When Ellen came out of Alice's room again it was late in the afternoon. The sun was so low that the shadow of the house had crossed the narrow lawn and mounted up near to the top of the trees; but on them he was still shining brightly, and on the broad landscape beyond, which lay open to view through the gap in the trees. The glass door was open; the sweet summer air and the sound of birds and insects and fluttering leaves floated into the room, making the stillness musical. On the threshold pussy sat crouched, with his fore feet doubled under his breast, watching with intense gravity the operations of Margery, who was setting the table on the lawn just before his eyes. Alice was paring peaches.

"Oh, we are going to have tea out of doors, aren't we?" said Ellen, "I'm very glad. What a lovely evening, isn't it? Just look at pussy, will you, Alice? don't you believe he knows what Margery is doing? Why didn't you call me to go along with you after peaches?"

"I thought you were doing the very best thing you possibly could, Ellie, my dear. How do you do?"

"Oh, nicely now? Where's Mr. John? I hope he won't ask for my last drawing to-night, I want to fix the top of that tree before he sees it."

"Fix the top of your tree, you little Yankee!" said Alice; "what do you think John would say to that! unfix it, you mean; it is too stiff already, isn't it?"

"Well, what shall I say?" said Ellen, laughing. "I am sorry that is Yankee, for I suppose one must speak English. I want to do something to my tree, then. Where is he, Alice?"

"He is gone down to Mr. Van Brunt's to see how he is, and to speak to Miss Fortune about you on his way back."

"Oh how kind of him! he's very good; that is just what I want to know; but I am sorry, after this long ride——"

"He don't mind that, Ellie. He'll be home presently."

"How nice those peaches look; they are as good as strawberries, don't you think so? better, I don't know which is the best; but Mr. John likes these best, don't he? Now you've done; shall I set them on the table? and here's a pitcher of splendid cream, Alice!"

"You had better not tell John so, or he will make you define splendid."

John came back in good time, and brought word that Mr. Van Brunt was doing very well, so far as could be known; also, that Miss Fortune consented to Ellen's remaining where she was. He wisely did not say, however, that her consent had been slow to gain till he had hinted at his readiness to provide a substitute for Ellen's services; on which Miss Fortune had instantly declared that she did not want her, and she might stay as long as she pleased. This was all that was needed to complete Ellen's felicity.

"Wasn't your poor horse too tired to go out again this afternoon, Mr. John?"

"I did not ride him, Ellie; I took yours."

"The Brownie! did you? I'm very glad! How did you like him? But perhaps he was tired a little, and you couldn't tell so well to-day."

"He was not tired with any work you had given him, Ellie; perhaps he may be a little now."

"Why?" said Ellen, somewhat alarmed.

"I have been trying him; and instead of going quietly along the road we have been taking some of the fences in our way. As I intend practising you at the bar, I wished to make sure in the first place that he knew his lesson."

"Well, how did he do?"

"Perfectly well; I believe he is a good little fellow. I wanted to satisfy myself if he was fit to be trusted with you, and I rather think Mr. Marshman has taken care of that."

The whole wall of trees was in shadow when the little family sat down to table; but there was still the sunlit picture behind; and there was another kind of sunshine in every face at the table. Quietly happy the whole four, or at least the whole three, were; first, in being together; after that, in all things besides. Never was tea so refreshing, or bread and butter so sweet, or the song of birds so delightsome. When the birds had gone to their nests, the cricket and grasshopper and tree toad and katy-did, and nameless other songsters, kept up a concert—nature's own, in delicious harmony with woods and flowers, and summer breezes and evening light. Ellen's cup of enjoyment was running over. From one beautiful thing to another her eye wandered, from one joy to another her thoughts went, till her heart full fixed on the God who had made and given them all, and that Redeemer whose blood had been their purchase money. From the dear friends beside her, the best-loved she had in the world, she thought of the one dearer yet, from whom death had separated her, yet living still, and to whom death would restore her, thanks to Him who had burst the bonds of death and broken the gates of the grave, and made a way for His ransomed to pass over. And the thought of Him was the joyfullest of all!

"You look happy, Ellie," said her adopted brother.

"So I am," said Ellen, smiling a very bright smile.

"What are you thinking about?"

But John saw it would not do to press his question.

