The book was closed with a bang, and tucked under the arm of the reader.

"Back! Back! Why don't you mind where you are going!" shouted the young man to the driver of a vehicle.

"It warn't my fault. Why do people come crossing over without looking where they are going? It warn't as though I'd been a-driving furiously. I'll swear I was only creeping along the street. If people will be killed, I can't help it."

But the man's words were disregarded, and so was "Josephus," who was soon lying in a forlorn condition on the pavement. His reader was at the moment occupied with a far more interesting person than he. He was supporting the half-fainting form of one of those fair English girls upon whom so many eyes look admiringly, and her long, flaxen curls were touching his face, and lending a glory to his homely coat.

In a moment it seemed to him that the crowd in Fleet Street centred around that one spot.

"What shall I do with her? If she has to die, she would not care for all these vulgar people to look upon her. I will carry her into the nearest shop."

In a moment the burden was laid upon a couch, and a doctor summoned. The girl was very beautiful. She lay in a deathlike swoon, with closed eyes and parted lips, and those who watched thought they had never seen a sight so lovely. While they looked the faint colour came back and the breast heaved, and in a few moments she had quite recovered.

"My

The medical man gave his opinion after a few minutes. "She is not hurt; the shock stunned her, that is all.” "Yes, that is all," she said, and looking around her. carriage is waiting; may I trouble you to conduct me to it?" As she spoke she glanced at the young man upon whose breast she had so lately lain in unconsciousness. He went eagerly to do her bidding.

"Your carriage is not at the door," he said.

"No, it is waiting for me."

Then she put a fee into the hand of the surgeon, thanked the proprietor of the house, and apologised for the trouble she had given him, and left. The whole affair had not occupied many minutes.

"I do not know to whom I am indebted," she said to her companion, as they walked through Fleet Street together.

"My name is Arthur Dalebury. I am glad to have been of any service to you."

"I saw you reading only a moment before. I believe I was wondering how you could do it, when I found myself almost under the horse's feet. Mr. Dalebury, you have saved my life."

Arthur looked at the flushed face, in whose beautiful eyes tears were swimming, and was glad that he had been so fortunate as to rescue her.

"If I had not hastened forward some one else would have done so," he said. "I hope you are really not hurt."

"No, I was only frightened. I am afraid it is a punishment for

wrong-doing. I-you are a stranger to me and will remain so. so I may tell you, though it is a secret. I have been writing a novel, and, wishing to surprise my friends, I have taken it myself to the publisher, so that no one should know until it is a book. My maid is in the carriage, and I do not know what mamma would say if she were to discover what has happened. But I know you will keep the secret."

"Certainly."

The girl glanced into the face of the young man.

"I was very foolish not to see that the way was clear before I attempted to cross the street. I shall know better in future; but I have never been walking in Fleet Street alone before. Here is the carriage. Thank you very much for saving my life; I shall not forget your kindness."

She gave him her card, and then with sudden impulse held out her hand to him.

The next moment the impatient horses had their will, and the carriage was rolling rapidly away.

"Miss Heshbon."

Arthur Dalebury looked at the card, then put it carefully away. The adventure had pleased him greatly. He was amused at the excitement of the young lady, and at the fact that she had confided her literary secret to him. He wondered what the title of the novel was, and how much the publication of it would cost its authoress. He smiled as he thought of her plan to disguise the truth even from the servants, and agreed with the young lady that her mamma would be displeased if she were ever to know of her daughter's dilemma.

"It was amusing to hear her ask me to keep her secret, though she must have known that I should always remain a stranger to her. Well, I suppose she is one of the stupid aristocratic girls one hears about. She had splendid eyes though, and was altogether very beautiful. I do not think I shall mention my adventure to the fellows in the College, because they would never leave off teasing me about it; and now for Josephus."

He retraced his steps, walking briskly, and reading all the way, until he came to one of those useful institutions which have already done so much for our country, and where young men and women are trained to be able teachers of the children.

He entered a room where some of the former were sitting and standing in every conceivable posture, and his coming was greeted by noisy welcomes.

"Here is Dalebury! Have you committed the whole of Josephus to memory? What have the green glades and babbling brooks of Fleet Street had to say to the scholar to-day? Look at him! I declare his face is in a glow. Dalebury, I am sure you will have some smart young lady falling in love with you one of these days; she will see in you the great man of the age, and you will have to give up books and comfort her."

Arthur Dalebury sat down at a desk and began hastily to write the substance of what he had read. The banter of his friends did not in the least discompose him. He had the rare faculty of giving

his thoughts to two things at once. He wrote the letter of Areus, King of the Lacedemonians, and now and then made a remark to some persistent querist.

"What did I find in my bed last night? Five bunches of holly. Do I know who put them there? No; and I have not time to guess. Were my toes badly scratched? No, thank you. As I was undressing I saw that something prevented the blankets from lying quite smoothly, so I took the precaution to search the bed before I entered it."

"Of course! But we will pay you out yet, Dalebury."

"Pay away then, as fast, and whenever, and in any coin you please."

