Strange to say, neither of the children suffered much from the exposure and excitement of the evening; and, beyond a little paleness and languor, seemed as well as usual the next day.

But it was far different with their mother. Not very strong at any time, the agony and suspense about her little ones had proved too much for her, and she was very ill; so ill that Mr. Stone was telegraphed for, and for some hours it was believed she could not live. She was quite wild, too; and, though she called and pleaded incessantly for her children, she did not know them when they were brought to her, but thrust them away from her in a way that frightened little Lulu, and quite broke poor repentant Mamie's heart. Oh! was her tender, indulgent mother going to leave her? Would she never know her, never speak to her again, never tell her she forgave all her disobedient, naughty ways, all her disrespect and pettishness?

She sat all day, just outside of her mamma's room, listening to every sound from within, crying bitterly, but silently, and utterly refusing to be comforted or coaxed away.

But at night there was a little change for the better; Mrs. Stone fell into a quiet sleep, and the doctor said he had hope for her now.

So Mamie, utterly worn out, suffered herself to be led away by some of the pitying ladies, and to be put to bed, where she forgot her troubles until the morning.

She had dreaded facing her father when he should come and hear all the sad story; but she was awakened by his kiss; and, though he looked very sober when she poured forth her confession, and offered to submit patiently to any punishment he might think proper, he told her he thought she had brought punishment enough upon herself, and that he hoped this would be a lasting lesson to her.

Mamie thought that it would indeed; she should never forget that terrible night upon the sea, alone with Lulu, who was rather a silent reproach than a comfort to her. She could not believe, poor child! that the night had not been half gone when she was brought home, or that it was hardly an hour after dark when the fisherman had found her, and brought her to land.

She was curious to know, as perhaps you may be, how her young playmates and their parents happened to be at the light-house "in the middle of the night;" and this was soon satisfactorily explained to her.

It was in this way.

The whole party had driven that afternoon to the house of a friend whose beautiful place was situated some distance from the shore; and they had there taken tea, and spent the earlier part of the evening, so that they had known nothing of the alarm about the lost children.

Their way home lay near the old "Point Light;" for this was not the light-house which Mamie saw each evening from the piazza of the hotel, but another, in quite a different direction, though much nearer home; and Lily and the other children, who were wild to see the light-house at night while its revolving lamp was burning, had persuaded their parents to indulge them, late as it was, with a visit there. They had been up to the very top, seen all that was to be seen, had the screeching fog-whistle blown many times for their benefit, and had come down to be astonished by the sight which met them below.

All this, and much more, Belle and Lily poured into Mamie's ears on the morning of the second day, when her mother had been pronounced a little better, and she could be coaxed out of doors.

But mamma was still very ill, and must be kept perfectly quiet; and Mamie, feeling that this was all her fault, and filled with self-reproach, which was perhaps the greater for her father's kindness, had no spirits for play, and sat quite subdued and mournful in the midst of her playmates, who were all ready to devote themselves to her, and to talk to her if she did not choose to play.

"Mamma says," said Lily, when she had concluded her account of the way in which they came to be at the light-house,—"Mamma says that it was quite a providential dispensary that we should have gone to the light-house."

"What does that mean?" asked Belle.

"I asked her," answered Lily; "and she said it meant that it really seemed as if God intended us to go there on purpose to find Mamie and Lulu; because she had really thought it was too late for us to be out, and was not very willing to be persuaded."

"Because God knew what trouble we were in, and wanted to help us out of it, I suppose," said Mamie thoughtfully, with the words of her neglected watchword in her mind.

"Yes," said Belle. "If He did not see us always, and take care of us, what would become of us? Mamie, it makes me feel like crying, even now when you're all safe, to think about your being out all alone on the sea in the dark."

"Yes," assented Lily, "it did me, too, at first; but I'm getting used to it now. But I hope there's one good thing come out of it. Mamma doesn't approve at all of children sitting up late; but now, I suppose, she will see that it can have very delightful consequences."

