'Here, mother,' said Eva; 'can't we get the sponge-cakes here?'

'Yes, dear,' said Mrs. Dunstable. And, going in, she had some sponge-cakes put in a bag.

'Let me carry them,' said Eva.

'Then take care and not drop them. And now, what would you like for yourself?'

'Oh, some sweeties, please mother.'

Well, here's the money-you can pay for them.'

Eva, with a great sense of her own importance, laid the money down.

'Here are the sweets,' said Mrs. Dunstable: shall I carry them?'

Oh, no: me,' replied Eva.

"Then put them in your pocket, and don't eat any till you get home.' 'No, mother,' replied Eva.

And then they went on their way.

6

I am going to the dressmaker's, Eva,' said Mrs. Dunstable. Mind you sit still.' As Mrs. Dunstable was some time engaged, she did not notice Eva, till suddenly looking down, she saw her hastily swallow something.

What, Eva, are you eating those

sweets?' asked Mrs. Dunstable.

Eva blushed, and uttered a low 'No.' Mrs. Dunstable looked much grieved, but said nothing. And the walk home was a silent one-very different from the usual merry prattle. When they arrived at the house Mrs. Dunstable said:

The sweets and cakes, please, Eva.' Eva gave them to her without a word. 'Here, Blanche, here are your cakes,' said Mrs. Dunstable, 'going into the nursery about ten minutes later.

6

'Oh, thank you,' said the child. But has Eva got something?'

I have some sweets for Eva,' said Mrs. Dunstable, if she thinks she deserves them.'

Tea was over, and the children's bedtime had come. It was always Mrs. Dunstable's custom to have the children in her room, and to let them say their prayers to her before going to bed.

Blanche said her prayers, and went into the nursery after the usual good-night kisses. But Eva stood hesitating. Mrs. Dunstable looked at her lovingly, and then said:

Eva, my darling, is there not something you wish to tell me?' And she held out her arms.

Eva rushed into them, and buried her head in her mother's breast.

Oh, the comfort of finding oneself forgiven! To know that, whatever your fault, you can tell it without fear. Oh, children, if you have a mother, never hide anything from her. And if you have not, remember there is One higher than a mother, Who loves you more tenderly; and, in faith, you can pour out your griefs to Him, and feel yourself forgiven.

After a few minutes' silence, Mrs. Dunstable said:

"Well, my darling, what is it?'

'Oh, mother,' sobb d the child, 'I did eat those sweets when you told me not to. And oh, mother, I've told you a lie, and you will never be able to trust me again.'

Mrs. Dunstable pressed her child closer to her, as she answered:

‘My darling, there is One greater than I am, Whom you have offended. Have you asked His forgiveness?'

6

Mother, I did not dare,' whispered the child. 'Oh, help me!'

Mrs. Dunstable knelt down, with Eva beside her, and begged God to forgive her child.

When she had finished the child drew from her pocket a small packet, and said:

'Mother, here are those sweets. I have had none beside

And she blushed, and looked down.

My darling,' said Mrs. Dunstable, 'I will take these sweets as a token of your real sorrow. But how was it you did no tell me in the nursery?"

'Oh, mother, I know I was very naughty, but I could not take Blanche's cakes with

Veronica was always busy with the work of the house.

The neighbours often saw her, sometimes spinning at one of the two windows, sometimes cleaning their already shining panes, or spreading her old, well-mended clothes to dry. When she was not to be seen they knew that she was knitting behind the counter, or boiling the thin soup that formed their dinner every day.

One Christmas Day the tailor and Veronica went to the church early in the morning; it was cold and dismal, and few people had braved the north wind and frost in order to go to so early a service. Urban and his sister knelt almost alone at the end of the church, and prayed devoutly. All at once, when the music of the organ ceased for a moment, they heard a low wailing sound: they listened-they looked about them-the cries became more distinctbut they could see nothing. At last, Urban rose to search the dark places of the church, and in a little doorway he found an infant, which had hardly strength enough to cry with cold and hunger.

Poor little innocent!' he sighed, full of pity, as he took it to Veronica, who wrapped the child in her cloak, and they both quietly left the church. Her first care on reaching home was to warm some milk, wrap the babe in dry clothes, and lay him in her own bed.

What delight it gave them to see it eat, then go to sleep, and wake smiling on them. Veronica forgot to put her saucepan on the fire, to fold up her cloak or take off her Sunday dress. Every one was astonished that the pious tailor and his sister were not at the services. At dusk, two neighbours knocked at the s'op-door.

6

Are you ill, Veronica? What has happened to you that we have not seen you at church on such a day as this?'

Veronica smiled, and without saying anything led them to the hearth, where the little foundling lay on a cushion.

'Here,' she said with a beaming face, look at this poor little baby!'

Urban lowered the lamp towards the child, and gently clacked his tongue to call the attention of the little new-comer.

Surely,' said one of the neighbours, 'you do not intend to keep it?'