"You remind me," said he, "of some old fairy story that my childish ears received, in which the fountains of the sweet and bitter waters of life were said to stand very near each other, and to mingle their streams but a little way from their source. Your tears and smiles seem to be brothers and sisters; whenever we see one we may be sure the other is not far off."

"My dear Jack," said Alice, laughing, "what an unhappy simile! Are brothers and sisters always found like that?"

"I wish they were," said John, sighing and smiling; "but my last words had nothing to do with my simile as you call it."

When tea was over, and Margery had withdrawn the things and taken away the table, they still lingered in their places. It was far too pleasant to go in. Mr. Humphreys moved his chair to the side of the house, and throwing a handkerchief over his head to defend him from the mosquitoes, a few of which were buzzing about, he either listened, meditated, or slept; most probably one of the two latter; for the conversation was not very loud nor very lively; it was happiness enough merely to breathe so near each other. The sun left the distant fields and hills; soft twilight stole through the woods, down the gap, and over the plain; the grass lost its green; the wall of trees grew dark and dusky; and very faint and dim showed the picture that was so bright a little while ago. As they sat quite silent, listening to what nature had to say to them, or letting fancy and memory take their way, the silence was broken—hardly broken—by the distinct far-off cry of a whip-poor-will. Alice grasped her brother's arm, and they remained motionless, while it came nearer, nearer—then quite near—with its clear, wild, shrill, melancholy note sounding close by them again and again, strangely, plaintively; then leaving the lawn, it was heard further and further off, till the last faint "whip-poor-will," in the far distance, ended its pretty interlude. It was almost too dark to read faces, but the eyes of the brother and sister had sought each other and remained fixed till the bird was out of hearing; then Alice's hand was removed to his, and her head found its old place on her brother's shoulder.

"Sometimes, John," said Alice, "I am afraid I have one tie too strong to this world. I cannot bear, as I ought, to have you away from me."

Her brother's lips were instantly pressed to her forehead.

"I may say to you, Alice, as Colonel Gardiner said to his wife, 'We have an eternity to spend together!'"

"I wonder," said Alice, after a pause, "how those can bear to love and be loved, whose affection can see nothing but a blank beyond the grave."

"Few people, I believe," said her brother, "would come exactly under that description; most flatter themselves with a vague hope of reunion after death."

"But that is a miserable hope—very different from ours."

"Very different indeed! and miserable; for it can only deceive; but ours is sure. 'Them that sleep in Jesus will God bring with Him.'"

"Precious!" said Alice. "How exactly fitted to every want and mood of the mind are the sweet Bible words."

"Well!" said Mr. Humphreys, rousing himself, "I am going in! These mosquitoes have half eaten me up. Are you going to sit there all night?"

"We are thinking of it, papa," said Alice cheerfully.

He went in, and was heard calling Margery for a light.

They had better lights on the lawn. The stars began to peep out through the soft blue, and as the blue grew deeper they came out more and brighter, till all heaven was hung with lamps. But that was not all. In the eastern horizon, just above the low hills that bordered the far side of the plain, a white light, spreading and growing and brightening, promised the moon, and promised that she would rise very splendid; and even before she came began to throw a faint lustre over the landscape. All eyes were fastened, and exclamations burst, as the first silver edge showed itself, and the moon rapidly rising looked on them with her whole broad bright face; lighting up not only their faces and figures but the wide country view that was spread out below, and touching most beautifully the trees in the edge of the gap, and faintly the lawn; while the wall of wood stood in deeper and blacker shadow than ever.

"Isn't that beautiful!" said Ellen.

"Come round here, Ellie," said John. "Alice may have you all the rest of the year, but when I am at home you belong to me. What was your little head busied upon a while ago?"

"When?" said Ellen.

"When I asked you——"

"Oh, I know—I remember. I was thinking——"

"Well——?"

"I was thinking—do you want me to tell you?"

"Unless you would rather not."

"I was thinking about Jesus Christ," said Ellen, in a low tone.

"What about Him, dear Ellie?" said her brother, drawing her closer to his side.

"Different things—I was thinking of what He said about little children—and about what He said, you know—'In my Father's house are many mansions'; and I was thinking that mamma was there; and I thought—that we all——"

Ellen could get no further.

"'He that believeth in Him shall not be ashamed,'" said John softly. "'This is the promise that He hath promised us, even eternal life; and who shall separate us from the love of Christ? Not death, nor things present, nor things to come. But he that hath this hope in him purifieth himself even as He is pure;' let us remember that too."

