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NASMUCH as ye have done it unto one of the least of these My brethren, ye have done it unto Me," read the Rev. John Mowbray, as he sat in the dining-room of the pleasant parsonage at Bayville. The sun that had just risen, and been shining with such a bright light on the walls, passed behind a cloud as if to cover its face, while he prayed, “Oh, our Father, give us all-seeing eyes, that we may see good to be done for Thee; give us all the desire to do the good. So many are suffering, and helpless, and thirsting, may we who have found the Living Water give to those who thirst, may we help, and comfort, and strengthen such; and may we feel that inasmuch as we have done it, we have done it unto Thee." And Oh, our Father! let us also feel that inasmuch as we have not done it unto one of the least of these thy brethren, we have done it not unto Thee!""

"It is nearly seven," said Mr. Mowbray, said Mr. Mowbray, when the breakfast was finished, "I must be off to the mines. I have a hard day's work ahead of me, and a long drive."

"You must go?" asked Mrs. Mowbray.

"Yes, dear, you know I have only been once since we came; and there are many people to visit, and much good to be done, were I capable of doing it. If there is a suitable place, I shall hold a short service at noontime."

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Then I shall go, too; now don't say No," said Mrs. Mowbray, coming to her husband's side, "it will not be any warmer for me than for you, and you know we were to work together."

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If you feel able I wish you would go. I dreaded the long, lonely drive, but feared you could not stand the heat. There is much that you can do, and a few of your wise, happy words will go farther than all of mine to help those who need help; you are wisdom and goodness itself," said the minister, chivalrously kissing the hand that lay on his arm. "Jake must get the horse, and we will be off as soon as possible." "Jake has gone to pilot Caddie to the lake for water-lilies. I do hope she will get some. Here she comes. Oh, how beautiful!" cried Mrs. Mowbray, as Caddie entered, great wet bunches of lilies in either hand, lilies at her throat, lilies in her hair, lilies with their long

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"You look like Sabrina fair,"" Mowbray.

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"All but the amber hair,'" laughed Caddie. "But I do feel as if I had been under the 'glassy, cool, translucent wave.' Sit down, Jennie, and I will tell you," flinging her treasures into Mrs. Mowbray's ready hands. "Why, that stupid Judith threw a pail of water all over me. She drew a toad, or spider, or some kind of a reptile in the pail, and was so terrified she took the pail up and threw all the water out just as I was coming around the house, and I got the benefit of it all. I couldn't imagine what was coming, as I hadn't ordered a shower-bath. Luckily, it missed my face."

"I am going away all day with John," said Mrs. Mowbray. "Can you content yourself? What will you do?"

"First and foremost,' as Jake says, I shall eat some breakfast. I haven't arrived at that stage yet, where I can dine on a lily," said Caddie, seating herself at the table, and pouring out a cup of coffee. "Then I shall hang myself behind the kitchen-stove to dry a while. Oh, if you could have seen the lake this morning Jennie! I could never tell you how beautiful it was."

"You must take good care of the lilies," said Mrs. Mowbray.

"Yes, and then I shall help Judith construct something marvellous for that picnic to-morrow. I am tired to death of those everlasting jumbles and short-cakes they always have. And oh, yes, I almost forgot. I must make some lace frills. May I have some of your lace, Jennie?"

"Yes!" answered Mrs. Mowbray from the stairs, "you may take some off the train of my wedding dress. It will never be any more use to me."

"And there are the callers to entertain; I do hope some Mrs. Giddy Gaddy will call, and I can tell them you are both off on a visiting tour.'

"And there is the morning lesson to think of, little sister," said the minister, as Caddie paused beside him, on her way to the hall, to bury his nose deep in a bunch of the lilies.

"Oh, yes, thank you, John, for that. I knew you would answer me in some way. I will try."

"What can I do for Christ?" she had said the evening before, as she came into the study, where Mr. Mowbray was standing by the western window. If I could only do something. Now there is Belle Thompson in India, and Marion Courtney, always doing something good and helping some one, while I-why, I can't see anything to do, and any way could not do it, I suppose. But I want to do something grand and noble, if I could only find it, John."

