"And now I must go home, when I was growing content to stay. If I had only taken John's advice, and gone with him! Well, I suppose I was too full of my own plans, and this is the way I am to be taught wisdom and humility. I will try to be content. But it will not be very easy, am afraid."

I

Mrs. Lee was out a good deal during the day, so that she scarcely saw her till the children had gone to bed. Then she came into the nursery to make some last arrangement of little garments; and in spite of herself, Christie trembled to find herself left alone with her.

"I must speak to her," she said. "Oh, if I only need not! If I could juts say good-bye, and nothing more!"

Mrs. Lee sat lost in thought, not seeming to heed her, and Christie stitched away as though there were nothing in the world more important than that little Ned's buttons should be sewed on firmly. They were finished at last, and the little garment laid with the rest. Instead of coming to her seat again, she stood a little behind Mrs. Lee, and said, in a low voice:

"Is it to-morrow, ma'am?"

"Yes; we leave to-morrow, early in the day," said Mrs. Lee.

By a great effort, Christie said, hurriedly:

"About my things, ma'am-my frock and hat? I am afraid I have not enough to pay for them and take me home."

She had not time to say more. Suddenly turning, Mrs. Lee laid her hand on her arm.

"Hush, Christie! It is not a matter of wages between you and me to-night. Money could not pay what I owe to you. We'll speak of that by-and-by. Sit down, now, my poor, weary child."

She placed herself on a low stool at a little distance, and let her head fall on her hand.

"Are you thinking to go home?" asked Mrs. Lee.

"I don't know. I suppose so. I have nowhere else to Christie's voice was husky, but she was able to com

go.'

mand it.

"And did you think I would leave you with nowhere to go?" asked Mrs. Lee, gravely. "But would it not be best to go? You are not strong, Christie."

Perhaps it would be better to go, but I wish I could get a place for a little while." And Christie told her of the new misfortune that had befallen them, in the loss of her aunt's income. Mrs. Lee sighed, and after a pause, said, "I was at Mrs. Seaton's to-day, near the mountain. There is illness in the family, and a young infant. More help is required in the nursery. You remember the twins, the pretty boys we used to see in the carriage. One of them is ill-never to be better, I fear. The other you will have the care of for the present. They are quite in the country. I think it will be good for you to be there. I think you will like it, too."

Christie thanked her as well as she was able.

"It seems unkind to you that we should change our plans at so late an hour. I should have considered sooner. But I thought more of my children, and of having you still with them, than I did of what would be best for you." Christie tried to say how glad she would be to go even now. Mrs. Lee shook her head.

"You are not strong, and you are very young. It would be wrong to take you I know not where. It may be a long time before we return here. We may never return." She was silent for a moment, and then continued:

"Yes, it would be wrong to take you so far from your

home to share our uncertain fortunes. If you were but as strong as you are faithful and patient! But it cannot be." Christie ceased to struggle with her tears now, but they fell very quietly.

"As for wages," said Mrs. Lee, lifting the lid of Christie's work-box and dropping in it a little purse, "money could never cancel the debt I owe you. I am content to owe it, Christie. I know you will not grudge your loving service to my darlings.

"And I owe you more than that," she added, after a pause. Christie, when the time comes when all these chafings and changes shall be over, when seeing the reason of them we shall bless God for them, we shall be friends then, I humbly hope. And you must tell your sister-no, you could never tell her. I wish I had seen your friend, John Nesbitt, when he was here; but I will write. And Christie, my brave girl, look up. See what I have for you." Something glistened in the light, and Christie received into her hand a locket, hung by a black ribbon. Upon being opened, there was a face-a lovely child's face— "little Harry!"

Yes, it was little Harry's face, copied from a miniature taken about the time when she first saw him. On the other side, encircled by a ring of the baby's golden hair, was written, in fair characters, by the mother's hand:

"To Christie. From the children."

"And now, Christie," said Mrs. Lee, when the tears that would come at the sight of the picture had been wiped away, "our good-bye to-morrow must be a brief and quiet one. To-night I must say, 'God bless you.' Don't let the world spoil you as you grow older. You won't, I know. You have a talisman against its power. May God make you a blessing to many, as He has made you a bless

ing to me! Good-bye, my dear child. If we never meet on earth, I humbly hope we may meet in heaven!"

It was not like a parting between mistress and maid. Mrs. Lee kissed her earnestly, while her tears fell on her face, and when Christie said "Good-bye," she clung to her as she had not clung even to Effie. It was like the farewell of sisters who know that they must meet death before they look on each other's faces again.

Not one of the many grateful thoughts which filled Christie's heart had she the power to utter. But they were not needed. After so many months of loving service

-after so many nights of anxious watching, shared so gladly for the love she bore to her and her little ones— words could have been of little value.

The "good-bye" in the morning was brief and quiet, as Mrs. Lee had wished-so brief that not till the carriage that took them away had disappeared, did Christie realize that they were gone; and the walls of the deserted nursery echoed to many a bitter sob ere she bade farewell to the place where she had passed so many changeful hours.

CHAPTER XIII.

CHRISTIE'S NEW HOME.

was a very lovely scene, and all the lovelier for the light of a fair summer morning upon it.

There was a broad, sunny lawn, with a margin of shade, and just one mass of flitting shadows beneath the locust-tree near the gate. Beyond, there were glimpses of winding walks and of brilliant garden-flowers, and farther on, the waving boughs of trees, and more flitting shadows; the cedar hedge hid the rest. The house that stood beyond the sunny lawn was like a house in a picture-with a porch in front, and galleries at the sides, and over the railings and round the pillars twined flowering shrubs and a vine, with dark shining leaves. A flight of stone steps led up to the open porch, and on the uppermost one sat a young girl, reading. One hand rested on her book, while the other slowly wound and unwound the ribbon of a child's hat that lay beside her. Her head was bent low over her book, and Christie could not see her face for the long, bright curls that shaded it. So intent was she on her reading that she did not hear the sound of footsteps; and Christie stood admiring the pretty picture which the young