CHAPTER XI.

"A babe in a house is a well-spring of pleasure, a xessenger of peaco and love:

A resting-place for innocence on earth; a link between angels and

men :

Yet is it a talent of trust, a loan to be rendered back with interest; A delight, but redolent of care; honey-sweet, but lacking not the bitter."-Proverbial Philosophy.

"EDWARD, dear," said Mrs. Ponsonby, some few days after the opening of the school," you should go in the afternoon to hear Millicent's stories; she does tell the

children such innocent ones. I assure you, it amuses me as much as them. Let us go this afternoon; shall we?"

"Yes, if you like, dear."

So the Bath chair was ordered round after luncheon and they proceeded to the school. They were in good time, the work was being given out, and so the stories had not commenced.

Millicent seemed rather unwilling to tell one before the visitors; but Mrs. Ponsonby whispered to her

to go on, for she liked so much to hear her, that after a little hesitation she began the following tale,-certainly, as Mrs. Ponsonby termed it, "innocent," but suited to the capacities of her hearers, whose faces brightened the moment she commenced.

"There was once on a time a little girl, who was so idle-so very idle-that she liked to do nothing but eat, drink, and enjoy herself, and never to be troubled by doing anything for anybody. One day she turned very cross and sulky, because her mother asked her to take care of the little baby whilst she was washing, rock the cradle, and try to keep it asleep, or quiet, and amused. She did this with such a bad grace, that her mother felt quite worried at having asked her, and hurried through her work to relieve the child of the occupation she seemed so much to dislike. As soon as she was at liberty, in a very sulky humour she went out and sauntered down the lanes until she came to a corn-field.

"Ah, pretty corn,' she said, 'I wish I was you; you've nothing to do for any one-nothing but to wave your pretty heads in the summer sunshine !'

"I beg your pardon, little miss,' said a voice, 'it has a great deal to do for you and every one, you could not live without its help; it goes through a great deal for you; it is cut, and thrashed, and ground, and baked, to give you nourishing food; but for a very

short time is it left here idly to wave in the summer breeze and sunshine.'

"She felt a little abashed by this, and went on a little farther till she came to a field of flax.

"Well,' she said, 'these pretty flowers are not like the silly corn; they do nothing but put forth their pretty blossoms, and have the bees and butterflies to play with.'

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Again the voice answered,

"Wrong again, little girl, those pretty flowers are very useful, their stalks are picked and spun, and wove into the clothes you wear; and their seeds make an oil, which our planters and manufacturers could not well do without.'

"She made no answer; but, looking still more ashamed, went on again till she came to a flock of sheep, and then she said,—

"Well, I wish I was a happy little sheep, there grazing so idly in the meadow; that does nothing but enjoy itself.'

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Silly little girl!' said the voice; 'why that sheep is killed for your support and nourishment, and its wool taken from its back to make the winter clothes and blankets, which keep you so warm and comfortable.'

"The little girl stamped her foot quite in a pet;

but, determined to find something she should like to be, which led an idle, happy life, she began to grope in the hedges, and there she found some lovely flowers white and purple, and some of them with scarlet berries.

"Now I have found some happy things,' she said, 'who have nothing to do but to blossom and to sun themselves, and to play with the birds and insects which fly about them.'

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Quite wrong,' replied the voice again; those flowers play a very useful part-a very nice one, too -for they soothe and comfort the sufferer, and give rest to the sleepless. The doctors gather them to make into draughts, to give to those in pain. Little girl, go home, and learn from all things in nature that the good God who made it all meant everything to be useful, and nothing, and no person, to be idle and useless. The fig-tree was cut down because it bore no fruit, and cumbered the ground. Go home at once, and, child as you are, be useful and industrious, do the work that is ordered for you, and then you will look bright and happy like the flowers you admire, and the little animals you envy, whose purpose it is to do, as you must strive to do, the will of their Father which is in heaven.""

The story ended, Mr. and Mrs. Ponsonby left,

after, in a low voice, complimenting Millicent on her talent; and Millicent ordered the work to be brought to her for correction.

"Maria," she said to one girl, "I am afraid you have been listening to my story, but not working; you have scarcely done a stitch. You must now stay in to finish your task, and if this occurs again I shall expect you to write the story out from memory after morning school."

The other girls had got on very nicely, and so Millicent promised one more story, and began as follows:

"Little Mark Stavely was the only child of a widowed mother, living in a narrow street in an old Cathedral city. Now, perhaps, you do not know what a cathedral is? it is a grand and splendid church, which people built many, many years ago for the worship of God; and because they thought nothing could be too beautiful or costly to be honoured with the name of God's house, they spent enormous sums of money on these splendid buildings; and they stand now in a great many cities of England to remind us that our forefathers thought, with good King David, it was not well to give to God of that which cost them nothing.' Well, near one of these beautiful cathedrals little Mark Stavely lived, as I have said, with his mother. He was a quiet, strange sort of