And John had simply answered as he took the restless hands into his own, and looked at the earnest little face before him, "What about the little things, child?"

It was doing Caddie Ellis a world of good, this long summer's visit with her sister. The brisk Bayville air was bringing the freshness to her cheeks and the brightness to her eyes again. Jennie's goodness and gentleness were having a sure effect upon the wayward little character; and, best of all, John's clear, quiet way of seeing things and bringing Christ into all the everyday acts of life was doing an incalculable good to the young Christian, a good that could never be effaced. It had been a long winter. In the sick-room every day until night, for Aunt Lettie had been very ill all the winter, and wanted no one but Caddie with her.

"You are an admirable nurse, Miss Caddie," Dr. Orpin had said, one morning in the early spring," but you need nursing yourself. Your roses are going from your cheeks. Go where the sun and wind can get at you, and brown your face, and blow all your tired' away, and a new life in. I am afraid there is harder work ahead of you, for Aunt Lettie will never get up again."

And Aunt Lettie had said, as she noticed the pale face and weary eyes: "Go, dearie, I shall miss you much; but the rest will help you in many ways. You will be company for Jennie, and that wise John will teach you much that is needful. Go and get your head and heart full of bright thoughts and pictures, and bring them back to me."

It was late in the afternoon when the minister and his wife, as Bayville people styled them, came home.

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"I have had a jolly day," said Caddie, in answer to their inquiries. I have read such a lot; and if you could see the result of my culinary labours you would wonder. Then I had a caller that hateful old Miss Stevens came poking in after dinner."

"Hateful? Old?" asked Mr. Mowbray, with a smile.

"Yes, 'hateful,' and 'old,' and 'impudent,'' answered Caddie. "I was in here ripping the lace off your dress when she came, and Judith stupidly showed her right in. She shook hands with me, and wanted to know where you were. I told her you had gone to the mines, and she

snapped out, 'Oh, the minister has an interest there; I heard he had, but didn't approve of ministers' engaging in worldly matters.' I told her all the interest you had was in seeing the people and doing them good. She did not say any more, but spied the dress."

"I wish she had not seen it," said Mr. Mowbray ; "it will make some of the people sc horrified to know I was married in a white silk and long at that."

"Well, she was," laughed Caddie.. "Said she always thought you was a good little person, baz there was no telling who was, in this wicked world. But she hoped Divine grace would sanctify you. Oh, it was fun, but didn't I fix her! She will have something now to tell." "What did you say?" anxiously inquired Mrs. Mowbray; "you speak so you speak so quickly."

"I couldn't help it, just think, the hateful old thing-yes, hateful old thing, Rev. Johnwith her mouth all turned down, said she had heard your family was very poor when you was young, and she'd think you would have learned a lesson from the experience. I was cross then and told her that when we were both young there was a time for five or six months when we ha neither boots nor stockings to our feet, and the winter time, too, and that for over a year tasted no meat of any kind. Didn't she look surprised! She did not say much after that: she was in such a hurry to go and tell some one, that she most fell off the steps."

"I am sorry you said it," said Mrs. Mowbray "it will spread so much, and gather as it goes

"And what if it does?" said Mr. Mowbray "it is the truth, and any sensible person will se through it. I would not worry, Jennie, every one will know it was not your fault that yo were without such articles. But I am afraid

Caddie, Miss Stevens will not trouble you mad again. I heard at the office that she fell fra her steps going into her house, dizzy with a heat. One arm is broken, and other injure You must try and spare Judith a while"-ta ing to Mrs. Mowbray, "there is no one to ta care of her."

"What did you find to do with your morn lesson?" he said a while after to Caddie, as stood by the door, pulling the flowers off the vine that climbed all over the front of the house.

"Not a thing, John. I gave an old trampa 'cup of cold water,' but it was literally only drink of water. I was standing by the pail wir 1 he asked for it, and gave it to him simp because he was thirsty, the same as if it been you or Jennie."