CHAPTER II.-MAY WINTErset,

Ten years had very naturally wrought a change in Mrs. Winterset. They had brought her three beautiful children. May, the eldest, aged nine, Herbert, the second, six, and Little Nellie, nearly two. They had also taught her many things, leading her to look upon life thoughtfully, and causing her to feel more and more how dependent we are, even in little things, upon the guidance of Divine wisdom and power. But the years had taken very little away from her. She was not really older in many things. She was far more cheerful than in her girlhood's days, and her merry laugh was heard frequently ringing in the garden and the house.

"I never played much when I was a child," she used to say, so I have my play to do now." And well she did it too, for she seemed as much a child as either of her children, and could dress a doll, or fly a kite, or "keep up" any number of times at skipping, or at battledore and shuttlecock. It seemed to Bertha that, but for one little thing that made her anxious, she was perfectly, and almost supremely, happy. She sometimes thought that she had never known what joy was before her children were born. She knew now. As she held them to her bosom or watched them at play her heart swelled with gratitude, and she felt that her life ought to be one long sweet song of thanksgiving for mercies received.

She was sitting in her own room, and darning little Nellie's socks, when May came to her.

"Guess who is in the dining-room, "Herbert?"

"No. He is at play in the garden." "Is it papa ?"

"No."

"Mr. Robinson ?"

mamma."

"But there is some excuse for you, because you did not know that he was in the neighbourhood. He will not tell me why he has come so unexpectedly from London, but says that business has brought him."

"Is it Arthur Dalebury?

"Yes; aren't you sorry you could not guess?' "Ask him to come here, May."

Bertha rose to meet him with both hands extended, and a glad smile upon her face. She was, as May had said, very fond of him. She was a little proud of him, too; for, in her unbounded faith, she credited him with all the virtues he possessed, and even overrated his abilities.

"Are you not surprised to see me, Mrs. Winterset ? "

"I am surprised, but also very glad. Have you come with good news?"

"Yes, I have passed my examination, and have been more successful than I thought it possible I could be."

"I am delighted to hear it. First class, of course ?"

"Yes; and I am actually first on the list."

"Are you really? That does not greatly surprise me. Mr. Winterset will be very pleased."

"Is he at home? I wanted to see him."

"I expect him in directly. He has been busy all the morning on the farm. I hope you will stay a few days, for the factories are to be opened on Monday. They have brought eight hundred inhabitants to the town; and we have built houses for most of them ourselves. Is it not a responsibility ?"

"Yes, very great; but I think you will do what you wish." "I think so, too."

"I am told the schoolmaster of the British School is leaving. I should like to succeed him.”

"Oh, Arthur, it would be very good. I should be glad to have you in the town, because I know you could help us in so many ways." "I am afraid my being well known will be rather against me." "How can it be?

"There may be a prejudice against me, because everybody knows how I had at first to struggle to teach myself. I had not the advantages when I was quite young which many students have." "But you will none the less be a good schoolmaster."

Mr. Winterset entered at the moment, and greeted his visitor very cordially.

"I congratulate you, Arthur. May has already told me that you have gained your certificate with honours."

"Yes, I am at last ready for work. I have come to ask you to say a word for me to the committee of the British school at Bolstone. The master is leaving, and nothing would please me better than to take his place."

"I will say any number of words for you, Arthur. I am a subscriber, and I am also on the committee; so perhaps the managers will be willing to oblige me. But the principal man connected with the school is a Mr. Remy. Do you know him?"

"No, I do not think I have heard the name before."

"He is a very clever man, I believe, and although he has not been long in the town, he has been for some time interested in the schools. I should say he is a model committee man, for he gives a good deal of his time and thought to the subject, and knows what both teachers and children ought to do. I fancy that the management of the school is left very much to him, for he has more leisure than most of us. I will give you a letter of introduction to him. If you gain his approval, I should say you would be certain to be elected."

"Do you, May? I am ready. There is perhaps no need of immediate haste."

Mrs. Winterset smiled. May could always tempt Arthur Dalebury from books or business of any kind. She watched the two, as they went into the garden, with loving eyes. Arthur had developed into a fine young man. He was strong, well-built, and had a handsome face. Her nine-year-old May was very fond of him, and always thought she must have a holiday when he came. The child put her hand in his, and they walked together, both looking as if they were tasting the sweetnesses of life.

"And so you have gained what you wished, Arthur." "No, May, I have yet to complete the victory.

little success; but

"Do you call it little ?

I have had a

"No, I do not, really, for I have been strangely successful; but what I mean is this, my life-work has yet to be done. I have but been preparing for it. Do you understand me?"

"Yes; you mean that you have been learning the way to do your work, don't you?"

"Yes, I do. The work itself has yet to be done. I am ready to begin it now, however, and hope before long that I shall accomplish something very good."

"And you mean to give your time to teach poor boys to read and write ? "

"Yes, and something more than that. I want to teach them to think, to pray, and to be good boys."

"But mamma says it is a very difficult work to do."

"That is very likely; but I rather like to do difficult things." "But I have heard papa say that people who are all their lives doing hard work with their brains do not live long."

"Oh, my work will not kill me, May; but even if I thought it would I should still do it. Supposing I try be a good man-well, that is something gained; but if I help to change a hundred bad boys into good men, do you not see that that would be very much better still?"

"Yes, I suppose it would be."

"Well, it is very likely that I may have a thousand boys brought under my influence in the next few years, and I hope to make them all a little better for having known me. I will try my very best to do so."