Presently we heard my father's quick step coming up the garden path. It was quicker than usual that evening, for he felt uneasy at not seeing us. William went out to him. I was glad that he did so. They came in together a few moments afterwards. My father looked very pale. He stopped to take off his heavy boots and to change his coat, which was damp with the night dew, speaking kindly to us all the while. Alice wanted to give him a cup of tea, which, in imitation of her mother, she had prepared quite ready against his return; but he told her that he could not take it just then. When he had gone up stairs, we all drew round the fire, speaking in hushed voices.

"I do not know how it is," said I, "but I cannot help thinking of Uncle Jabez to night.' "Uncle Jabez!" repeated my brother, in astonishment.

"Do you not recollect my telling you what he said to me about the death of our little sister Sunshine,' as we used to call her? The words keep haunting me, do what I will.” "I cannot say that I do."

"What were they, brother ?" inquired Alice. "I, too, have forgotten all about it."

"I wish I could. His words were, 'So much the better. There will be one mouth less to feed.' I feel sure that he would say just the same about little Charley."

"How cruel!" exclaimed Alice.

66

Perhaps he may feel differently now," said William.

"I do not believe it, or he would have come to see my mother, and thank her for all her kindness to him when he was so ill. Do you remember, William, about the little pearl cross and the port wine? It would have served him right if the wine had choked him.”

"Oh! John, you must not talk in this way— especially now," added William, pointing to the room above us.

At that moment my father came down stairs with the doctor, and led him quietly out. They stood and talked together for a short time in the garden. When When my father returned, we saw that there was hope in his face.

"Is dear Charley better, papa ?" asked Alice. "Yes, thank God."

"Thank God," repeated William.

"May I make you some tea now ?" said Alice. "You have had nothing since you came in."

"Do, my child. And your mother will have a cup also. If you will get it ready on a little tray, I will drink mine with her, for I cannot persuade her to leave Charley to-night. And then you must go to bed, my children."

He sat down, and talked cheerfully and hopefully with us while Alice made her neat and simple preparations, calling her his little housekeeper. When she had finished, we all knelt while he offered up a brief thanksgiving to God for his mercies vouchsafed to us. That night, in the fulness of my gratitude, I remember praying earnestly for Uncle Jabez and myself, that God would create in us a clean heart, and renew a right spirit within

us.

CHAPTER XV.

PROVIDENCE.

AFTER that night the disease "took a turn," as it is called, and my little brother began slowly to recover. But very slow and trying was that lingering convalescence to our dear mother. My father spared her as much as he could; but then he was so seldom at home, and no one else had yet been permitted to enter the sick chamber.

"William," said I, one morning, when my father had gone to the office, and we were together in the now cheerless sitting room, "if we go on in this manner we shall have my mother ill next. I have a great mind to go straight into Charley's room, and stay there until she wakes and finds me. It would be of no use her turning me out when the mischief was done-if, indeed, there is still any danger of infection. And then she would be obliged to let me remain and help her."

"It won't do," said William, shaking his head. "It would not be right."

"What is to be done, then ?"

"I do not know. I wish that I did." "I have a great mind to try my plan." "You had better not," replied William. "Suppose you should take the fever ?"

"I am not at all afraid of that. I heard the doctor say yesterday that he thought the danger was over, although it would be as well to be careful for another week or two. He either did not know, or did not care, that my mother had to bear all the fatigue alone."

"If she would only suffer us to help her, I should be glad to do so," said William. "But I am sure that it would not be right to act in direct opposition to her commands."

"Not if it was for her own good?"

"We are told," replied William, "that we must not do evil that good may come of it."

At this moment we heard my mother open her door, and come slowly down the stairs. She walked with a tottering step, holding by the furniture as she came along, and looking very white, as if she could scarcely support herself.

"Do not be frightened, children," said she.