Blade-O'-Grass. Golden Grain. and Bread and Cheese and Kisses.

'Let me nurse her!' she sobs.

'No, my dear,' says the man in possession; but he places Tottie's lips to hers, and then stoops and kisses Bessie's tears which have fallen on the little one's face. 'There is more to tell. Shall I go on?'

'Yes.'

'A happy time comes to George. He falls in love with a tender-hearted, pure-souled girl-'

Bessie kneels at his feet, and looks in bewilderment at the man's strange face, at his snow-white hair, and in gratitude raises his hand to her lips.

'There, there, child!' he says; 'sit down: you interrupt my story. They are engaged to be married, and George is anxious to make a home for his bird. But trade is slack, and he can save no money. Then comes a false man, whom we will call Judas, into the story, who, under the pretence of friendship for George, gives him a passage-ticket to the colonies, where George can more quickly save money to buy the home to which he yearns to bring his bird. But on the very night, within three hours of the time when George is to look his last upon the little house in which he was born, he learns from Saul that this pretended friend has played him false, has told him lies, and has given him the ticket only for the purpose of getting him out of the country, so that Judas can pay court to the girl who reigns in George's heart. Other doubts and misunderstandings unfortunately accumulate in these critical moments; George learns that the girl was seen to go into the house where Judas's father lives; learns that Judas has given her a pair of earrings; learns that Judas was seen by George's mother to place a letter in the girl's hands-'

'It was for grandfather!' cries Bessie. 'It contained money for grandfather to help him out of his trouble!'

'Hush! my dear! What can you know of this story of mine? When George learns all this he is in an agony of despair. He takes the ticket from his pocket, and is about to destroy it, when Saul falls on his knees at his friend's feet, and begs, entreats in his agony for the ticket, so that he may go instead of George. For Saul's dear woman has left him; has charged him, by his love for her and for their child, to make an effort to lift them from shame; and he sees no way- no way but this which is suddenly opened to him. George gives his friend the ticket, and the next day Saul bids good-bye to the land which holds all that is dear to his heart.'

The man in possession pauses here, and old Ben Sparrow gazes earnestly at him. When he resumes, his voice grows more solemn.

'Saul reaches his destination, and after much wandering finds a shelter in the mountains with a little colony of gold-diggers. He makes a friend there; David. Another; David's wife. God rest their souls! Another; David's little daughter. Saul finds gold, and thanks God for His goodness. He will come home and make atonement But the snow season sets in, and he and his companions are imprisoned by mountains of snow whose shallowest depth is sufficient for a man's grave if he is buried upstanding. An awful night comes, when the snow-drift walls up their tents. In the morning the tents are hemmed in; the diggers cannot open their doors. Near to the tent in which Saul and David and David's wife and David's little daughter live is a tree. Saul climbs to the roof of the tent, breaks through it, climbs on to the tree, and calls to his friends to follow him. David tries, and fails; he falls back into the tent, and hurts himself to death. Saul, in an agony, calls out for David's little daughter, and the mother succeeds in raising the child through the roof of the tent; Saul clutches the little girl and takes her to his heart. All this time the storm is raging; the snow rises higher and higher. David commands his wife to save herself; she refuses, and stays to nurse him, and slowly, slowly, my dears! the snow falls; the walls of the tent give way; and David's wife meets a noble death, and both find their grave.'

Awe-struck they listen to this strange man's story. A look of pity steals into his face-and then he murmurs to himself, 'No; why should I bring sadness upon them this night?' And says aloud:

'The tree to which Saul clings for dear life with David's little daughter, one other man manages to reach. His story you shall hear to-morrow; sufficient here to say that it is a strange one, and it comes strangely to Saul's ears. He bequeaths his gold to Saul for a good purpose. But this man is weak; his strength fails him in the night; and when the next morning's sun rises Saul and David's little daughter are the only ones left. Can you picture Saul to yourself clinging to the tree, holding in his arms the life of a dear little one? Can you realise the agony of the time? Can you believe that his grief and tribulation are so great during the two terrible days that follow, that his hair turns snow-white-'

'But he is saved?' cries Bessie and her grandfather at once.

'He is saved.'

'And David's little daughter?'

'Is saved also, God be thanked!'

They draw a long breath.

'But little remains to be told. Saul comes home, bringing David's little daughter with him-bringing gold with him. He seeks his dear woman. He marries her. He hears that the old man and the dear girl who have protected and reared his child are in trouble-that an execution is to be put into the old man's shop for rent-'

'And he becomes a man in possession!' cries old Ben, starting up in indescribable excitement. 'O, dear! O, dear! He becomes a man in possession!'

The tolling of a bell is heard.

'As you say. Is not that the Westminster clock beginning to chime the hour? Listen for one minute more. When Judas comes in this afternoon, do you think the man in possession is asleep? No; he is awake, and hears every word that passes, and such a joy comes into his heart as he cannot describe-for he thinks of George, that dear friend, that noble friend, that Man! What does the man in possession do when Judas has gone? He writes a letter, doesn't he? Hark! the last hour is tolling! Twelve!'

The door opens, and Bessie, with a wild cry, moves but a step, and presses her hand to her heart. George stands before her, pale with the excitement of the moment, but hopeful, and with love in his eyes.

'George, my dear boy!' cries old Ben, grasping the young man's hands.

'Can you forgive me, Bessie?' asks George.

A grateful sob escapes from the girl's overcharged heart, and the lovers are linked in a close embrace.

As if this happy union has conjured them up, there enter on the instant Jim Naldret and Mrs. Naldret, she nursing David's little daughter. And behind them, with a wistful look, with hands that are convulsed with excess of tenderness, with eyes and face and heart filled with yearning love, stands the Mother hungering for her child! Tenderly and solemnly Saul places Tottie in Jane's arms. The Mother steals softly into the shop with her child; and Saul follows, and kneels before her. Presently she takes him also to her breast.

'Dear wife? he murmurs; and a prayer of infinite thankfulness for the mercy and the goodness of God comes to his mind.

Half-an-hour afterwards, he enters the room with Jane and their child.

'Bessie,' he says, 'this is my wife, Jane.'

And as Bessie kisses her and caresses her, the sorrow of the past melts into gratitude for the present.

They sit and talk.

'George and I are going into business together,' says Saul. 'We shall start a little shop of our own.'

'And stop at home,' remarks Mrs. Naldret, 'and be contented.'

'Yes,' replies George, 'on bread-and-cheese and kisses. I shall be able to buy my pots and pans now.'

Somehow or other George has come into possession of the little silk purse again.

'Bessie!' exclaims Mrs. Naldret 'My dream that I told you last year'll come true!'

The maid blushes. She is dreaming happily now. So are they all indeed. Old Ben hopes that they will not wake up presently.

Silence falls upon them. And in the midst of the silence, the sounds of music steal to their ears, and they gaze at each other with earnest grateful eyes. It is the waits playing 'Home, sweet Home.'

'Do you remember, George?' says Bessie, with a tender clasp.

Softly, sweetly, proceeds the hymn of Home. The air is filled with harmony and prayer.

THE END