"Come, girls," said Mr. Halberg, as the young ladies descended from their rooms equipped for church, "the bell has been tolling for some time, I fear we shall be late. Where's Ellen?" he continued, casting his eyes over the group and missing his eldest daughter.

"She is not well to-day, papa, and prefers remaining at home with mother," said Carrie. "Nothing serious," added she, observing her father's anxious and troubled look. "She said she would try to sleep, and perhaps that would banish her head-ache so that she would be able to go with us this afternoon;" and the party left the house, and calling for Mrs. Dunmore and Rosalie, they all proceeded to the church.

The walk was rural and quiet, through green lanes that were seldom disturbed except when the house of God was open. A little footpath was worn upon the verdant turf, and the green was unpressed elsewhere, save where some passive burden was silently borne to its lowly bed; there the somber wheels crushed down the blades that lifted up their heads to the glad sunlight, as if it were wrong to live and grow on while death was moving over them.

There were recent traces upon the grass that recalled to every mind the venerable and stricken old man who was now resting so peacefully beneath the church's shadow, and as Jennie's eye perceived them, she leaned heavily upon her uncle's arm and sighed.

"My darling," said he, in a low and gentle voice, "we shall miss you very much—more than I can tell! Your love and care for your poor grandfather, notwithstanding all the past, have endeared you more and more to my heart, so that it is a bitter trial to think of parting from you, and one which I should strive to avert, were it not that too much of your young life has been given up to seclusion when you might have been deriving both happiness and profit in the world. Your self-denial, dear child, will be rewarded, if it is not already giving you a rich harvest of peaceful and self-approving thoughts!" Jennie could not reply, even had she desired, as they were at the church door, and her uncle was accosted by the senior warden:

"We have a stranger to preach for us to-day, sir," said Mr. Brown, after the accustomed salutations had passed between them.

"Ah! where is our own rector?" asked Mr. Halberg.

"I suppose he is supplying this young minister's pulpit," returned the warden. "It is seldom that we have an exchange, and they say that this stranger is uncommonly eloquent."

"We shall have an opportunity to judge for ourselves," said Mr. Halberg, as he turned from his friend and entered the church with his niece. The service commenced, and as the rich deep tones of the minister fell upon Jennie's ear, there rushed upon her mind a tide of joyous memories that transported her to a sunny home amid the mountains, and a little tomb, and a quiet avenue, and a bench beneath the old maples, where she used to sit and listen to a calm and gentle voice that seemed to reach her even now; and then her thoughts came back to her hallowed employment, and as she raised her eyes to be sure that it was not all a dream, they fell, not upon a strange minister, but upon the same kind friend who had beguiled her childhood's hours.

How many years had passed since she had roamed with him among the hills, not a gay and sportive child, as one who had known nothing of trouble or poverty; but a young being whose gleesomeness had been crowded down by premature cares and sorrows, so that it seldom gushed out as a little child's mirth should always do. Will he recognize her now? She must be so changed! She would scarcely know him but for the voice, and the broad pale forehead that seems to have been expanding all these many years, so wide and high does it appear.

He does not see her, he is all absorbed in the solemn worship, as she too should be—now he is in the pulpit, and as he glances around upon the congregation, his eyes meet the earnest soul that once beamed upon him in his own parish church.

There is no mistaking it. For many a weary hour has it cheered him in his labors. It was but a child's soul, but it was an eager one, on which the seed fell availingly—and now it is a woman's soul, and the good fruit has been nourishing the faint old man who needs it no longer. The minister knows nothing of that, he only sees that it is before him, as desirous as ever of spiritual nourishment, and the people wonder at his zeal and fervor, little thinking of the power there is in a thirsting spirit to awaken the energies of him who dispenseth to them of the waters of life.

The service is over, and Mrs. Dunmore and Jennie meet their old friend, who scarcely dares even to press the hand of the child he used to caress so fondly. Time and absence strangely change us!

"May I see you to-morrow," said he, "before I leave?"

"We shall look certainly for you," replied Mrs. Dunmore as they left the vestibule.

"Pardon me, dear mamma," said Jennie; "but I must leave you, uncle wished me to join him in the churchyard. It may be our last opportunity alone;" she added as she moved away.

Mr. Halberg was leaning upon the gate at the entrance of the burial-ground, gazing intently upon the many mounds that filled the spot, and wondering when his own tomb would be pointed out by others, when Jennie lightly touched his hand to remind him of her presence.

He started, and, opening the gate, they were soon within the sacred inclosure. "You may wonder," said he, "why I choose a place fraught with so many saddening associations for a little quiet conversation; but it suits my mood, and there are so few who frequent this somber place that we are sure not to be disturbed."

"The precincts of the dead, dear uncle," said Jennie, "are any thing but gloomy to me; the lessons of my childhood were too full of solemn realities to foster in me a shrinking from the entrance to a purer and more beauteous existence."

"It is of your early life I would speak, my child," said Mr. Halberg, with an effort at composure. "I have never trusted myself to ask of you your history previous to your adoption by Mrs. Dunmore; but the time has come when I wish to know it, and, however painful the details may be, you must no longer hide them from me."

"But uncle," replied the niece; "why not bury the past, and look only to the happy present and the promising future. Is it well to exhume the moldering remains when the sight would bring only suffering!"

"It is for the moral, Jennie; your uncle has hitherto been so selfish that he needs awakening by some stirring appeals, and what can be more sure to arouse him than the recollection of his beloved and only sister's trials!"

"I feel that I have so little to tell," said Jennie, trying to evade the subject; "the time spent with you has been so pleasant, that it quite banishes the bitterness of my younger days."

"And yet," said Mr. Halberg, "there must have been intense anguish on your mother's part, as she felt herself given up by those who should have clung to her, and her very means of subsistence failing her!"

"I never heard my mother complain," replied Jennie, "There was one time when our miserable room was quite cheerless and cold, and we knew not where to look for fuel or food, then my poor father seemed almost frantic with grief for my mother and myself; but I well remember her holy smile, as she calmly said, 'My husband, trust in the Lord, and verily thou shalt be fed.' I never met with a firmer confidence in the love and over-ruling providence of God than my mother possessed," continued Jennie. "Her example is ever before me, and yet how difficult to attain to!"

"Were you often in so desperate a condition, my child?" asked Mr. Halberg; "and did your mother's patience never fail her, so that she would speak accusingly of her relatives?"

"There was seldom a day," replied Jennie, "after my father's illness, that we knew how to provide the necessaries of life; and the only time I ever surprised my mother in an outburst of sorrow was when I took my broom for the first time, and went out to sweep the crossings. That day she called me to her, and tying back my curls, so that none of them could be seen beneath my hood, she clasped me convulsively to her, and wept until I ran away to escape the agony."

"Were you not afraid in the crowded streets?" inquired the uncle, as Jennie paused.

"Oh, yes! very often, dear uncle—that is, of the ugly wheels; but there seemed a guardian presence around me and few ever spoke rudely to me; and I was never injured, excepting on that blessed night when God's time had come to help us through my physical hurt. Don't let us think any more about it," continued she, looking up at her uncle, and perceiving how deeply he was moved; "it was all right, and if it had not happened we might have been wicked and thoughtless instead of feeling that our heavenly Father's will is always better than our own."

Mr. Halberg arose and walked around on the other side of the church, and on his return to his niece he said, in a calm yet earnest tone, "My child, you must pray for your uncle—his life will be weary indeed without you!" and pressing her fondly to him as they stood by the old man's grave, he too murmured "Dear little Jennie!" and they left the spot to the breath of the winds and the twittering of the birds that hopped about upon the willow branches.