bread or something of that kind, and it would maybe make 'em think kindly of poor old Mary when she's gone. And now, Miss Maudie, dear, please to say me something out of the Bible."

Maud thought for a moment what would be best suited for this occasion. She then repeated some verses which had come into her mind just before, when the thunderstorm was shaking the house, and she had been sensible of a little fear. "Let not your heart be troubled: ye believe in God, believe also in me.

"In my Father's house are many mansions: if it were not so, I would not have told you. I go to prepare a place for you.

"And if I go and prepare a place for you, I will come again, and receive you unto myself, that where I am, there ye may be also.

"I am the way, the truth, and the life. No man cometh unto the Father but by me.

"Peace I leave with you, my peace I give unto you; not as the world giveth, give I unto you. Let not your heart be troubled; neither let it be afraid.""

*

The next day was Sunday-most calm and

cool after the wholesome thunderstorm of the night before. The service, always so peaceful in that retired village church, seemed to Maud more quiet and holy than ever. After the morning service was over, Mr. Ashton-as he frequently did-went into the vicarage with Mr. Ansted on some parish matter, and Maud took the opportunity of walking round to inquire for Mary Green. Lotty did not answer the door when she tapped at it; so, as she had done many times before, she lifted the latch and let herself in. The room was very quiet, and she supposed that Lotty had taken advantage of Mary's being asleep and had run home for something. She sat down, therefore, by the bedside, and waited for a few moments. There seemed to be an unnatural stillness about the room. Mary's sleep must be a very deep one, for she could not even hear her breathe. The starling, too, was silent, and he usually had a greeting for her when she entered the house. She put out her hand,—it touched another hand which was stretched out on the coverlid, but it was cold and stiff. The touch sent a chill through her-she knew the truth at once for the first time in her life she was face to

face with the dead. Her first half-fearful impulse was to leave the house as quickly as she could, but she thought it wise to check this feeling. Mary had been her friend,—she had been with her for an hour only the night before without feeling any fear, and why should death have made her terrible? So she passed her hands over those cold features; and when Lotty's mother came in a few minutes after, Maud had assured herself that they wore a pleasant expression, and that a smile had settled on her lips, as if she had fallen asleep, and was dreaming happy dreams.

Just as the bells were beginning to chime for service on that sunny Sabbath morning, old Mary Green had indeed passed into her last solemn slumber.

CHAPTER X.

A FAMILY MEETING.

"The dearest spot of earth to me
Is home, sweet home!

There, where love is so endearing,
All the world is not so cheering

As home, sweet home."-W. T. WRIGHTON.

THE Springfield postman was rather a curious character. He thought a great deal of himself by reason of the office which he sustained. He always announced his arrival in the village by a loud flourish upon a kind of huntsman's bugle which he carried with him, and he went through the same performance when he delivered letters at the chief houses there and in the neighbourhood. At the vicarage, and at Mr. Ashton's, and at one or two of the largest farmers' houses round, he was wont to let them know that he was coming, by a blast upon his horn; and at Ninestones Hall he made a still grander display of his musical powers. You would have expected that some grand personage was approaching, and would have been surprised

to find, at the end of all the noise, that it was only Tom Baynes, the village postman.

He came to Mr. Ashton's with greater importance than usual one morning. Maud heard his trumpeting and quavering as he came up the gravel walk, and walked down the shrubbery, as she often did, to take the letters from his hands.

"Three letters for W. Ashton, Esq., miss, and one for Jenny Eldridge, directed to this house. Is that right?"

"Oh, yes; that's our-kitchen-maid."

"Ah, from her mother, p'raps; I couldn't read the direction hardly, it's so bad. But there's two-and-eightpence to pay on one of them letters for Mr. Ashton, please, miss."

"Oh, a letter from India!" said Maud; and away she went, as fast as was consistent with safety, to find out Mr. Ashton.

Be sure that that was the letter opened first, and be sure also that Maud's features wanted their usual calm and patient expression while Mr. Ashton was busy opening the seal. Though directed to him, it was as much Maud's property as his, and so we may as well give it to our readers in full. It was from Mrs. Summers: