B ut Maggie and Bessie, especially the former, were quite determined not to be consoled. They thought such a terrible disappointment deserved to be sorrowed over for some time to come, and sat with tearful faces and a very mournful manner, quite unable to do anything but grieve.

"I hope I shall have strength to bear it, but I don't know," said Maggie, with her pocket-handkerchief to her eyes.

Mamma told her that the way to bear a trial was not to sit fretting over it and thinking how bad it was, but to look at its bright side, and see what good we or others might gain from it.

"But this has no bright side; has it, mamma?" asked Bessie.

"I think so," replied her mother. "This unknown friend has done much more for the policeman and his family than you could have done, and she has not only given the money for Dr. Dawson, but has, also, paid the debt to Dr. Schwitz; while your uncle is kind enough to allow you to keep your money for some one else who may need it."

"But, mamma," said Maggie, with her eyes still covered, "Uncle Ruthven was going to pay the debt himself; papa told us so. So it would have been just as good for the policeman."

"I declare," said Mr. Stanton, "I had quite forgotten that I was disappointed too! Well, well;" and he leaned his head on his hand, and put on a very doleful air. "Bradford," he continued, in the most mournful tones, "since we are not to go over to the policeman's this afternoon, I had thought we might have some other little frolic; but of course, none of us are in spirits for the visit to the menagerie I had intended to propose."

At this, Maggie's handkerchief came down, and Bessie raised her head from her mother's shoulder.

"I do not know but I might go, if I could make up a pleasant, happy party to take with me," said Mr. Stanton. "You could not think of it, I suppose, Maggie?"

"I don't know," said Maggie, half unwilling to be so soon comforted, and yet too much pleased at the thought of this unexpected treat to be able to refuse it. "Perhaps I might. I think maybe it would do me good to see the animals." But she still sat with the air of a little martyr, hoping that Uncle Ruthven would press her very much, so that she might not seem to yield too easily.

"I thought perhaps it might bring me a little comfort to see the monkeys eat peanuts, and then make faces at me, while they pelted me with the shells," said Mr. Stanton, in the same despairing tone.

At this Bessie broke into a little low laugh, and the dimples showed themselves at the corners of Maggie's mouth, though she pursed up her lips, and drew down her eyebrows in her determination not to smile. But it was all useless, and in two moments more Uncle Ruthven had them both as merry as crickets over this new pleasure. Mamma and Aunt Bessie were coaxed to give up their shopping and go with them, and the three boys, Harry, Fred, and Franky, being added to the party, they all set off in good spirits.

The blind boy and the terrible disappointment were not forgotten, but the children had made up their minds to take mamma's advice,—bear it bravely, and look on the bright side.

Aunt Patty saw them go, and was glad to be left to herself, although her own thoughts were not very pleasant company. She had done a kind and generous action in an ungracious way, causing those whom she had benefited to feel that they would rather have received the favor from another hand, bringing a real trial upon these dear children, and vexation and regret to herself. She could not look upon her work or its consequences with any satisfaction. What though she had done a good deed, she had not done it quite in the right spirit, and so it seemed it had not brought a blessing. Self-will and temper had been suffered to overcome her once more. Bessie had shamed her by the self-control which she, an old woman, had not shown, and she had been outdone by both these little ones in patience and submission. The policeman's family would have been quite as well off as they were now, and she might still have had the long-desired grove, the object of so many thoughts and wishes, had she never taken up the matter, or had she even allowed her intentions to be known. She had really had an honest desire to keep her generous self-sacrifice a secret, that it should not be published abroad to all the world; but there was, also, an obstinate little corner in her heart which made her determine to keep it from her nephew, lest he should oppose it. "For I want none of his advice or interference," she said, to herself; it being generally the case that those who deal most largely in those articles themselves are the most unwilling to receive them from others.

So the poor old lady sadly thought, taking shame and repentance to herself for all the peevishness and ill-temper of the last two days, seeing where she had acted wrongly and unwisely, and making new resolutions for the future. Ah, the old besetting sin, strengthened by long habit and indulgence, what a tyrant it had become, and how hard she had to struggle with it, how often was she overcome! Yes, well might little Bessie be thankful that wise and tender teachers had taught her to control that passionate temper, which later might have proved such a misery to herself and her friends. Then came back to her the dear child's trusting words, "Jesus knows," bringing with them a comforting sense of his near love and presence, and a feeling that his help and forgiveness were still open to her, though she had again so sadly given way. Oh, that she had little Bessie's simple faith! that this feeling of the Saviour's nearness, this constant looking to him for help and guidance, which were shown by this little one, were hers also! She bethought herself of a hymn, which she had heard Mrs. Bradford teaching to her children during the last week, and which they had all sung together on Sunday evening. She could not recollect the exact words, but it seemed to her that it was the very thing she needed now. She searched for it through all the hymn-books and tune-books on which she could lay her hands, but in vain; and, as was Aunt Patty's way, the more she could not find it, the more she seemed to want it. Should she ask the children for it when they came home? To do so, would be the same as confessing that she had done wrong, and that was the hardest thing in the world for the proud old lady to do. But yes, she would do it! Nay, more, she would no longer be outdone by a little child in generosity and humility. She would tell the children that she was sorry for her unkindness of the morning.

