hood had been passed. With a grateful spirit she joined in "the voice of psalms, the simple song of praise," and, with a thankful heart, she felt that she still belonged to the same people, with whom, all her life long, she had on every Sunday joined so fervently in the worship of their Creator. She rejoiced with all her innocent heart to find herself still among friends, when it might have been her lot, had she not been able to procure work, to have to go quite away among strangers, so a deep feeling of gratitude to the Giver of all good took possession of her, and when she returned home, and sat down on the old wooden chair that had so long been her mother's, she looked at her room, and her humble hearth, and thought it had a more home look than it had ever worn to her before it was, in fact, losing its strangeness, and Mrs. Oldfield's fondness for her did much towards taking off the new unsettled feeling that must always be consequent upon a change of abode; and Fanny looked upon that poor old solitary woman with that pitiful affection which she was always ready to bestow on any of God's creatures who seemed to require it, and she also found many qualities of character daily revealed to her, in themselves most estimable (we propose making Mrs. Oldfield the subject of another story, should our readers be suffi

ciently interested in this slight sketch to wish to hear more of her),—and she had a feeling of profound gratitude for the kindness the old dame had shown her; she who was reckoned so churlish and miserly, that she did good to, and cared for, no one, had opened her heart and her home to Fanny, for when the rent was settled, she would only accept of the very smallest sum that it could be fixed at. The heart of the old woman, which had, ever since her heavy misfortunes, been locked up almost in a frost, now thawed and dissolved itself under the gracious influence of Fanny's gentleness and kindness.

After the afternoon service Fanny took a long walk with Willie, by the banks of a clear running stream, the water of which went gurgling and murmuring along, glittering and sparkling in the sunbeams, and so transparent that you could see every pebble at the bottom; and just under the bank, where the water was the stillest, there, with its swift scuddy motions, flitted in short flights the gorgeous kingfisher, its beautiful plumage of scarlet and blue flashing in the sun. Willie was in ectasy at the sight, and quietly crept as near the spot as he could, that he might watch the bright glittering creature: it had come there to drink, and not being aware that it was watched, they saw the shy bird longer than is generally the case, and could observe him in all the grace and

beauty of his natural state. Fanny loved dearly to watch the birds, and was well acquainted with all their different names, ways, and habits, at least of the commoner kind that she had an opportunity of observing. They picked a nosegay to take back to the old dame, for, as Willie said, it must be so sad never to be able to stir out of doors, and see all the pretty things that gave him so much delight: it was his own thought, for in spite of his faults he was a very good-hearted boy, and always glad to give pleasure to any one, and so peacefully passed away the Sunday.

Thus the summer and autumn passed away in constant occupation, and not without a due share of enjoyment, such enjoyment as falls to the lot of the hard-working and laborious poor,-moments of pleasure, perhaps, all the more keenly enjoyed from their rarity, and their innocent and harmless nature, unlike so many other pleasures, so called, leaving no sting behind them. Fanny, in the discharge of her duty, in the most unremitting and earnest watchfulness over her brother, and in constant kindly attentions to her good old friend (whose real worth became every day more apparent in some little affecting trait), and in the improvement of her own mind and heart, was, perhaps, on the whole, more tranquilly and continually contented than she had ever been since the com

mencement of her mother's ill health, and all her cares and troubles on account of her brother.

She had now fully as much washing as she could manage. Mrs. Oldfield had given up the garden to her care, and gladly she welcomed this offer, as a means of giving Willie employment, and keeping him out of mischief in his leisure hours, for well she knew that idleness is the root of all evil. She got a neighbouring gardener to come and put the ground all in nice order for a very trifling sum, and then she begged some seeds from the good Doctor, and such plants as he could spare; and the farmer's wife was very good to her, and gave her a good many useful vegetable seeds; primroses and cowslips they dug up out of the different woods and hedge-rows; the weeds were all cleared away from the currant and gooseberry bushes, and a little fresh gravel scattered over the paths, and very soon Willie began to take the greatest delight in his garden, and was never tired of working in it. The good dame gave them leave to buy a few of the commoner flower-seeds, and roses and honeysuckles there were in abundance. By another year they hoped the garden would look quite gay. Nothing pleased Mrs. Oldfield more than to sit at her window watching them at work, and she thought within herself, that she had indeed been rewarded for

her good nature in taking in the young people, for how different was her life now, to the cheerless and solitary days she used to spend before she became acquainted with them. Now she had again something to love and be interested in: and let us be ever so solitary, ever so much deprived of the ties of kindred, even if we stand quite alone in the world, it will be our own fault if we do not find objects to love, or, at least, objects to be useful to, and for whom we can exert ourselves. No one can be so utterly forlorn as not to be able to employ themselves for the benefit of their fellow creatures, even should they have no immediate relations claiming their care and attention; and there is no doubt that a life spent in trying to do good to all around us is more likely to be productive of rational happiness, let our circumstances be what they will, than any other mode in which we could dispose of our time. It comforts us if we are in trouble, soothes us in sorrow, and even increases our joy; for truly it is said, "that more blessed is he that gives than he that receives."

One day, late in December, when Fanny had been hard at work, very busy indeed, finishing her ironing, that the clean things might be quite ready to take home on Saturday (for having had rather a larger wash than usual she was rather behind hand), she had

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