"Does she think that light-house man would not have brought us home if you had not come to his light-house?" said Mamie.

"Well, no; but I suppose you wouldn't have been home quite so soon," said Lily. "Maybe he wouldn't have brought you at all till the morning."

"I never knew the nights were so dreadfully long," said Mamie. "People say the nights and the days are just about as long as each other, and now I know they're not. The nights are a great deal the longest,—oh, so long!"

And Mamie gave a shuddering sigh at the recollection of the long, weary time she had passed upon the waters.

"Mamma said the time seemed longer to you than it really was," said Lily, "because you were alone and frightened; and the days are really the longest now, 'cause it's summer. In the winter the nights are the longest. It must be so, you know, 'cause our jography says so, and our 'Elements of 'Stronomy' too."

"Then they never were up all night, and don't know," said Mamie emphatically, quite resenting the idea that any one could be better informed in the matter than she who had had such an experience.

"Who were not up all night?" asked Mabel.

"She means the jogra-fers and the 'stron-amers," said Lily; "not the books of course, but the people who wrote them; but they must have been grown up; so I dare say they stayed up all night if they chose."

"I should think that I ought to know about it," said Mamie; "and when I'm grown up, I shall write a jography that says all the others don't know; 'cause once I stayed up and up and up, and there was a piece of the night left yet to go to sleep in."

Mamie was not to be convinced, and the others, with a feeling that she was to be indulged, and not contradicted under the present circumstances, left her to her belief.

"What did you think about, Mamie?" asked Belle. "Did you think you were going to be drowned?"

"Yes," said Mamie, her eyes filling with tears; "and, Belle, I thought a good deal about that watchword you gave me, and how, if I'd remembered it all the time, that wouldn't have happened to me; but it did make me feel a little better,—no, not better, there wasn't any better about it,—but not quite so very afraid to think God could see me, and take care of me, even out on the sea and in the dark. I did not see, either, how He was going to help me; and yet the way did come quite easy after all. And now—and now"—Mamie hesitated, and looked doubtfully from one to another of her companions.

"Well," said Lily encouragingly.

"I think," said Mamie, "that now I will have to remember always that God sees me all the time; and that He would think I am very ungrateful, and don't deserve to be taken care of, if I don't try to be good and never disobey mamma."

"Yes, I think so too," said Lily; "and that's the very best kind of a verse to help you to 'resist the hm—hm—and he will flee from you.'"

"The who?" asked Belle, amazed; and Mamie and Mabel also looked inquiringly at this mysterious utterance from Lily.

"The hm—hm," repeated Lily, no ways abashed, and persisting in the ambiguous form of expression; "you know that verse, don't you?"

"I know the verse, 'Resist the devil, and he will flee from you,'" said Belle.

"Yes, that's it," said Lily; "but if everybody knows the verse, which 'most all the world does,—and ought to be ashamed of themselves, if they don't,—why, then it's just as well to say hm—hm, and not that other ugly word."

"But the Bible says it," said Mabel.

"Yes," answered Lily, in a tone of indulgence for the Scriptures; "the Bible can say what it pleases, because it is the Bible; but mortals ought to be more careful."

"You learned that from Maggie and Bessie, I suppose," said Belle. "They never say that word if they can help it."

"Yes, partly," said Lily with an air of becoming modesty, but yet as one who feels that she has ground of her own to stand upon, "partly from them, but partly from my own self. You see, children, I do it to keep myself from temptation."

"Temptation of what?" asked Belle.

"Temptation to say things I ought not," answered Lily. "Mamma told me I was falling into the habit of talking rather strongly, of saying 'awful' and 'horrid,' and such words to things that were not at all awful or horrid, or saying I was 'most dead, when I was not 'most dead at all; and she said she wanted me to watch myself, and try not to use such strong expressions; and I thought hm—hm was rather a strong expression, so I would not say it right out when there was no need. What's that now?" as a smothered laugh was heard from behind the closed blinds of the parlor. "I just believe some one is there listening to us. Go and see, Mamie; it's your house."