"Mr. John," said Ellen presently, "don't you like some of the chapters in the Revelation very much?"

"Yes, very much. Why?—do you?"

"Yes. I remember reading parts of them to mamma, and that is one reason, I suppose; but I like them very much. There is a great deal I can't understand, though."

"There is nothing finer in the Bible than parts of that book," said Alice.

"Mr. John," said Ellen, "what is meant by the 'white stone'?"

"And in the stone a new name written——"

"Yes, that I mean."

"Mr. Baxter says it is the sense of God's love in the heart; and indeed that is it 'which no man knoweth saving him that receiveth it.' This, I take it, Ellen, was Christian's certificate, which he used to comfort himself with reading in, you remember?"

"Can a child have it?" said Ellen thoughtfully.

"Certainly—many children have had it—you may have it. Only seek it faithfully. 'Thou meetest him that rejoiceth and worketh righteousness, those that remember thee in thy ways.' And Christ said, 'He that loveth me shall be loved of my Father, and I will love him, and I will manifest myself to him.' There is no failure in these promises, Ellie; He that made them is the same yesterday, to-day, and for ever."

For a little while each was busy with his own meditations. The moon meanwhile, rising higher and higher, poured a flood of light through the gap in the woods before them, and stealing among the trees here and there lit up a spot of ground under their deep shadow. The distant picture lay in mazy brightness. All was still, but the ceaseless chirrup of insects and gentle flapping of leaves; the summer air just touched their cheeks with the lightest breath of a kiss, sweet from distant hay-fields, and nearer pines and hemlocks, and other of nature's numberless perfume-boxes. The hay-harvest had been remarkably late this year.

"This is higher enjoyment," said John, "than half those who make their homes in rich houses and mighty palaces have any notion of."

"But cannot rich people look at the moon?" said Ellen.

"Yes, but the taste for pure pleasure is commonly gone when people make a trade of pleasure."

"Mr. John," Ellen began.

"I will forewarn you," said he, "that Mr. John has made up his mind he will do nothing more for you. So if you have anything to ask, it must lie still, unless you will begin again."

Ellen drew back. He looked grave, but she saw Alice smiling.

"But what shall I do?" said she, a little perplexed and half laughing. "What do you mean, Mr. John? What does he mean, Alice?"

"You could speak without a 'Mr.' to me this morning when you were in trouble."

"Oh!" said Ellen, laughing, "I forgot myself then."

"Have the goodness to forget yourself permanently for the future."

"Was that man hurt this morning, John?" said his sister.

"What man?"

"That man you delivered Ellen from."

"Hurt? no—nothing material; I did not wish to hurt him. He richly deserved punishment, but it was not for me to give it."

"He was in no hurry to get up," said Ellen.

"I do not think he ventured upon that till we were well out of the way. He lifted his head and looked after us as we rode off."

"But I wanted to ask something," said Ellen. "Oh! what is the reason the moon looks so much larger when she first gets up than she does afterwards?"

"Whom are you asking?"

"You."

"And who is you? Here are two people in the moonlight."

"Mr. John Humphreys, Alice's brother, and that Thomas calls 'the young master,'" said Ellen, laughing.

"You are more shy of taking a leap than your little horse is," said John, smiling, "but I shall bring you up to it yet. What is the cause of the sudden enlargement of my thumb?"

He had drawn a small magnifying glass from his pocket and held it between his hand and Ellen.

"Why, it is not enlarged," said Ellen, "it is only magnified."

"What do you mean by that?"

"Why, the glass makes it look larger."

"Do you know how, or why?"

"No."

He put up the glass again.

"But what do you mean by that?" said Ellen; "there is no magnifying glass between us and the moon to make her look larger."

"You are sure of that?"

"Why, yes!" said Ellen; "I am perfectly sure; there is nothing in the world. There she is, right up there, looking straight down upon us, and there is nothing between."

"What is it that keeps up that pleasant fluttering of leaves in the wood?"

"Why, the wind."

"And what is the wind?"

"It is air—air moving, I suppose."

"Exactly. Then there is something between us and the moon."

"The air? But, Mr. John, one can see quite clearly through the air; it doesn't make things look larger or smaller."