"Couldn't you go down and see Miss Stevens a while? She is hateful and old, but she is on of Christ's friends."

"Yes, I can, and want to," said Caddie. “I am so sorry I said that about her, and

suffering so all the time. But she wasn't very pleasant, John, and I cannot take it all back," said honest Caddie. "I wanted to go as soon as You said she was hurt, but did not like to propose it after talking so. You always know just what I want to do, John. How is it?

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"I cannot tell you, except that I know you have a true, kind heart, and really want to help people, though your tongue is a little too apt to make fun of them. I will call for you in an hour or two; you must not come back alone."

So Caddie hurried down to the little house, and found Dr. White in great perplexity. "I do not see what she will do," he said, pointing to the bed. 6. Mrs. Smith, the only woman near who would come, cannot leave till to-morrow night, and there seems no one to go to. She has no relatives."

"Not

Then I shall stay," said Caddie. used to it? Why, I spent all last winter in a ick room, and Dr. Orpin is going to give me a iploma, so you need not fear. If you will eave your directions, I will follow them closely. Only you will have to call at the parsonage on your way home and tell them."

"I can do that, certainly," said Dr. White; but I hate to leave you here alone. She is in great pain, and must be kept sleeping. I fear he will not live many days; the shock to her ystem was great. I will be in early in the norning"-and Dr. White left the room.

It was hard to see the poor woman suffer so; he opiates seemed to have little effect, and she ssed and turned restlessly in her great pain. Caddie sat by the bed and watched her once then she sank into an uneasy sleep, and thought 10 wonder the face was hard and ugly, and the nonth set; the speech so sharp, and the heart eemingly unloving; the room was small and or, not a curtain to the window, only the stiff hite blind. No pictures, no books, no carpet; he only bright thing in the room a tiny eranium with a little scarlet blossom, on the window-sill.

And she thought of Aunt Lettie's large sunny edroom, the curtained windows, the beautiful ictures and flowers, and the sweet patient face mid the snowy pillows.

Toward morning, as she stood by the window, he saw the grey eyes wide open, looking at her, and the thin sharp voice said, "Move up here, I ike to look at you. You are the brightest thing hat has been in this old room for many a year." Dr. White came in then, and said to Caddie, after attending to the patient, "You will not feel much like the picnic, I fear; you look

tired."

Oat snapped the voice from the bed, "Picnic! Well, I suppose people will go pleasuring, no matter who suffers ?" and turning to Caddie, she

said, "I am going to ask you to stay with me to-day. Will you? That fidgety Mary Smith will kill me."

"Will I?" said Caddie, slowly, feeling the grey eyes were watching her. "Can I give it all up? she thought,-"all the pleasant day?"-and instantly came into her mind the words of the morning lesson, and she seemed to hear Mr. Mowbray reading, "Inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of the least of these.'

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"Will I?" she said. "Why, yes, and I will be glad to. But I must go home, first. Can you stay, Dr. White, till I come back? I will be only a little while."

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"Then, if you are going to the parsonage,' said Miss Stevens, "put on the dress you was going to wear to the picnic. I'll like to see you in it; and there's not much that is bright comes in here."

"I will," said Caddie, wondering at the strange request.

"I thought I would be ahead of you," she said, brightly, when she found Mr. and Mrs. Mowbray at breakfast.

"We were up early to be ready for this grand picnic," laughed Mr. Mowbray. "We thought you would need a nap before it, but you look as bright as though you had just got up from a long sleep. What kind of a bargain have you made with old 'Somnus' that he lets you go without your showing the effect?"

"I served him so faithfully all summer, he should give me a little rest," laughed Caddie. "But, good friends, I am not going to the picnic; Miss Stevens wants me to stay with her, and really there is no one else; besides, I don't care so very much about the picnic, so don't think me a paragon of goodness. wants me to wear my picnic dress. isn't it? I must hurry, though." "She shall not stay there all this said Mrs. Mowbray.

And she
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hot day,"

"Do not dissuade her," said Mr. Mowbray ; "it will do her more good than she thinks for.'

