and dogs, and delicate crochet collars. I am very wrong to laugh at Aunt Maria, who is very kind to me, but I cannot help grudging the time she spends on such things.

   "Father has become quite reconciled to my precise ideas, as Aunt Maria calls them, and not only gives me free choice to do as I please, about dressing and going out, but even admits that I am in the right. He finds it very pleasant to have me at home in the evening, ready to play for him, or talk to him, or read to him, as he happens to be in the humor. He is fond of music, and really an excellent judge. I take pains to practise and to learn all the new music to please him, and he says I improve every day. Is it not a happy thing for me that late hours and parties really do not agree with me, and that I grew thin and pale under them?

   "I hope to hear further accounts of your enterprises and undertakings, and that you continue to succeed as well as at first. Pray write me all the particulars you can think of, and especially how you get on at home, where, from some things dropped by Mr. Laurence, I should think you must have rather troublesome times.

   "As ever, my dear Edah, truly yours,

"MILLY."