It did Aunt Patty no harm, but a great deal of good, that long afternoon's musing in the silent house, where no patter of children's feet, nor any sound of young voices was heard; for baby had gone to her grandmamma, so that even her soft coo and joyous crow were missing for some hours.

Meanwhile the children were enjoying themselves amazingly; for a visit to the menagerie with Uncle Ruthven, who knew so much of the wild beasts and their habits, and who told of them in such an interesting way, was no common treat. The day had been as April-like within as without, clouds and sunshine by turns, ending at last in settled brightness; and no one who had seen the happy faces of our Maggie and Bessie would have thought that they could have worn such woeful looks but a few hours since.

After reaching home, they were passing through the upper hall on their way down to the parlor, where they had left papa and Uncle Ruthven, when Aunt Patty's door opened, and she called them. They stood still and hesitated.

"Come in," said Mrs. Lawrence again, in a gentle tone; "Aunt Patty wants to speak to you."

Maggie and Bessie obeyed, but slowly and unwillingly, as the old lady grieved to see, the former with drooping head and downcast eyes, while Bessie peeped shyly up at her aunt from under her eyelashes.

"Aunt Patty was cross, and vexed you this morning," said Mrs. Lawrence; "but she is sorry now. Come, kiss her and be friends."

In a moment Bessie's rosebud of a mouth was put up for the desired kiss, but Maggie still held back. It was not that she was unforgiving, but this meekness from Aunt Patty was something so new, and so contrary to all the ideas she had formed of her, that she did not know how to believe in it, or to understand it.

"Kiss her," whispered Bessie; "it is not 'bearing her burden' if you don't."

So Maggie's face was lifted also, and as her aunt bent down and kissed her, she was astonished to see how gentle and kind, although sad, she looked. The "corners" were all out of sight just now, and Maggie even began to feel sorry that she had wished Aunt Patty to be "a pillar of salt which might be soaked away in the rain."

Mrs. Lawrence asked them if they had enjoyed themselves, and put a question or two about the menagerie in a pleasant, gentle tone, which showed that her ill-temper was all gone. Then there was a moment's silence, the children wishing, yet not exactly knowing how, to run away; at the end of which, Mrs. Lawrence said, in rather an embarrassed voice, as if she were half ashamed of what she was doing, "Bessie, where did you find that little hymn, 'Listen, oh, listen, our Father all holy'?"

"Oh, it is in our dear little 'Chapel Gems,'" said the child. "Is it not pretty, Aunt Patty? Mamma found it, and I asked her to teach it to us, 'cause it was so sweet to say when any of us had been naughty. When we sing it, I think it's just like a little prayer in music."

"Can you find the book for me?" asked the old lady.

"Mamma lent it to Mrs. Rush. She wanted to have the music, so we might have it for one of our Sunday-school hymns. I'll ask mamma to let you have it as soon as Aunt May sends it back."

"It is of no consequence," said Mrs. Lawrence, in a tone in which Bessie fancied there was some disappointment. "Do not let me keep you if you want to go."

Both children turned toward the door, but before they reached it, Bessie lingered, also detaining Maggie, who held her hand.

"Aunt Patty," she said, sweetly, "I think it is of consequence if you want it. And—and—I know 'Our Father all holy.' If you would like, I can say it to you."

"Come, then, darling," answered the old lady, and standing at her knee with Aunt Patty's hand resting on her curls, Bessie repeated, slowly and correctly, this beautiful hymn:—

"'I had not sinned, had I felt thou wert nigh,'" she said again, after she was through with the last line. "I wish we could always remember our Father is nigh; don't you, Aunt Patty? We know it, but sometimes we forget it a little, and then the naughtiness comes, and so we grieve him. But is not that a sweet hymn to say when we are sorry for our sin, and want him to help and forgive us again? I felt it was yesterday when I had been angry and spoken so naughty to you."

"Oh, child, child!" was all the answer Mrs. Lawrence gave. Her heart had been softened before, now it was quite melted, and putting her arm about Bessie, she drew her to her and kissed her on both cheeks; while Maggie stood by wondering as she heard the tremor of Aunt Patty's voice and saw something very like a tear in her eye.

"Out of the mouth of babes and sucklings, Thou hast perfected praise," murmured the old lady to herself, when the door had closed behind the children. "Lord, make me even like unto this little child, granting me such faith, such grace, such patience, such an earnest desire to do thy will, to live only to thy glory."

Yes, such were the lessons learned even by an old woman like Aunt Patty from this little lamb of Jesus, this little follower of her blessed Lord and Master. "Even a child is known by his doings."

"Who is for a summer among the mountains?" asked Mr. Bradford as the family sat around the table after dinner.

