"I did not take it," sobbed James.

A slight unintentional emphasis on the I struck his uncle's ear.

"Who did take it, then? answer me that.” There was no answer; the little boy still sobbed, but he did not speak.

"Who took it, I say? Speak, or I'll kill you," continued the cruel man, again brandishing the stick over his poor little victim. The child's eyes were blinded by tears, or he would have seen his aunt's furious countenance fixed upon him, and that she was endeavouring, by every sign she could make, to prevent his making any disclosure of the real thief, whom she felt sure he had discovered. In the confusion of her mind when she took the money, which she did to pay off her score at the ginshop, where they would trust her no longer, she, had entirely forgotten that James was in the house, and she now feared that she was in his power. But though he did not see her threatening looks and gestures, the child had firmness of mind enough to resolve not to accuse his aunt, and he kept silence. His enraged uncle again beat him till he could not stand; at last, his agony was more than he could bear, and he cried out, "Oh, I'll tell you! I'll tell you! I

saw my aunt get on a chair, and take it one night."

But his confession only brought more misery upon him; for his aunt now flew on him like a fury, tore his hair, scratched his face, and abused him in the most outrageous manner. "Turn him out, turn him out," exclaimed she to her husband, "for a thief and a liar as he is;" and, pale with rage, she opened the door, while her husband lifted him up and almost flung him down the steps, cursing him, and bidding him begone, and never to shew his face there again to disgrace them.

How far the husband's suspicions of his wife were excited, or how far she was able to quiet them, it is of no consequence to us to learn. It is a relief to close the door upon them, and it would be happy if we could forget that such persons existed.

The poor little bruised and bleeding sufferer was soon surrounded by all the idle, curious children in the court. The words thief and liar had reached the ears of some of them, and were speedily whispered round the circle. No friendly hand helped him to rise, but with great exertion he got up, and, supporting himself by the wall, crept slowly out of the court, followed by

all the children, who stood looking after him as he turned down the street. He crawled as fast as he could to get out of their sight, and turning along a back street, he came to an open place where some balks of timber were piled up. Upon one of these he laid himself down, and all the grief of his little heart burst forth. It was a quiet, unfrequented place, and his bitter sobs were heard by none, but by Him, whose ear is ever open to the cry of his children,--that Father in heaven, who was watching over the poor, friendless orphan, to guide and guard him through all his trials and sorrows.

At last, exhausted by pain and crying, James fell into a deep sleep, which lasted many hours. He awoke with stiffened limbs and aching bones, but refreshed in mind; and after a while he was able to consider within himself what he must do. To return to Malvern and Mary was his immediate resolution, and he rose to put it in execution. He had much of the city to cross before he could reach the Malvern side; and not liking to appear in the streets, he made a considerable circuit round the outskirts, so that by the time he gained a sight of the hills of his old home, the day was far spent, and he was too weary to proceed.

He began to wonder where he must lay his head for the night, when the sight of a blazing brick-kiln at a little distance attracted him. He went towards it; no one was near; the workmen had left off work for the night and were gone, and he seated himself on a plank in the comfortable warmth of the fire. At first, he stretched his limbs out towards it, and felt cheered; but soon the gnawing pangs of hunger made themselves felt, and the thought of his forlorn and friendless situation again coming over him, his tears began silently to flow. The flames of the kiln lighted up his whole figure with a ruddy glow, so that he became very conspicuous to two men who were prowling about the brickfield, long before he descried their forms approaching through the dusk. At last he perceived them looking attentively at him, and heard one of them say, "Just the lad to

serve our turn."

The other man then coming up to James, took him by the collar, and said, "What are you doing here? Why don't you go home?"

"I have no home to go to, Sir," answered James. "Will you let me stay here by the fire all night?"

The man, who was not the owner of the

brickfield, nor in any way belonging to it, saw the boy's mistaken supposition, and took advantage of it.

"No, my lad, I can't let you stay here where do you live, and whom do you belong to?"

James began his little history; but before he had finished it, the younger of the two men gave his companion an impatient push with his elbow, saying in a low voice, "Come, he'll do -he'll do; let us be gone."

"Well, my lad," said the man who had first spoken, "we will take you home, and give you a good supper and bed, if you will do a little job for us."

"That I will," said James, jumping up with alacrity.

"Follow us then," said the men.

James followed them through many turnings and windings, till they reached a small and apparently uninhabited house, in an obscure lane in the outskirts of the city. One of the men produced a key, which soon admitted them through the back door. The house was quite empty, excepting the kitchen, where a bed and other things gave signs of its being inhabited. They soon unlocked a cupboard, and produced a loaf and some cheese, of which poor little