Whenever the murmuring spirit rose in my heart, as it would rise at times, I endeavoured to still it by looking at the grey head, the slightly bent form, and calm, placid countenance of my dear father, and remembered how long and cheerfully he had borne the same trial. When the dreamy mood came upon me, I chased it away with hard work. If I was ill and weary, none knew it. It is a comfort now to think that I did strive against my infirmities both mental and bodily-ay, and by God's help oftentimes came off victorious. How long the struggle would have lasted he only knows, who, in his mercy, will not suffer us to be tempted beyond what we are able to bear, but with the temptation will also make a way for our escape.

CHAPTER XVIII.

GOD WILL PROVIDE.

WILLIAM frequently came in of an evening when his work was done. He never said much about himself, from which I was led to conclude that he too had his trials-which I afterwards found out to have been the case. I knew that if he had been happy he would have told us soon enough. Nevertheless, as Alice said, he always seemed to bring the sunshine with him -the sunshine of a cheerful and contented spirit.

It was a bright summer evening: how well I remember it! William had arrived home carlier than usual. He brought some strawberries with him—a present from Mr. Martin— and persuaded my mother to let us have our tea in the garden. The day had been intensely hot, but it was cool and pleasant now, under the shadow of the old apple tree; and nothing could be more delicious than the brown bread

and strawberries. To be sure the garden did not look like the same place since William and I had ceased to take such pains with it. But the beds were still bright with flowers; and the evening breeze came laden with the sweet perfume of the mignonette which every where abounded.

"How many happy hours have we spent here!" said William, after tea, when my father and mother had left us, and gone in doors.

"Happier than we shall ever spend again. But we were children then."

"And yet it is scarcely a year since, John." "A year may bring about many changes," said I.

As I spoke, I glanced up and saw a man standing at the garden gate, looking in upon us. William immediately ran down the path to see what he wanted; while I remained still, feeling even more than usually tired, and disinclined to move. How pleasant it was, sitting there under the shadow of the trees, with the cool wind fanning my throbbing brow, and listening to the low hum of the insects and the singing of birds! My weary spirit felt refreshed and soothed, and very thankful.

Presently William again approached, and I saw by his countenance that something had happened.

"What is it ?" I asked. "What did that man want just now?"

"Uncle Jabez is ill again, and has sent for my mother."

"Uncle Jabez! Will she go?"

"Of course she will.”

"He does not deserve that she should. But I am sorry that he is ill.”

"Yes; one cannot help pitying the poor old man. It appears that he has been long ailing." "Then why not send before ?"

"He feared, perhaps, that my mother would not come. He does not know her as we do." "But Alice cannot be left alone ?"

"No. I believe my father intends asking for a few days' holiday for you, in order that you may be able to take care of her and Charley."

At that moment my mother came out with her bonnet and shawl on. She looked pale and agitated, but not sorrowful.

"I am so glad that he has sent for me at last," said she. "Somehow, I always thought that he would. We shall soon have him well

again, please God. You are to take care of the house, John, while I am away. Alice knows what to do. If I should be long absent, your father will get Mrs. Blake to come and assist you a little."

"Never fear, mother. We shall do very well," said Alice, cheerfully.

My mother bid us all good bye, and passed up the garden with a lighter step than was her wont of late: so pleased was she with the thought of being friends again with Uncle Jabez. My father went with her a part of the way.

It was, as I have said, a sweet summer evening. William and myself lingered long in the pleasant garden, while Alice was putting little Charley to bed. We watched the bright stars come out, one by one, and then grow fainter and fainter, as the still brighter moon began to pour forth a flood of silver light upon all surrounding objects. As we walked up and down, I opened my heart to my brother.

William," said I, "if it had not been for this unexpected holiday, I believe I must have given up. I feel that I want a little rest, but I did not like to say so. I had to sit down twice to-day by the road-side coming home.