CHAPTER XXIV.

"I THOUGHT you told me you did not like playing at chess much-at least, that it wearied you, except with very good players ?" said Willingham, one evening, as he walked by Maude's side through the park.

"So I did," she returned, smiling; "what then, Willie ?"

66

Why, I found you playing chess with Mrs. Inwoods, just now, though you were obliged to give her a queen; and she said it was the second game, and you promised you would have the conqueror on Saturday."

66

Well, is liking a thing the only reason for doing it ?",

Yes, at least, I think so,-unless you have some object in view, which you can only gain by doing things you don't like."

"Well answered, my dear Willie; I was afraid you were going to stop at the 'yes.' Can you not think of some object I had in view when playing chess with poor old Mrs. Inwoods ?"

Willingham considered with a very thoughtful brow, and then replied,

"No, except to help to pass away the time you were there; and then you need not go unless you liked it so I do not know at all."

"I went for the same reason I play chess with her. Why did you go with me to the schools yesterday, instead of having your shooting-match with Hill, and your new bow ?"

"Because I knew you wished me to go, and I like being with you too.'

"Yes, but you went really, because you knew I wished it-therefore it was to give me pleasure; and

I fancy you would do more disagreeable things for the same purpose.'

66

Surely, yes," and he looked up eagerly; "ah! I see now-you do it to give this old woman pleasure; but I love you, and you don't love her."

"Not much, certainly; but we are not to confine our kindnesses to the few we love most, are we ?" "No-I suppose-no, certainly; but can't she get some one else to play at chess with ?"

66

No, and very few to visit her, poor old soul; and she lives there a very lonely, dull life. If you saw how pleased she always looks when I go in, and how eagerly she puts her board and men out, you would not think me ill-repaid for bestowing a little of my time and thoughts upon her."

"And you do it to please her, because she is poor, and alone; and yet you do not like it ?" asked the boy, quickly.

"I do not much like the real act of playing, but I like very much to see her pleased and happy.

Willingham did not answer; but he looked into Maude's face with an expression of love and admiration, so deep and intense, that the tears almost came into her eyes as she fondly returned the pressure of the boy's hand. Just as they reached the hall steps, he asked,

"May I go and play chess with her sometimes, instead of you, if I play well enough, and I think I certainly do ?"

"Yes, my boy," said the pleased Maude; "you and I will take it in turns, when you are at leisure: but Mr. Grey must have a good portion of your time now, and I cannot let you give up much of your play hours either, only to relieve me.' And she kissed the lad as he stood on the topmost step, looking earnestly into her eyes.

Mr. Grey-yes, Mr. Grey was coming at last, and the next day was fixed on for his and his mother's arrival at Willingham, which was henceforth to be

their home. Maude had written to Mrs. Grey, told her her difficulties and plans, mentioned the sum she could afford to pay the fen pastor, while laying by those destined for the building and eventual endowment of her church, and said how very much she wished that it was enough for Edward to take. The answer was an entire approval of her arrangements, and, beyond her hopes, the announcement that Edward, who had been working hard for many years in a close, town parish, which had begun to affect his health, would gladly accept the cure in the fens.

How delighted Maude was may be easily imagined. To get Edward as the pastor of the poor, ignorant marshlanders, was good and great prospect enough to rejoice her; but to look forward to Mrs. Grey's constant neighbourhood once more, to find that the stipend she proposed giving, in addition to the house ready provided, would enable Edward to marry, and thus add to her dear friend's happiness still more,was an amount of happiness she had never dared to hope for. As she looked around, and saw the blessings multiplying about her, she felt indeed how great cause she had to be grateful, for the will and the power which had enabled her, in the good time of the Giver, to bestow so much pleasure and relief on others, and receive their reflected happiness herself,reflected, nay, real,-for she was happy now, though it was not as she had once dreamed of being, in the fitful fancies of her earlier days.

Mrs. Grey and her son arrived; and Maude saw, in the calm, grave intelligent face of the latter, just the sort of person she had expected to find in Mrs. Grey's son, the Edward of her description. Strangely enough, much as she had wished to see him, and often as his visiting the Manor House had been proposed, an impediment of some sort had ever arisen; and this was their first personal introduction. She felt, from the first moment of their intercourse, that his was the character she could trust, rest on, and repose in her

self with perfect security; and her heart bounded at the thought of the benefit such a man would prove to her fen poor.

The Greys remained with Maude till the old house she had thought of was put in a fit state for their reception. Once settled there, and everything put into proper order, Edward hastened away, to bring his bride to his new home; and Mrs. Grey returned to her old abode in the Manor House, there to remain: for, at Maude's earnest entreaty, she had consented to live with her again, instead of taking rooms in the village, as she at first thought of doing; but she would only agree to this on condition of contributing her modest quota to the general household expenses. To this Maude gave a very reluctant consent; for large as her family had now become, and much as her expenses were increased, she could scarce endure the thought of taking from Mrs. Grey's pittance. But Mrs. Grey was firm; she could afford to be so far independent, and she would.

Willingham, meantime, was to read with Mr. Grey for a few months; after which he was to go to a public school, and then to college; Maude publicly acknowledging him as her adopted son, though not to the full extent Mrs. Beauchamp's active imagination had figured.

"I am come to tell you poor little Drew was released last night," Edward Grey said, as he appeared one autumn morning at the Manor House breakfasttable.

"Poor Jenny! did she suffer much ?" asked Maude. "Not at all, at the last; mind and body were equally composed indeed, I never saw so patient a sufferer all along for one so young in years; she might have read a useful lesson to many, her superiors in age

and station."

"She was always a quiet, gentle girl, and one of my most attentive scholars in the Sunday school."

"The Sunday school-ah, yes, Miss Willingham, if

you had no more reason to rejoice, in having established that school, than in the comfort and assistance it has proved to this child, that would be a sufficient reward for any trouble it may have been to you at the outset. The bread cast upon the waters was indeed found after many days here."

Maude's eyes and heart were too full to answer. Mrs. Grey was watching her son; Willingham, Maude and his tutor alternately; and Mrs. Courtenay looked wonderingly at all, without feeling greatly interested in anything but her hope that Maude's pre-occupation would not make her put more sugar than the exact portion in her tea-cup-" more or less always disagreed with her!"

"She has told me," pursued Edward, after a pause, "that when left alone all day, locked up, while the rest of the family were out harvesting, her greatest delight was in repeating the Collects and Catechism she had learned at the Sunday school."

"Poor little Jenny! she always remembered her lessons well, and would look so anxious to understand my explanations, and give right answers to my questions."

"And she reaped the fruit of so doing; when her eyes grew tired, or became too weak for her to see to read any more, she thought over all you had told and taught her, and she said she began to understand a great many things now that she could not then-they grew clearer and clearer every day. She begged me to thank you again for all you had done for her, and to tell you she was very happy-going, she hoped, to the heaven you had first taught her to think about."

"Poor child!" repeated Maude, as she wiped the tears of joy and thankfulness from her eyes; "she thanked me often and often enough herself. I should like to have seen her once more.'

"She said she knew she should not see you again here, the last time you visited her; but she thought of the bright Home, where all the good will live together