Beareth all things, believeth all things, hopeth all things, endureth all things.

Charity never faileth: but whether there be prophecies, they shall fail; whether there be tongues, they shall cease; whether there be knowledge, it shall vanish away.

For we know in part, and we prophesy in part. But when that which is perfect is come, then that which is in part shall be done away.

When I was a child, I spake as a child, I understood as a child, I thought as a child: but when I became a man, I put away childish things.

For now we see through a glass, darkly; but then face to face: now I know in part; but then shall I know even as also I am known.

And now abideth faith, hope, charity, these three; but the greatest of these is charity.

IX.-LITTLE POP-CORN.

Youth's Companion.

Please, sir, buy some pop-corn?”

It was a

snowy, blustering day in January; and I sat at my office-desk, writing, when a small voice addressed me with the above request. "Not this morning," I replied rather gruffly and without glancing up. He won't buy

"Come, Jimmy, we must go. any," I heard the small voice say in a whisper. This time there was something sadly old in the

childish tones. They touched my ear and heart together, and I turned quickly. Before me was the figure of a little girl, perhaps eight years old, poorly clad, and beside her a boy,—her brother as I afterward learned,-a little older than herself. She carried a small basket of puffy white corn. There was such a look of innocence in her big gray eyes that I was fairly conquered.

"How much is your pop-corn, my child?" I asked. The pretty mouth dimpled with pleasure as she replied, "Two cents a cup, sir, and two cups for five cents." I smiled at this odd reckoning, and said, "Oh, you are mistaken! You mean, I guess, three cents a cup, and two for five cents." She shook her head very decidedly. "No, sir; I am sure mother said so, and she always knows." "And who is your mother, child, that, she lets you come out such a wild day as this is?" My mother is at home sick; and Jimmy and I do the work; and then we pop the corn, and sell it to get money."

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Growing interested in this small history, I proceeded with my questions. "What is your name?" Maggie; but mostly they call me Little PopCorn." "Well, then, Little Pop-Corn, have you a father?" Here, at least, I had touched some sensitive chord in the small heart. The sweet mouth trembled a little, as she replied, "Yes, sir; but father went away, and left us seven years ago,

when I was a baby; and now mother is sick, and Jimmy and I have to work."

"But, my child, have you not heard anything from him for seven whole years?" “Oh, yes.

Last year, a man came and told mother that

father worked in his mill once, and then father fell sick, and he told Mr. Hudson that he was coming home as soon as he got well again. But that was almost a year ago, and he has not come yet." "Do you know where this Mr. Hudson lives, Maggie?" "Mother knows," was the quiet answer. "Very well. Find out from your mother where he lives; write him a letter, and ask about your father without letting her know it." "I can't write; I only print," was the hesitating reply. "Just as well," said I; "do that."

I then took her round to all the neighboring offices, until she had disposed of all her corn, and both small hands were full of pennies. She was so pleased with her success that her eyes sparkled with delight, and, after a hearty "Thank you, sir;" she walked away.

Several days passed, and I began to believe that I had seen the last of Maggie. Indeed, in the press of business, I had almost forgotten the child's existence, when one morning my office door opened very softly, and she stood before me. She placed on my desk a paper which was much the worse for

many foldings. I opened the paper, and read in letters of all sizes her letter to Mr. Hudson.

After reading her letter, I looked up smiling, and said, “But, Little Pop-Corn, you have not told who you are, nor what your name is, nor anything about yourself. Now write that down here in the corner." She took the paper, and wrote silently for a few moments, then handed it back with this added, "I am Maggie, but some call me Little Pop-Corn." "Very well," said I, suppressing a second smile. "Now tell me where to send it, and then you may go. If an answer comes I will send it to you."

I added a page or two to Little Pop-Corn's letter, explained who she was, and told the unknown Mr. Hudson that he would be repaid for taking the trouble of replying to the child's letter, if only he could see the bright, hopeful look with which that letter was sent.

Again the matter escaped my mind; and as I came in one morning, and looked over my mail, I was for a moment surprised to find a letter directed to Miss Maggie Lee, in a round business hand.

I sent for the child as soon as possible, and she came. I put the letter into her hands, and told her to read it. With eager, trembling haste she broke the covering, and then a look of disappointment came into her face as she said, "I can't read writing, sir; please read it to me."

The letter was brief and manly. The gentleman's heart had been touched by the childish appeal, and he promised to do all in his power to aid Maggie's search. The letter closed: "Good-by, my little girl, and may God bless you! If John Hudson can do anything to make you happy, be sure he will gladly do it."

In an enclosure to me he earnestly assured me of his deep interest in both father and child, and added that he had already advertised for news of the missing man. Several weeks passed by, during which time, through cold and snow and storm, Little Pop-Corn failed not to come every morning with her basket of white treasures.

One morning my door opened as usual, and thinking it Maggie on her daily rounds, I did not even raise my eyes from my work, until a glad little voice said in a triumphant tone, "He has come, sir! he has come!"

Then I glanced up. A man of middle-age stood before me, with drooping head, downcast eyes, and an evident look of shame in his whole bearing. But suddenly a thought seemed to arouse him, and walking toward me he said, "Sir, I thank you for bringing me back to this child; and as surely as I stand here, I promise to be the man I have never been before."

All this happened a year ago; and now, on