So when she came in again, on her way back, Mrs. Mowbray only kissed her, and said, "We will not have as pleasant a day without you, and many others will say the same. But go, dear; you look very 'fresh and fair.'

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"Fresh and fair" indeed you would have thought her, in her dainty white dress and scarlet ribbons, her cheeks glowing with the "breath of morn and the salt sea air;" and a colour in them brighter than the zephyr shawl she had wrapped closely about her, to keep out the early chill and fog.

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"Fresh and fair indeed, thought young Dr. White, as she came into the room. Then you are not going?" he asked, as she quietly laid her hat and gloves away, opened the window to let in the morning sunshine, put the great

blushing bunch of roses by the restless hands, She read, "they that overcome shall inherit all and sat down by the bed.

"No. Will you be there?"

"I will be there a little while. I must drive my sister over; but I have to go away over to East Bayville after dinner, and will not be back till very late. It is a rough drive, still I must go."

He was so kind-hearted, that young doctor. I know he had not planned to go on that rough drive till the day after-when he had thought every one would be at the picnic-but he must have thought that poor old man's rheumatism needed attention.

The day was a long one, the tiny room so close and warm, the hard chair so very hard, that I am afraid there were several little sighs for the cool, pleasant time the others were having, and, just once, a regret that she had decided to stay. She was only human-this little maiden of mine, like me or you, and, as she herself said, no paragon of goodness.

But when the day was nearly ended, Miss Stevens said, as she lay watching the bright face before her, "I'd like to talk to you a little, and then I want you to read some," pointing to a Bible on the shelf above the bed. "I liked you when I first saw you at the minister's, and I've liked you since. You seem different from other girls, though, of course, I may be mistaken. But I've tried you. I was afraid you'd say No, when I asked you to stay. You didn't, and it proves you are different."

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Why, any one would have

-" said Caddie. "No, they wouldn't; you could have got out of it by saying you were tired. There's something tells me I won't live long. I don't mind. I've nothing to live for, and there's no one will be sorry. I am going to give this little house to Mary Smith; she did me a good turn once, and I haven't forgot it, for there ain't so many that I could forget them. And now she and her sailor can get married; they've waited these three years.

You can have the geranium," pointing to the window. "It's all that's fit to give you; everything else is faded and old. Now I'd like you to read some-anywhere you want to. Then I don't want you to talk to me after that, only I'd like you to kiss me when you go, and you'll come again in the morning. I don't expect to be here, but you come, any way. Don't bring any fresh roses; these will do. I liked them when you brought them, and if they are faded they are like me, and new ones wouldn't look proper to lay beside me. Now read." And the thin lips closed firmly, and the lines about the face seemed deeper than ever, while the grey eyes never moved from the face before her.

Caddie opened the Bible and read. She read Psalm after Psalm, then all of John's Epistle.

things, and God Himself will be with them and be their God. They shall hunger no more, neither thirst any more, for the Lamb shall feed them, and shall lead them unto living fountains of water. And there shall be no more death. neither sorrow nor crying, nor any more pain, and they shall see His face; and the Lord God giveth them light; and they shall reign for ever and ever."

Hearing steps and seeing Mrs. Smith coming up the walk, she closed the Book and laid it on the bed, and bent and quietly kissed the poor weary face, then gave Mrs. Smith the direc tions, and hurried home very tired with all the long day.

"What a hard, lonely life," she said to Mrs. Mowbray, when they were talking of the poor woman. "I don't think there could ever have been anything pleasant in it; and how horrid to think that no one will be sorry, as she said, for no one loves her. I wonder if she has any story in her life."

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"The outward and the wayward life," said Mr. Mowbray, "we see. Mr. Mowbray," we see. The hidden springs w may not know."

And how odd to leave the house to that girl. I saw her and her sailor-lover once this summer, when the 'Swan' was in," said Caddie. "He is a great lumbering fellow. They did not look very happy. I guess she has a hard time home. I am glad she will be happier; but how queer that Miss Stevens must die to make her happy! Even she the only one Miss Stevens did anything for-will not be sorry that she died. You must go down with me in the morning. Jennie. Were there any letters from home?"

