looked at him again, and I fancied him pale and changed.

After dinner I followed him into the garden. He had taken off his jacket, and was beginning to dig over one of the beds.

"Never mind that now," said I. "I want to talk to you."

"But I must get this finished to-night." "There is no hurry. Do as I bid you, and give me the spade."

William did so with evident reluctance.

"Well, what is it?" asked he, as we walked slowly up and down the little garden path.

William," said I, "this is the first time that you and I ever had a secret from one another. Can you not trust me?"

"I can-but I would rather not."

"No."

Then, as Alice says, why do you not eat your dinner like other people?"

66

It chokes me," replied my brother, in a hoarse voice. They were my own words, but I

do not think that he remembered it then. "I used to feel so once," said I.

"Oh, it is not that," exclaimed William,

quickly.

"You do not like it, then?"

"To be sure I do."

"Then why not eat it?"

"There would be so little left if I did."

Why should there be any left ?"

"Because when there is not, our mother goes

without."

"Our mother! Oh, William, is it possible ?"

"I have seen it many and many a time of late. It was only yesterday that she said she would have her dinner in peace when we had done."

"Yes, I recollect. She often says so now." "Well, there was nothing left for her to have but a piece of bread and an apple."

"What can we do?" exclaimed I, bursting into tears.

"I do not know. But come this way, out of sight of the house. I would have spared you this grief, John."

H

"Why should you spare me, and so suffer alone? Does my father know of this?"

"He does not, and must not. He works hard enough as it is."

"And I came twice to-day for that little drop of broth."

"But there was some left after all. I toasted her a slice of bread to put in it, and left her eating it when I came away. It did my heart good to see her."

But we

"And I saw you put it back for her. will help one another in future. We will always take care that there is something left. She shall never again dine upon dry bread and an apple."

"You must not go without either," said William ; "that will never do. You are not so strong as I am; and you know how uneasy she is if you do not eat."

"But

"And you are not so strong as you were, William," said I, looking up into his pale face. "I do not feel any worse," replied he. I do wish that we could think of something which we might do to help her."

"I will tell you what I will do," said I, impetuously. "I will run away and seek my fortune, as many poor boys younger than I am have done

before now.

Even if I should not succeed, there

will be one mouth less to feed."

"Two," replied William, gently, "for it would break my mother's heart to lose you thus."

"Do you think so, if I were to write home from time to time, and say that I was well?"

"But you never are well for long together, and she knows that. Let us wait and pray, dear brother."

"And while we wait, our dear mother will starve."

"No," said William, cheerfully. "I do think that God will take care of her, and of us too, if we only put our trust in him."

"Oh! William, I wish I could feel as you do." "I wish you could, dear brother. It is such a happy feeling to be able to trust God. Who knows but what he may put some bright thought into our hearts, and point out the most likely way in which we may be useful to our dear mother ? "

I forget what more passed between us at that time. I only remember that I went away

cheered and comforted.

CHAPTER XI.

DAILY MERCIES.

THAT evening, as I stood with little Charley in my arms by the open window, I heard William, as he worked, singing that beautiful hymn of Cowper's beginning :

"Tis my happiness below

Not to live without the cross,

But the Saviour's power to know,
Sanctifying every loss.

Trials must and will befall,

But with humble faith to see
Love inscribed upon them all,
This is happiness to me.

I saw my mother, who had been busily arranging the tea-table against my father's return, stop to listen. She came and stood near where we were, and I could not help noticing how the worn and anxious expression of her countenance passed away while William sang. Presently