time before Effie spoke-so long that Christie said at

last:

"What is it, Effie ?"

Her sister started. "I have nothing to say but what I have said before, Christie. You are not to stay if you don't like. You are not to let any thought of any one or anything at home keep you, unless you are quite content and quite strong and well. And, at any rate, you are to come home in the spring."

Effie had said all this before; and Christie could only repeat her promise.

"I am afraid you think I am wrong to go away, Effie?"

I am sure

"No, dear; I don't think you are wrong. your motives are good. I wish you were not going; but there is no use in saying so now. I hope it will turn out for the best to you and to us all. I will try and not be anxious about you. God will keep you safe, I do not

doubt."

"Effie," said Christie, "do you remember what you said to me once about God's hearing prayer, and how He always hears the prayers of His people in the best way, though not always in the way they wish and expect ?"

"Yes, I mind something about it. And how all things work together for good to His people and for His glory at the same time. Yes, I mind."

Well," said Christie, softly, "if folk really believe this, it will be easy for them to leave their friends in God's hands. They can ask Him for what they need, being sure that they will get what is best for them, and that He canna make a mistake."

There was a few minutes' silence; and then Effie said:

Christie, if I were sure that you are one of God's

people-one of the little lambs of His flock-I would not fear to let you go. Do you think you are ?"

"I don't know, Effie.

I am afraid not. I am not like

what the Bible says God's people ought to be. But I am sure I wish to be."

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Christie," said her sister, earnestly, "you must never let anything hinder you from reading your Bible every day. You must not rest till you are sure about yourself." Effie," she said, in a low voice, and very seriously, "I think God did once hear a prayer of mine. It was a good while ago before father died. It was one of my bad days; I was worse than usual; and when I came back from the pasture I sat down by the brook-under the birch-tree, you mind—and I went from one thing to another, till I said to myself, 'I'll see if there's any good in praying.' And so I prayed Aunt Elsie might not scold me when I went home; and she didna. But I didna care for that, because you were at home that night. But I prayed, too, that you might bring me a book. I meant The Scottish Chiefs,' or something; but you brought my Bible. I have thought, sometimes, that was one of the prayers answered in a better way than we ask or expect."

The last few words were spoken in a very husky voice; and as she ceased, her head was laid on Effie's lap. There were tears in Effie's eyes too-she scarcely knew why. Certainly they were not for sorrow. Gently stroking her

sister's drooping head, she said :

"Perhaps it was so, Christie. I believe it was; and you are right. We need not fear for one another. We will trust in Him."

CHAPTER VI.

CHRISTIE'S NEW HOME.

O Annie and Christie went away; and the days that followed their departure were long and

lonely at the cottage. They had never been long separated, and the absence of two of their number made a great blank in their circle. All missed them, but none so much as Effie; for mingled with regret for their absence was a feeling very like self-reproach that she had permitted Christie to go. It was in vain that she reasoned with herself about this matter, saying it was the child's own wish, and that against her aunt's expressed approbation she could have said nothing to detain her.

She knew that Christie was by no means strong, that she was sensitive (not to say irritable), and she dreaded for her the trials she must endure and the unkindness she might experience among strangers. She was haunted by a vision of her sister's pale face, homesick and miserable, with no one to comfort or sympathise with her; and she waited with inexpressible longing for the first tidings from the wanderers. The thought of her was always present. It came with a pang sometimes when she was busiest. She

returned from school night by night with a deeper depression on her spirits, till Aunt Elsie, who had all along resented in secret her evident anxiety, could no longer restrain the expression of her vexation.

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"What ails you, Effie?" said she, as the weary girl seated herself, without entering the house. You sit down there as if you had the cares and vexations of a generation weighing you down. Have matters gone contrary at the school ?"

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"No. Oh, no," said Effie, making an effort to seem cheerful. Everything has gone on as usual. I had two new scholars to-day. They'll be coming in, now that the autumn work is mostly over. Have not the bairns come in ?" "I hear their voices in the field beyond," said her aunt. "But you havena told me what ails you. Indeed, there's no need. I know very well. It would have been more wise-like to have kept your sisters at home than to fret so unreasonably for them now they are away."

Effie made no answer.

"What's to happen to them more than to twenty others that have gone from these parts? It's a sad thing, indeed, that your father's daughters should need to go to service, considering all that is past. But it can't be mended now. And one thing is certain: it's no disgrace." "No, indeed," said Effie. "I don't look on it in that light; but

"Yes; I ken what you would say. It's aye Christie you're thinking about. But she'll be none the worse for a little discipline. She would soon have been an utter vexation, if she had been kept at home. You spoiled your sister with your petting and coaxing, till there was no doing with her. I'm sure I dinna see why she's to be pitied more than Annie."

Effie had no reply to make. If she was foolish and unreasonable in her fears for Christie, her aunt's manner of pointing out her fault was not likely to prove it to her. She did not wish to hear more. Perhaps she was foolish, she thought. Good Mrs. Nesbitt, who was not likely to be unjust to Christie, and who was ready to sympathise with the elder sister in what seemed almost like the breaking-up of the family, said something of the same kind to her once, as they were walking together from the Sabbathschool.

"My dear," she said, "you are wrong to vex yourself with such thoughts. Your aunt is partly right. Christie will be none the worse for the discipline she may have to undergo. There are some traits in her character that havena fairly shown themselves yet. She will grow firm and patient and self-reliant, I do not doubt. I only hope she will grow stronger in body, too."

Effie sighed.

"She was never very strong."

"If she shouldna be well, she must come home; and, Effie, though I would never say to an elder sister that she could be too patient and tender to one of the little onesand that one sometimes wilful and peevish, and no' very strong-yet Christie may be none the worse, for a wee while, no' to have you between her and all trouble. My dear, I know what you would say. I know you have something like a mother's feeling for the child. But even a mother canna bear every burden or drink every bitter drop for her child. And it is as well she canna do it. If Christie's battle with life and what it brings begins a year or two earlier than you thought necessary, she may be all the better able to conquer. Dinna fear for her. God will have her in His keeping."