and left us. My brother leaned his head upon his hands. I think it must have ached very much, but he did not complain. Poor little Alice sat quietly by the window, watching for my mother's return. Presently a robin redbreast came hopping quite close to her on the sill without, searching for the crumbs which we seldom neglected to place there: hunger had made him bold. After partaking of a few, he looked at her with his bright eyes, and almost seemed to make a little bow as he flew off to a leafless spray close by and began to sing. But Alice was in no humour to be amused. After all, it was a melancholy song which the little robin sang that day, and soon over. He did not appear to be in a merry mood any more than ourselves.

The sky had become overcast, and a few large snow flakes were beginning to fall, when my mother came in, looking sad and weary. The first thing she did was to stoop down and kiss little Alice; and then approaching William, she asked him if his head ached.

"Not much, mother. But it feels very stiff." "I will bathe it for you," said she. "I ought to have thought of it before. It will relieve you."

While she was stooping over him, bathing his

forehead, I heard William say, in a low voice, "Was Uncle Jabez at home, mother ?"

"Yes, William."

"I am sorry for that."

"So am I now, my son."

Nothing more passed on the subject; and my brother soon afterwards went up stairs and lay down on the bed, while my mother closed the curtains, and darkened the room as she had often done for me. It seemed so strange to see him lying there. I do not remember anything ever being the matter with William until that day; and he must have been bad indeed to give up as he did, for he was not one to mind a little pain. I recollect wishing that I could lie down in his stead, and having very hard thoughts about Uncle Jabez, as I gazed upon the pale, changed face of my beloved brother.

He did not sleep, the pain was too great; but he remained quite still, and uttered no complaint, although it was easy to see how much he suffered. I had asked permission to stay with him, and sat quietly by the bedside, holding one of his hands in mine. Every now and then he gave a quick start, or uttered a sudden and halfsuppressed moan. Once, when the latter had

been somewhat louder than usual, he opened his eyes in order to ascertain whether my mother was in the room, and appeared to be relieved at seeing only me. "I could not help it, John," said he. "The pain was so great just then."

"Never mind," I whispered; "I know it is a relief sometimes: I have even cried when my head was very bad. Cry now, William, if you think it would do you good. Do not care about me." "But I do not want to cry," replied William, or to grieve my dear mother. I want to bear it as well as I can."

"If I were to live a thousand years,' exclaimed I, passionately, "I should always hate Uncle Jabez for having caused you this suffering." "I hope not, John. It is very wrong to hate any one."

"You do not mean to say that you can ever forgive him?"

There was a quick start of acute pain, a sudden contraction of the brow; and then my brother said gently, "I have forgiven him. How else could I pray to-night, 'Forgive us our trespasses, as we forgive them that trespass against us?'"

"I never thought of that," I replied.

"I have heard my father say," continued

William, "that there are some in the world whom we cannot love but for Christ's sake. I think Uncle Jabez must be one of them. But what can we not do for his sake who has done so much for us?"

It was in vain that I tried to feel like my brother. My rebellious heart refused the test. It was too hard for me. How could any one ever love Uncle Jabez? William went on speaking as if he could have read my thoughts, but this time he took higher ground, and quoted the words of our blessed Saviour himself, "Love your enemies, bless them that curse you, do good to them that hate you, and pray for them which despitefully use you, and persecute you; that ye may be the children of your Father which is in heaven: for he maketh his sun to rise on the evil and on the good, and sendeth rain on the just and on the unjust.”*”

A change came over his face as he finished speaking. I think the pain must have been very great. It evidently hurt him to talk. After this he remained quite still until my mother came up to bathe his forehead, and I was sent away to help Alice amuse little Charley, and keep him as quiet as possible.

*Matthew v. 44, 45.

CHAPTER VIII.

HOW то BEAR PAIN.

Ir appears that when my mother left us, she went straight to the house of Uncle Jabez, and upbraided him for his cruelty to William. In answer to which the old man said that the boy had only got what he richly deserved; and that the next time he offended him, he would beat him within an inch of his life, bidding my mother beware how she ventured to interfere between them. Angry words followed, until my mother was provoked into telling him that she cared neither for him nor his money, and advising him never again to lay a finger upon one of her children. She turned away as she spoke, and Uncle Jabez sternly forbade her ever to cross his threshold from that hour.

This it was that had made her return home with a sad and heavy heart, and wish she had never gone—or at least not until she was calmer. Her interference had evidently done more harm