"No, but I had a long one from Bell Thompson. She is so satisfied with her work she sent much love to you, and hoped some day you would join her."

"If I only could," said Caddie, “but I should never be good enough."

'I think you are learning," said Mr. Mowbray, coming from the study, "and the very fact that you could stay away from the picnic to-day with such a pleasant face proves it. Is that too much praise, Jennie, to give her?

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"Not a bit too much," answered Jennie. "I was going to tell her the same thing."

"But you don't know how I felt about it," laughed Čaddie. "I might have been very cross and ugly inwardly, but that's enough. I fee! like singing that old song poor Ada Gray usi to pound out of every piano she came near, 'I'm tired now and sleepy, too'; so come, Jenni and put me in my little bed.' Good night. John."

"Good night," answered Mr. Mowbray. "I you want your dreams to come true, dream yen are going for a drive to-morrow. I heard sour

one say you must have a long one, to make up for missing to-day."

"Compensation so soon?" laughed Caddie. "You shouldn't have told me, I like surprises better."

In the morning, when she and Mrs. Mowbray went into the little house, everything seemed very still. They found Mrs. Smith in the kitchen. “She died in the night," she said, in answer to their inquiries. "She never spoke but once after you left, and she told me to show you this," leading the way into the tiny bedroom where the figure on the bed-that had been so restless all the time Caddie had been with hernow lay straight and still. "The long anguish was merged in rest" at last. The face was covered.

"No, don't uncover it," Caddie cried, as Mrs. Smith lifted the cloth. "I don't want to see it, Jennie. I shall never forget it if I do. know how hard and old it looks." "She said," continued Mrs. Smith, pointing

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to the Bible, "that you were to read there where the pin is; she heard you say once in the prayermeeting that you wanted to do something for Christ, and that would tell you."

Caddie wonderingly opened the Bible, and read, "Inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of the least of these, My brethren, ye have done it unto Me." "Yesterday's lesson," she said; "how odd that that should have been the very thing that made me come, and made me stay. I thought of it when she asked me. Oh, I am so glad I stayed, and glad I kissed her. I did not

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WAS master of the "Sea Gull" then, and had run into Dauphin's Harbour for repairs, having been used rather roughly by the March gale. I was bound for Liverpool; and you will understand that I was not at all averse to touching at Dauphin's when I tell you that I was in love with Margaret Dunbar, the lady teacher of the academy there. She boarded at Mrs. Craven's, where I always put up, and I had had a desultory acquaintance with her for over a year. She was a quiet little woman, with big, dreamy eyes, a sweet mouth, and a low, musical voice. Her height was about five feet three, and she had a way of carrying herself that made her look taller.

I was in a very bad way over her on that wild April night in Mrs. Craven's little sitting-room. We could hear the boom of the breakers upon the shore, and the rush of the rain against the casement. She was busy with some womanish work. I remember she had a lot of red yarn or

worsted in her lap, and I noticed how white her little hands looked against it. She wore a gown of some soft black goods that clung about her lovely figure, and a bow of bright ribbon nestled at one side of the big coil of dark, shining hair.

Mrs. Craven, good soul, who had guessed at my infatuation, had left us alone together; and I sat there looking at her with my heart in my mouth, as she swayed to and fro in a low rocker, and manufactured a cobwebby-looking thing out of her bright wool with a long ivory needle that wasn't a bit whiter than her hands."

I had always been a roving fellow. I had not much experience with women, any way. My mother died when I was a little "shaver," and I never had a sister. This woman, whom I loved so well that the touch of her hand made me tremble like a whipped schoolboy, seemed to be "little lower than the angels." She looked up suddenly, and, meeting my earnest gaze, flushed a delicate rosy red, and in a second I was beside her, half-kneeling by her chair, and pouring out my story like a madman. She shrunk away from me at first, half-frightened at my impetuosity; but when I paused for her to speak, and lifted one little white hand to my lips, she did not repulse me. Gathering courage, I would have

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