'What would you have us do with it? Shall we carry it back to the church to see if the ravens will feed it?'

Its great

'What an ugly child!' said_the_two women on their way home. head is sunk between its shoulders, its limbs are like sticks; and such a mouth! It will never know how to do anything but eat their bread-at least if it lives long enough, which is not very likely.'

In truth the poor child was very ugly, but, thanks to Veronica's care and the thin soup, his life was saved. As he grew older he did not become better-looking, and soon the name for him all over the village was 'Hunchback John.'

When he tried to join in the games of others, the rude children amused them selves with playing pranks on him, or calling unkind things after him; then John would leave them, and seating himself on the shop step, watch with envy, but without bitterness, healthy children play and run as he would never be able to do. Sometimes, seeing himself deserted by those of his own age, he cried silently; but if at that moment Urban called him to thread his needle, or Veronica asked him to blow the bellows or shell beans, he dried his tears and ran with a smile, happy at being able to do anything for others.

It was not only his adopted parents whom he liked to oblige, but any one who would accept his services.

If a dog wagged his tail to beg for some of John's supper, and afterwards gratefully licked his hand, he would go to bed hungry, thinking that he had not paid at all too much for the caress of an animal. When an unkind child cried after him, 'Ugly little Hunchback!' the poor little fellow would try to atone for his ugliness by some kind act. For one, he would run an errand in cold and rain; he would mend the clothes of another; and if a big boy ill-treated a little one he would put himself to receive the blows instead, till the poor little victim had escaped. When he grew older, while learning tailoring from Urban, he would tell beautiful stories to the children who gathered round him. Indeed if he had not, during the course of the day, helped or relieved some one, he would go to bed with a

sad heart; and every morning he asked God to make him useful to all who came in his way.

When he was sixteen his adopted father died, and it was with bitter tears that John occupied Urban's place on the table. From this moment the life and well-being of Veronica depended entirely on his care, and he worked hard from morning till night in order to buy what she needed. But she also grew old, her limbs gave way under her, and Hunchback John, never weary of helping her, rose an hour earlier, and went to bed an hour later, that he might do the work which she was now not able to do. You must not think, however, that he did not feel fatigue.

When his lamp had been burning till midnight, his feeble body was so weary that he could hardly undress in order to go to bed. Yet, when the church clock struck at dawn he always rose to continue his work, though still quite stiff with the work of the day before.

At the fall of the leaf Veronica took to her bed, never to rise from it again. The lad did his very best, but the winter was hard, and often, alas! the poor Hunchback was in want. Even the sparrows often tapped with their beaks in vain at his window; bread was too dear to spare any for them. One night, when the wind was high, and whirled the snow in the faces of any who went outside, Veronica lay in a feverish sleep. From time to time John moistened her lips with water mixed with a little vinegar.

'It is lucky,' said he to himself, that she does not ask for anything to eat, for I have nothing to give her. O God!' he cried, raising his hands and eyes to the black, starless sky, which he could sec through the frost-covered window, Thou Who dost not let even the birds which build under our roof fall to the ground, send me help!'

Soon after he thought that he heard the shop door open and a step on the stair. Some one knocked. It was the waiter from a hotel near, who, too delicate to face the storm, had come to him rather than go to a more fashionable tailor who lived at the other end of the town,

A strange gentleman wants you, Mr. John,' said he;come at once, and try to please him. I can answer that he will pay you well.'

The poor lad joyfully followed him. The stranger looked at him from head to foot. 'Do you think that you are fit to work for me?' he asked, with surprise.

John raised his eyes full of tears, and recollecting that he was the ugly hunchback, he reddened with confusion. This beautiful room, these fine clothes, this grand gentleman, he had never seen anything like it-he who made the clothes of artisans, and mended those of the towns-people. 6 But what does it matter?' he thought. 'God has taken pity on my distress, and will continue to aid me.'

'Sir,' he said in a humble tone, 'give me your work; I assure you that it shall be well done, and I will bring it back to-morrow morning.'

All night long John worked, and when fatigue prompted him to give up in despair, one glance at the face of the sick woman gave him new courage. By the morning the work was finished, and with trembling hands John carried it to the rich stranger, and he, as much surprised at the skill of the worker as he had been at his appearance, paid him generously. At the sight of more money than he had possessed for many months the poor hunchback burst into tears. The stranger, surprised, questioned him, and, touched by his simply-told tale, doubled the price of his work.

John's first care was to get a doctor for Veronica, and buy her all the comforts he could think of; she seemed then to revive again, but it was only for a time, and before the return of the leaf they laid her under the willow which shadowed her brother's tomb.

The bright sun and warm spring-time brought no gladness to the poor hunchback; he went sadly about the house. Those whom he had loved and cared for, those who had loved him more than any one else on earth, had left him. He sadly worked at his needle to gain the bread he no longer enjoyed. The timid mouse, the flowers in his window, the birds of the air, were all objects of his care, but he wanted some