"I am, and I, and I!" came from a chorus of young voices, for from papa's look it was plainly to be seen that the question was addressed to the children, and that the grown people had had their say before. Even baby, who was learning to imitate everything, made a sound which might be interpreted into an "I;" but one little voice was silent.

"And has my Bessie nothing to say?" asked papa.

"Is the sea at the mountains, papa?" said Bessie, answering his question by another.

"No, dear," said her father, smiling, "but among the mountains to which we think of going, there is a very beautiful lake, on the border of which stands the house in which we shall stay."

"I am very fond of the sea, papa," answered Bessie, "and I think I would prefer to go to Quam Beach again,—I mean if the others liked it too."

"I do not doubt we should all enjoy ourselves at Quam," said Mr. Bradford, "for we spent a very pleasant summer there last year. But grandmamma does not think the sea-side good for Aunt Annie's throat, and wishes to take her up among the mountains. The colonel's doctor has also advised him to go there, so we shall not have the same delightful party we had last summer if we go to Quam. About four miles from the old homestead, and higher up in the Chalecoo Mountains, is this very lovely lake set deep among the rocks and woods. Here lives a man named Porter,—you remember him, Aunt Patty?"

"Certainly," answered Mrs. Lawrence, "he has been adding to and refitting his house, with the intention of taking boarders, I believe. Do you think of going there?"

"Yes. I remember even in former days it was an airy, comfortable old place, and with the improvements which I hear Porter has made, I think it will just suit our party. What do you say, Bessie? Would you not like to go there with all the dear friends, rather than to Quam without them?"

"Oh, yes," said Bessie; "I like my people better than I do the sea; but then I do wish there was just a little bit of sea there, papa."

Papa smiled at Bessie's regret for the grand old ocean, which she loved so dearly; but as he told her of the many new pleasures she might find among the mountains, she began to think they might prove almost as delightful as those of the last summer at Quam Beach.

So the plan was talked over with pleasure by all. Papa and Uncle Ruthven were to start the next morning to go up to the lake, see the house, and, if it suited, to make all the necessary arrangements. The party was a large one to be accommodated,—grandmamma and Aunt Annie, Uncle Ruthven and Aunt Bessie, Colonel and Mrs. Rush, and Mr. and Mrs. Bradford with all their family; and as soon as it was found to be doubtful if this could be done, all the children, even Bessie, were in a flutter of anxiety lest they should be disappointed. This was of no use, however, for the matter could not be decided till papa and Uncle Ruthven returned.

"I have a little private business with Maggie and Bessie," said papa, as they rose from the table. "Young ladies, may I request the honor of your company in my room for a few moments?"

Wondering what could be coming now, but sure from papa's face that it was something very pleasant, the little girls went skipping and dancing before him to the library, where, sitting down, papa lifted Bessie to his knee, and Maggie upon the arm of the chair, holding her there with his arm about her waist.

When they were all settled, Mr. Bradford said, "Uncle Ruthven and I have a plan which we thought might please you, but if you do not like it, you are to say so."

"Papa," said Maggie, "if it's any plan about that money, I think we'll have to consider it a little first. You see it seems to us as if it was very much Willie's money, and we will have to be a little accustomed to think it must do good to some one else."

This was said with a very grave, businesslike air, which sat rather drolly upon our merry, careless Maggie, and her father smiled.

"I shall tell you," he said, "and then you may have the next two days, till Uncle Ruthven and I come back, to consider it. Dr. Dawson thinks it necessary for Willie Richards to have change of air as soon as he is able to travel. Of course his mother must go with him, to take care of him; and, indeed, it is needful for the poor woman herself to have mountain air. I have thought that we might find some quiet farmhouse at or near Chalecoo, where Willie and his mother could go for two or three months at a small cost; but I do not believe it is possible for the policeman to afford even this, without very great discomfort and even suffering to himself and his family. Now, how would you like to use the money Uncle Ruthven gave you to pay the board of Willie and his mother, and so still spend it for his good and comfort? As I said, you may take two days to think over this plan, and if it does not suit you, you can say so."

Ah! this was quite unnecessary, as papa probably knew. This needed no consideration. Why, it was almost as good as paying Dr. Dawson,—rather better, Maggie thought.

But Bessie could not quite agree to this last. "I am very satisfied, papa," she said, "but then it would have been so nice to think our money helped to make blind Willie see his mother's face."

"Maggie, have you forgiven that old woman yet?" asked Fred, when his father and little sisters had joined the rest of the family in the other room.

"Oh, yes!" said Maggie. "I think she is lovely! She has made things a great deal better for us, though she did not know it, and blind Willie is to go to the country. But you are not to talk about it, Fred, for he is not to be told till it is all fixed, and papa has found the place; and we are to pay the board, and I'm so sorry I said bad things about her, even if she was only the messenger, and some one sent her."

"Hallo!" said Fred, "anything more?"

"I am so full of gladness, I don't know what to do with it," said Maggie, who very often found herself in this state; "but I am so very tired I can't hop much to-night."