so much love that she smiled through her tears, and laying her head upon his shoulder, suffered him to smooth her soft hair, and whisper words of comfort to her grieved heart.

'It will all come right, my love; depend upon it, it will all come right; Willy cannot fail in time to feel that his mother is right, therefore do not fret any more.'

'Father dear, it is not for myself I am fretting, it is for Willy, who thinks I have punished him. unjustly, and it is that which grieves me. He is too young to separate in his mind the act of disobedience from the trifling worth of the glass which he broke; and he does not clearly see that it was for his naughtiness in touching what he had been told not to touch, that he was punished. I wish now I had done what I felt prompted to do when I turned back into the room. I wish I had put the watch on; but as I had already forbidden him to touch it, I thought it right to leave it.'

'So it was, my child; and now once more I say to you it will all come right. I am sure it will.'

'Oh, Father dear! I remember one circumstance of my own childhood which had so bad an influence on my mind, that for two long years I never forgot it, and it might have led to very fatal results but for a counteracting and still more powerful influence, and this makes me tremble for

my child you never knew it, Father, but when I was eight years old, I was severely whipped, whipped unjustly. What I suffered none can tell. I did not judge my mother, but for two whole years I ceased to respect her, shall I say? No, that would not have been possible; but child as I was, and wilful child as I was, I had no longer the same reliance on her judgment, and I know Willy will be like me in this respect, and that it will be a fearful thing for him, and no one can tell where the mischief may end. He will love me, dear child, just as much as ever; he will forget in a few days that I have whipped him; but he will doubt my judgment, and so long as a child is a child, his mother ought to be infallible in his eyes, not for her sake, but for his own; never should a mother punish a child when she feels the least anger against him. Oh, Father, Father! what shall I do that my poor Willy may not suffer for my putting temptations in his way?'

'I know not, dearest; but of one thing I am sure, when we try to do our duty as you try to do yours, all will be made plain if we do but trust.'

The children's silvery peals of laughter now broke upon their ear, and they both rose to see what caused it. Sunbeam followed them into the nursery, where the two little boys ran forward to meet Grandpapa, who took them on his knees, and

D

hugged them to his heart's content.

It was now too late for our little friend to go further that day, and so she determined to remain where she was. She knew that though she should resume her own shape, she would be invisible to those around her, except in their dreams; and she still thought Zephyr would not have brought her thither, had he not had some task in view for her. A very happy evening she spent, and much she learned: had she been an author, she might have written a large volume upon a mother's love, but she was only a poor little Sunbeam, much better, by-thebye, in my opinion, than a great many authors who write a vast deal, but who do very little. stayed till all the little family had retired to rest, and the two little boys that night saw a lovely face bent down, and large blue eyes hovering over them, and felt as if rocked on cherubs' wings when the Angel of Sleep visited their pillow. Sunbeam kissed their rosy cheeks; she herself was about to seek a shelter for the night, and wait for the first appearance of the Great Geni to gather strength for the morrow's task, when she saw the gentle mother enter the room with a lamp in her hand, shading it carefully with her delicate fingers: she bent over her baby boys, and commended them to the Power that protecteth in darkness.

She

'Oh that I could comfort her!' thought Sun

beam, as she heard her heave a deep-drawn sigh. The wish was enough; no sleep for Sunbeam that night. When the mother quitted the room of her darling babes, the benignant little spirit glided noiselessly after her into her own chamber.

CHAPTER V.

THE MOTHER'S DREAM.

T was long, very long ere she could close her eyes. In vain did Sunbeam pass her

soft cool hand over her feverish brow; in

vain did she fan her with her gossamer wings; the poor mother tossed to and fro on her uneasy couch; but at length her senses were locked in sleep. But surely no; she cannot be asleep. What is that strain of music, now so soft and low that it seems at first but the distant chimes of the village church to which she had listened in her early youth, now coming nearer and swelling like the peal of the organ in that same church? She listens breathless; she rises; she shakes herself to be quite sure that she is awake; she stretches out her hand; it is clasped by a beauteous being by her side, who looks like an angel of light, and who leads her forth into the summer fields. It is eventide, and the chimes are ringing still; she springs forward,