took her from the carriage in her strong arms, as if she had been a very infant; carrying her straight upstairs to her own bedroom, for Maud was quite exhausted with the journey.

"And so you've come back again, my dear Miss Maud; and it's very glad we are to see you once more. I hope it's done you good-the change?"

The question faltered on Mrs. Jackson's lips, as she looked at the wasted form before her, and felt that there could be only one answer.

"Good in some respects, perhaps, thank you, Mrs. Jackson; but not in the way you kindly mean. Do you know what I have come home for?"

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To be with us once again; isn't it so, my dear?"

"Yes, I couldn't bear without coming back to be in my own room again, and with my own old friends about me; and to hear the sound of the church bells again coming across the fields. I wanted that, there are no bells so sweet anywhere else. I didn't wish to be away at the last; and so I've come home, you see, to "

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Oh, don't say it, Miss Maud, my own dear

child; don't say it. I can't bear it, indeed I can't. I wanted to keep myself quiet,-if I could, but to hear you talk in that way—it quite overcomes me.'

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But, dear Mrs. Jackson-'

"Please don't say any more just now, dear; don't—I shall be better able to hear you-by-andbye. I—I didn't think to give way like this."

And Mrs. Jackson left the room dissolved in weeping. No wonder if even Maud shed a few tears at this outburst of affection.

The same old room once more-that in which she had passed the last long, weary winter, in much pain and weakness. Now it was the late summer, and she came back to it weaker than even then, and suffering as much pain. But it was more cheerful to be here now, for the window was open, and the bees were humming without, and the gentle wind was sweeping the leaves of the plants on the sill, and bearing their sweet perfume to her. An old acquaintance, too, was giving her his hoarse greeting from an open wicker cage outside the window, from whence, when he liked to do so, he could hop out on to the ledge, and make his entrance into

the room. Poor starling!—having lost one mistress, he was now about to lose another.

"Better here than at the seaside,” said Maud to herself" better in my own old dwelling, with all its joyful remembrances of happy days. I shall like to go to heaven straight from that home where I have been taught the way thither."

Mr. Ansted was one of the first visitors (many she could not see) who came to inquire after her, and offer her those little attentions which make up all that human love can do to lighten our last burden. The minister's heart was gladdened to find how well she had learned those lessons of godly comfort and resignation which he had tried to set before her, and how ripe she was for that heavenly garner into which the Lord of the harvest was about to gather her. Even he, experienced as he was, felt that he could be taught by her,-that the great Teacher had given her deep instruction in the sacred truths of eternity. All that he could do was to share in her joyful expectation, and talk with her of those glorious things which were ever present to her mind.

There was one anxiety on which she dwelt

They had all

much she had wished greatly to meet the girls who had formed her class at the Sunday-school, and to talk with them once more. been kind and respectful in their manner towards her; some of them had shown great interest in her health, and had been several times to the house during her absence to inquire after her. They nearly all bade fairly, Maud thought; but they were young and light-hearted, and might soon forget what she had tried to teach them in the class. Perhaps if she could see them now, and say a little to each one of them, they would be more likely to remember it when her death had sealed her words. As she thought much upon this, and often mentioned it, her friends judged it best to gratify her desire; and one day, when she felt a little less weak than usual, she had them all in, and gathered them in a class around her bed. Most of them brought flowers for her, or some of the ripest fruit from their gardens, or some other little token of affection, which no one knew better than Maud how to prize. This was their last meeting,-they all felt that,—they all knew that they would see her face no more. She spoke a very few words to

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them, but they were loving words; solemn, because they were spoken by one who was now passing into death, and yet cheerful, as the greeting of the long-absent traveller when he is just coming within sight of his home. And then she called them separately to her side, and said a word or two to each one of them, and gave to each some little parting present to keep in remembrance of their teacher, now that she was going from them. Every eye was swimming, and every voice failed but that of her who was dying; and that, though very low, was even and placid as it used to be when she talked to them in days gone by. What power and eloquence there was in those few plain words, and how they sank into the hearts of those who heard them! Perhaps no priestly sermon, preached from a pulpit in all due form, could have had such an effect on the simple minds of those little villagegirls.

And now the end drew rapidly near. They all saw that the silver cord of life, drawn out in her case to the very slenderest thread, would soon part asunder and let her go free. She felt it, and her mind was peaceful at the thought.