ment. She blamed the wood, and the coals, and the bellows, and even the poor old kettle; but she did not blame herself.

A neighbour's daughter looked in, and seeing Maggie crying, asked what was the matter. Now, Maggie was rather ashamed to tell her, because she had begun to think already that, after all, it was her own fault. So she made the best excuse she could, and got rid of the other's question.

She dried her tears, and sat down to think about her want of thought. She saw that her disappointment had arisen from her habit of putting off, and, like a brave girl that she was, she resolved to overcome this habit. Instead of saying, 'Plenty of time yet,' she determined she would say, 'I will do it now.'

And she carried this into practice. When she had work to do, she took care to have all things ready before she began. When she had to go to market or anywhere else, she made all her arrangements beforehand. Gradually she broke the fetters of her bad habit. Her mother was much pleased to see the improvement in her. She would say, 'I cannot tell you, Maggie, how much comfort I receive from your thoughtfulness and prudence, nor how much benefit you will find from it yourself. You can now understand the meaning of that line, "Evil is wrought by want of thought as well as want of heart." Persevere, Maggie, and you will spare much pain to yourself and others.'

It was a work of time and labour, but she conquered her habit. She is now a prudent, thoughtful woman, and often speaks of the lesson she learned from her disappointment.

A gentleman who lived in a large house near London had a very large orchard attached to his grounds. This orchard was surrounded by a high wall, to prevent men and boys from getting into it and stealing the fruit. Close by lived a man called Darby, whose character for honesty was not the best in the world.

One fine moonlight night Darby went to rob his neighbour's orchard. He took an empty sack with him, hoping to fill it with some of the ripe fruit. He had no great difficulty in climbing the wall and getting into the garden. People who afterwards heard of it, said he had done similar things many times, they were sure.

He filled his sack with apples, which dropped from the trees with very little shaking. But Darby found that getting to the top of a high wall with a sack of apples on his back was a very different thing from climbing it with an empty sack on his shoulders.

He found a ladder after a while, and set it against the wall. Now,' said he, 'I can climb the ladder with my sack; then I can rest it on the wall, and kick the ladder away, so that no one will think anybody has been here.

Then I

will throw my sack down on the other side, jump down myself, and get away safely.'

Just as he was climbing the ladder, the watchdog came and seized him by the coat tail, and held him fast. He struggled to escape, and in doing so knocked down the ladder. He lost his slippers, and scratched and bruised himself. He held on by the top of the wall until the dog tore out a piece of his coat-tail and loosed his hold. Darby then made a desperate spring, and fell, with the sack of apples, on the other side of the wall.

The dog barked and awoke his master, who, coming to see what was the matter, found the fallen ladder, the lost slippers, and part of a coat. He thought at once that some thief had been either robbing the orchard, or trying to break into the house. In the morning he went to seek the thief.

Now, Darby had been seen in a coat very much like the torn piece of cloth. The police therefore went to his house almost at once. And there, sure enough, they found a torn coat. It was clear that the tail found in the orchard had been torn from his coat. The slippers fitted his feet, and his legs and feet were scratched with his struggles on the wall. Searching still further, the sack of apples was found, and Darby was marched off to prison for stealing.

The day of trial came; poor Darby confessed his sin, and begged for mercy. He offered to pay for the apples twice over; but he was sent to prison. There he had time to think about his folly, and to call to mind that 'the way of transgressors is hard.' He had tried to make the way easy, but had failed, as will all who tread in his steps.

Freddy White was a fine little fellow about nine years of age, with fair curly hair and bright blue eyes. His face was ruddy, the very picture of health, and his pleasant, cheerful smile made you love the boy in a moment. His father and mother were very fond and proud of him, for he was their only boy; in fact, their only child. He was not spoilt for all that; his parents had too much good sense, besides which, Freddy was not a milk-and-water sort of a boy, but a brave, manly little fellow.

Mr. White was in a good position in life, and could have well afforded to send his boy away to school; but as he wished to have his son near home, he sent him to a day school close by. It was a great event in Freddy's life when he first went to this school. Up to this time he had been receiving instruction from his mother, who was a clever, well-read woman.

It was thought, however, that he had better go to a proper school and mix with older boys. So Freddy bid good-bye to his little schoolroom at home, and was taken by his father one Monday morning to the large public school.

K