Mamie did as she was bid; but she found no one near the window; and Lily was satisfied that she had been mistaken, as Mamie reported only two or three young ladies in the parlor, who did not seem to be thinking of them.

"You know," she continued, when Mamie had returned, "that when we feel like doing a thing, it is best to keep ourselves quite out of the way of temptation,—I learned that pretty well when I was always putting off,—and I do like to talk that kind of a way; so I'm going to keep myself as much as I can without using wrong words at all. I only began this morning; but you see I've improved already."

Mamie drew a long, weary sigh.

"Yes, Lily," she said with a doleful shake of her head, "yes, I know now how one ought not to put one's self in the way of temptation, if they don't want to do a wrong thing. But—but—I'm afraid I meant all the time to go on the breakwater if I found a chance. And I b'lieve, oh, dear! I b'lieve all these days I have been real mad at mamma 'cause she would not let me go; and now, if she don't get well, I can never tell her how sorry I am, or try to make up for it."

"But she's a little better to-day," said Belle consolingly. "I heard everybody say so."

"Yes, a little," said Mamie, who was again crying bitterly; "but papa says she is very ill yet; and even if she does get well, I shall always have to remember how bad I was to her. I think I never knew before how dreadful it is to be bad to your mother; and, when I was out in that boat, I b'lieve I thought of 'most every naughty thing I ever did to her."

"Then if she gets well now, it will make you very careful how you behave badly or saucily to her again," said Lily; "so that will be a good thing."

"Oh, yes! I should think it might," sighed Mamie.

"Mamie, we are very sorry for you," said Belle, taking her hand and holding it tenderly.

"So am I," said Mabel: "and, Mamie, I believe I know a little how you feel by the duckling."

"Oh, you can't!" said Mamie almost indignantly; "a duckling is nothing to your own mamma. But, Mabel, I was horrid and stuck-up to you about that duckling, and made an awful fuss 'cause you took it without leave; and then I did a great deal worse thing myself, and never remembered or didn't care that God saw me all the time. It's very good in you to be so kind to me now, and never say any thing hateful."

Mamie had on her confession cap now, and was fain to make a clean breast of all her misdemeanors, past and present, feeling, poor child! as if it were somewhat of a relief to do so.

"I'm never going to make faces at you again," said Mabel, moved by this new meekness.

"And I shan't plague you, and try to make you mad on purpose," said Mamie. "Let's make up for all our lives."

And offering her lips to Mabel, a kiss of peace was exchanged between these two little girls, who had never been very good friends, but who had always taken a naughty pleasure in aggravating one another, and in each one making the most of the other's faults.

"Here comes papa. He's been down to the post-office, and brought the mail," said Lily. "Papa, is there a letter for me? Maggie promised to write to me; but perhaps she has not done it yet."

"Well, I rather think she has favored Mamie this time," said Mr. Norris, dropping into Mamie's lap a letter addressed in Maggie Bradford's large, round handwriting.

Brightening instantly at this unexpected consolation, Mamie caught up the letter, and eagerly opened it.

"Maggie never wrote to me before," she said; "and her letters are so nice."

"Yes," said Belle; "but I wonder if there is none for me. Maggie writes to me once a week, and Bessie writes once a week, and this is the day for Maggie's letter. Mr. Norris, didn't any letter come for me?"

Mr. Norris answered in the most satisfactory manner by rapidly turning over the letters in his hand, and selecting one which he teasingly held a moment above her reach; then dropped it into the little eager, outstretched hands.

"I'll read mine aloud," said Mamie, "'cause Maggie's letters are so very interesting.

