MILDRED REPROVED.

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coming into the room. "I shall be happy, Mildred, to hear you play something that you have learned; but I must have no blundering over new pieces. But go up stairs now, both of you, and get ready for dinner. You can give me a little music in the evening."

MARY BROWN had guessed only too correctly, when she had supposed that Mrs. Harcourt's letter had contained bad news. It was from her brother in London, to tell her that the agent to whom Mr. Harcourt had intrusted the management of his affairs, had absconded, carrying with him property belonging to his clients to a very large amount. Active measures had been taken for his apprehension, but as yet no trace of him had been discovered. Even should he be found, and brought to justice, it was very improbable that all, if any, of the money would be recovered. The letter spoke of sympathy, repeated the offer which had already been made to Philip, but went no further. was easy to see that nothing more was to be expected from that quarter.

It

To see nothing but poverty before herself and her family for the rest of their lives, such was now the

THE SOURCE OF COMFORT.

59

widow's dreary prospect! For herself she could have borne it, but her children-what was to become of them? For a time the blow was almost overwhelming. Hope grew fainter and fainter every time she read, till it seemed to die away altogether. At last she folded up the letter, put it back into the envelope, and took up her Bible.

pro

Who that has once felt the preciousness of the mises of God's holy word will ever seek, in the hour of sorrow, for other comforter? In former seasons of affliction, Mrs. Harcourt had drawn sweet consolation from its pages; and now, in this new trial, to what else could she turn? Her Bible opened of itself where it had been often opened before-at the forty-ninth chapter of Jeremiah. A pencil-mark near the bottom of the page pointed to the words, "Leave thy fatherless children, I will preserve them alive; and let thy widows trust in me." That promise-how full of hope it was!-how it rebuked her unbelief!-how it led her, joy mingled with her weeping, to pour out her heart before Him in whom she felt that she might, she must trust! She could tell her children, now that she had told her God.

To Philip, the news of their calamity came as the death-knell of his already expiring hope. He must work now, work hard in his uncle's counting-house; and gladly would he have overstepped the eight months which still lay between him and his labour, and begun that very day. But he must wait-wait

60

LUCY'S RESOLUTION.

anxiously for the time which, till now, he had almost dreaded.

But Lucy-was she to be idle? No! a voice answered very plainly, though it spoke only to herself. Lucy must exert herself; she must do something; she must make money!

Lucy Harcourt was not mercenary-no one cared less about money for its own sake than she did. She had not been used to riches in her father's lifetime; and since his death, their circumstances had been rather straitened. Still, with care and economy, Mrs. Harcourt's little income had been sufficient to maintain her family in respectability. But now that would be re

duced at least one-half. Lucy could no longer be a burden upon her mother-she must work for herself.

Something of this Lucy had confided to her friend, Mrs. Townshend, when they had been left alone that afternoon. Mrs. Townshend had herself known what poverty was, and could therefore sympathize with Mrs. Harcourt now. While she rejoiced with the widow in the spirit of resignation and faith which had been given to her in her trial, she set her mind to work to devise some means of lessening its severity. This it was which had absorbed her in the shrubbery, and made her so deaf to Eleanor's calls.

Mrs. Harcourt, Lucy, and Philip sat up late that night, talking over their future plans. Nothing seemed plain before them but that they must work.

TRUSTING THE PROMISE.

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"If I were only a man, then all would be easy. But I am getting up, and then, mother!"

"And till then, Philip, we may safely trust that name—Jehovah-jireh!"

"If I only knew what I could do?”

"The way will be opened for us, Lucy; let us not doubt it. After all," added Mrs. Harcourt, when she had kissed her children and wished them good-night,— "after all, it is but a little while that we must struggle on-who knows how little?-and then-' for ever with the Lord!""

Lucy threw up her bedroom window when she had got up stairs, and looked out. It was an angry, stormy night: it looked like her own future-all dark and uncertain. But even while she gazed, there was a break in the clouds, and down upon her shone Sirius, bright and beautiful. It seemed to say "Jehovah-jireh!"

"Yes! the LORD will provide,"" whispered Lucy, as she left her shutter open, that she might look upon it. With her eye on the star, and her heart on the promise, she fell asleep.

She did not know how long she had been sleeping, when the ringing of a bell awoke her. She sat up in bed, and rubbed her eyes. The wind was whistling mournfully in the chimney, and the rain pattering violently upon the window-panes. "It may have been mamma," said Lucy to herself; and she threw on her dressing-gown and slippers, and went to her mother's door. All was stillness in the room as she put her ear