and thought, especially in a labour."

new sphere of

"Miss Curry appears to be a sensible woman,' observed Mr Fulham, after a pause; "but I confess I doubt her being fitted for a district visitor."

"The same thought occurred to me,” replied Mrs Fulham. "There is a dryness about her, which would, I fear, be regarded by the poor as proceeding from want of feeling. And yet I hear she is not without real kindliness of heart."

"Very far from that," said Mr Fulham. "I happened to hear, the other day, that it is no unusual thing for her to send what had been prepared for her own dinner to some poor person she had been visiting during the day. Nevertheless, her manner is decidedly against her, as a visitor of the sick."

"Could we not turn her love of teaching to account. She has, I hear, been teaching all her life, and quite misses the occupation."

"What a capital thing, Caroline, it would be to establish a night-school for the boys who are at work all day, and instal Miss Curry as Principal! That would be making her useful."

"If she would undertake it. I wonder, would she object? Will you ask her, or shall I? She told me she would rather teach than engage in any other employment. Indeed, she has such an honest desire to be useful, that I think she would fall in with any suggestion we might make."

Miss Curry did not object, she only doubted whether boys would respect her authority; but

when Mrs Fulham assured her that a friend of her own, who had a large class of ploughboys, had told her she found them much easier to teach than girls, Miss Curry was comforted, and said she would "try."

CHAPTER XX.

"OLD JONES " was not one of those who liked the change at the Rectory. "I'm not altogether sure that we haven't gained a loss," he observed one day to Miss Harrison. “He'll never come up to him that's gone; at least, that's my mind. But it's an old saying, and not the less true, 'We don't find out the worth of people until they 've slipped away from us.'"

"Yes," Miss Harrison replied, thoughtfully; "we learn to value many things, and as you say, people too, by their loss. However, I should be sorry to think that Mr Jones had not always many warm friends in Bloomfield. I am sure he deserved to have them."

66

Well, I'm glad to hear you say that, maʼam,” replied the old man. "I was afraid you were mightily taken by the new rector; and, with all reverence, I say 'the old was better.'

"We need not draw comparisons between them,' replied Miss Harrison. "A good rector, whoever he be, is a gift from God, for the right use of which He will hold us responsible."

"No doubt of that, ma'am. If a 'good wife is from

the Lord'—and I'm not the man to gainsay that— why shouldn't a good rector be from God too?"

"It struck me very forcibly," continued Miss Harrison, “the day Mr Jones left the Rectory, as his carriage passed my house on its way to the railway-station, what a solemn thought it is to have closed an account with God."

"I don't rightly take you in, ma'am," said Jones.

"I mean, that when our intercourse with any one has been brought to a close, either by death or any other circumstance which breaks our connexion with him, it is like closing an account with a creditor. There is no further opportunity for fulfiling the duties involved in that relationship,-the unpaid debts must remain unpaid."

"That remark of yours has touched a sore place in my heart," Jones said, as he brushed a tear from his eye. 66 You remember my Jack that went

"I do well-he was a fine boy."

"And you remember-at least I do-how you used to bid me 'deal gently' with him. 'Bend his will, but don't break his spirit,' you said many's the time."

"Yes, I remember."

"And I turned a deaf ear to your warning. I thought you over soft and easy, and so I often told his mother, who leaned to your opinion. But I've lived to see that, whether you were right or not, my plan didn't answer. I tried to conquer him in my

own way, and- But you know the end." After a little, raising his head, Jones said, "Yes, I couldn't break his spirit; and his mother often says, when we two sit over the fire talking of poor Jack, and looking at the little boat he made when he was but five years old,—and we so proud of it, we keep it over the chimney-piece,—well, my wife then says, that her hope of his coming right again, some day perhaps, when the turf is green over our heads, is just this :-that as no man could ever break him down by force or anger, she looks to God to conquer him by His love. That is what she says, and that is her prayer night and day.'

"A prayer that will be answered in the best way, and at the right time," said Miss Harrison, with deep feeling for a father's grief.

"I believe it will-we both believe it," he replied; "and many a time we tell each other so when our hearts are breaking, just to keep ourselves up. And then we talk, and talk, until we over-persuade ourselves he 's at the very door,-maybe going to lift the latch; but he hasn't lifted it yet. Though I'm not ashamed to say it, I've looked out for him more than once, all the time telling his mother I knew it was only the wind whistling behind the door. And you think he'll come back, ma'am?"

"I am sure your wife's prayers will be answered, Jones."

"I'll tell her that. She'll be comforted to hear you said it. And, perhaps, some day you 're pass