"My dear Mamie,—It is the turn for me to write to Belle to-day, but I thought she would not mind if I wrote to you instead, for we heard this afternoon of your going off in the boat, and nearly being lost, and saved by a fisherman, which was the greatest of mercies, and of your mamma being so ill. And so because we should comfort the afflicted, I thought you might like a letter, and Bessie will write to Belle. We are very sorry for you, dear; specially for your feeling so badly about your mamma, which was only to be expected if you had the feelings of human nature; and remorse is hard for mankind to bear, indeed, not to be endured. But I never heard of such a dreadful adventure as you had and dear little Lulu, too, except once when the railroad ran off with Bessie and Belle and me, and no one to take care of us, but a gentleman we did not know, who was very kind, and I believe sent to us by the hand of the Lord, and restored us to the bosom of our family.

"But we are very glad you were saved and not taken away by drowning from your orphaned parents, or made a melancholy accident in the newspapers of, which would try the souls of your friends to read. Bessie and I cried a good deal when we heard about you, and I thought you would like to know about it, because it's always pleasant to know that your friends feel badly about you. We hope that your mamma will soon recover, and I am your

very respected and attached
friend
Maggie Stanton Bradford.

"P.S. I would not wish to say any thing unkind about a present my friends gave me, but a cruel young gentleman of my acquaintance presented me a dead bird he shot, and I would not have it, but cried. But I hope my conduct made a sensible impression upon him, for the next time some one asked him to go shooting he said no, which makes me think he may in time come to have a feeling heart which cannot bear to take life.

"Give my love to Lily and tell her I will write to her to-morrow if unexpected circumstances do not prevent.

"M. S. B."

This fine letter met with all the approval which Maggie's compositions generally called forth; and then Bessie's to Belle was read aloud for the benefit of all who might choose to hear.

"My dear Belle,—Maggie writes to Mamie so I write this leter to you but it is not my day but Maggie's. I wish you would come to our hose and see us cors we miss you. i can play 2 tunes Captain Jinks and Lord in the morning thou shalt hear on the piano and i like to play on the piano but Maggie does it better, our new old cook has a gra kitty and it goes to sleep in her pokit and the cook is black and Fred has a white rabit and it stiks up its nose at us and we have 2 new horses and mamma a pony for her faton so we are quite a menagery and we want you and Lily to see them all. So ask your papa to bring you to spend that day with us and give my dear love to Lily and Lulu, and a little skrap of love to Mabel and Mamie but I am sorry for Mamie and Maggie and I cried about her. No I think you may give a good deal of my love to Mamie, but not too much.

from affekshin
Bessie Rush Bradford."

Happily Belle had spelled over this letter to herself before reading it aloud, which Bessie had probably not intended; and the wise little woman had the good sense and good feeling to omit such parts of it as might seem at all slighting to Mabel and Mamie, of whom Bessie, as you will have perceived, was not over fond.

It was many days before Mamie recovered her usual spirits and liveliness, not indeed until her mother was well again; and it was almost touching to see how tenderly she hung about her when she was once more permitted to go to her; watching for the least opportunity to wait on her, or do her some small service; sitting for hours beside her bed, content only to hold her hand or kiss her pale cheek; so subdued, so gentle, so submissive and good, that it was hard to believe she was the Mamie of old.

Nor did the good impression her severe lesson made upon her wear off when mamma had recovered; and Mrs. Stone felt that all she had suffered was well repaid by the new docility and obedience shown by her little daughter.

She was less selfish and wilful with her playmates too, more gentle and amiable than they had ever known her. The memory of that lonely night upon the dark sea,—for it was impossible to persuade Mamie that she did not pass the greater part of the night upon the water,—and the thought of the care which had watched over her there, were not easily shaken off; and perhaps it was as well that for many succeeding weeks she was within sight and sound of the objects which kept it constantly before her mind.

Certain it is that the change in her was very great and plainly to be seen, and, as Belle said to the astonished Maggie and Bessie when they remarked upon it, "more as if she tried to live her watchword than to talk so much about it."

Obvious punctuation errors were corrected.

Page 10, word "a" added to text (that seldom has a)

Page 35, "eat" changed to "ate" (she ate her cake)

Page 156, word "on" added to the text (you on a nice)