Alice-I cannot bear to think of their being obliged to toil as they do. But it shall not be always thus. We will work for them."

"To be sure we will, John. A stout heart, with God's blessing, can achieve anything.” "When do you go to Mr. Martin's ?" asked I, after a pause.

"To-morrow."

"I will speak to my father to-night. What kind of place is he looking out for?"

"A vacancy, I believe, in the same office as himself."

"It would be pleasant going backwards and forwards together. But I hate the idea of being shut up all day in a close room, poring over endless rows of figures. And yet, if my father has borne it so long and uncomplainingly, surely I can. It will never do to shrink back from the life in earnest before us."

"In a little while," said William, "the winter will have passed away, and we shall have the cheerful summer back. Somehow, we always seem to get on better in the summer. There are fewer expenses."

"But the winter will return again; and we must provide for it."

"True.

And now let us go to my mother, as she will be wondering what we are doing." "Does she know about your going tomorrow ?"

"To be sure she does."

"What did she say?"

"She advised me to accept Mr. Martin's offer. I had previously determined upon so doing, but was glad, nevertheless, to have her sanction."

"And this is your last day at home? I cannot come in yet. Go and say that I will come in shortly. I will take a few more turns, and then join you."

My heart was very full. Perhaps William perceived it, for he whispered softly as he moved away, "Cast thy burden upon the Lord, and he shall sustain thee.""

When I came in, half an hour afterwards, my mother and Alice were still at work. William was reading aloud to them. My mother looked up and smiled when I entered, and I marked her eyes dim, with the dark line beneath.

“I was just wishing for you, John,” said she. "I have a pleasant task for you this cold

day, to make up the fire. Let us have a good blaze for once."

"My father will not be back yet," said I. "I know it. But your brother William leaves us to-morrow, and I want him to take with him a cheerful and loving remembrance of home. There is no greater safeguard for the young amidst the perils and temptations of the world— mere human safeguard, I mean of course. only wish that it had been in my power to make a brighter home for my children. But I have at least endeavoured to do what I could."

I

"Oh! mother," interrupted William, "you must not talk thus. None of us can ever forget all that you have done for us, or cease to love you, and the dear old cottage, as long as we live. And after all, it is not like going away from home for good. I shall see you every day, almost certainly every Sunday."

"I hope that you are going away for good, nevertheless," repeated my mother, endeavouring to regain her cheerfulness.

"I hope so, mother."

"All things work together for good to those who love God," said Alice, softly.

sure, brother, that you love him.”

"And I am

"Indeed I do, Alice."

"Then all things will work together for good to you."

All things, thought I. Trouble, and sorrow, and sickness, and poverty, all working together for good in God's way, and in God's time. What a beautiful-what a comforting belief!

A bright fire is certainly a great promoter of cheerfulness. I thought so that day when I saw my mother smiling and talking over her work, and marked the colour steal into my sister's face, and the light to her eyes, while little Charley sat enjoying it to his heart's content on the hearth-rug. I have often thought that we are not thankful enough for the great blessings of a warm and comfortable fireside in winter, or mindful enough of those to whom that blessing is denied.

When the daylight began to fade, my mother made Alice lay aside her sowing. But I noticed that she still worked on herself, only drawing the chair a little nearer to the window. It was no wonder that her eyes should look dim.

"I am sure you cannot see, mother," said I at length.

"Scarcely. But I just want to finish this."