"How far do you suppose the air reaches from us towards the moon?"

"Why, all the way, don't it?"

"No—only about forty miles. If it reached all the way there would indeed be no magnifying glass in the case."

"But how is it?" said Ellen. "I don't understand."

"I cannot tell you to-night, Ellie. There is a long ladder of knowledge to go up before we can get to the moon, but we will begin to mount to-morrow, if nothing happens. Alice, you have that little book of Conversations on Natural Philosophy, which you and I used to delight ourselves with in old time?"

"Safe and sound in the bookcase," said Alice. "I have thought of giving it to Ellen before, but she has been busy enough with what she had already."

"I have done Rollin now, though," said Ellen; "that is lucky. I am ready for the moon."

This new study was begun the next day, and Ellen took great delight in it. She would have run on too fast in her eagerness but for the steady hand of her teacher; he obliged her to be very thorough. This was only one of her items of business. The weeks of John's stay were as usual not merely weeks of constant and varied delight, but of constant and swift improvement too.

A good deal of time was given to the riding-lessons. John busied himself one morning in preparing a bar for her on the lawn; so placed that it might fall if the horse's heels touched it. Here Ellen learned to take first standing, and then running, leaps. She was afraid at first, but habit wore that off; and the bar was raised higher and higher, till Margery declared she "couldn't stand and look at her going over it." Then John made her ride without the stirrup, and with her hands behind her, while he, holding the horse by a long halter, made him go round in a circle, slowly at first, and afterwards trotting and cantering, till Ellen felt almost as secure on his back as in a chair. It took a good many lessons, however, to bring her to this, and she trembled very much at the beginning. Her teacher was careful and gentle, but determined; and whatever he said she did, tremble or no tremble; and in general loved her riding lessons dearly.

Drawing too went on finely. He began to let her draw things from nature; and many a pleasant morning the three went out together with pencils and books and work, and spent hours in the open air. They would find a pretty point of view, or a nice shady place where the breeze came, and where there was some good old rock with a tree beside it, or a piece of fence, or the house or barn in the distance, for Ellen to sketch; and while she drew and Alice worked, John read aloud to them. Sometimes he took a pencil too, and Alice read; and often, often pencils, books, and work were all laid down; and talk, lively, serious, earnest, always delightful, took the place of them. When Ellen could not understand the words, at least she could read the faces; and that was a study she was never weary of. At home there were other studies and much reading; many tea-drinkings on the lawn, and even breakfastings, which she thought pleasanter still.

As soon as it was decided that Mr. Van Brunt's leg was doing well, and in a fair way to be sound again, Ellen went to see him; and after that rarely let two days pass without going again. John and Alice used to ride with her so far, and taking a turn beyond while she made her visit, call for her on their way back. She had a strong motive for going in the pleasure her presence always gave, both to Mr. Van Brunt and his mother. Sam Larkens had been to Thirlwall and seen Mrs. Forbes, and from him they had heard the story of her riding up and down the town in search of the doctor; neither of them could forget it. Mrs. Van Brunt poured out her affection in all sorts of expressions whenever she had Ellen's ear; her son was not a man of many words; but Ellen knew his face and manner well enough without them, and read there whenever she went into his room what gave her great pleasure.

"How do you do, Mr. Van Brunt?" she said on one of these occasions.

"Oh, I'm getting along, I s'pose," said he; "getting along as well as a man can that's lying on his back from morning to night; prostrated, as 'Squire Dennison said his corn was t'other day."

"It is very tiresome, isn't it?" said Ellen.

"It's the tiresomest work that ever was, for a man that has two arms to be adoing nothing, day after day. And what bothers me is the wheat in that ten-acre lot, that ought to be prostrated too, and ain't, nor ain't like to be, as I know, unless the rain comes and does it. Sam and Johnny 'll make no headway at all with it—I can tell as well as if I see 'em."

"But Sam is good, isn't he?" said Ellen.

"Sam's as good a boy as ever was; but then Johnny Low is mischievous, you see, and he gets Sam out of his tracks once in a while. I never see a finer growth of wheat. I had a sight rather cut and harvest the hull of it than to lie here and think of it getting spoiled. I'm a'most out o' conceit o' trap-doors, Ellen."

Ellen could not help smiling.

"What can I do for you, Mr. Van Brunt?"

"There ain't nothing," said he; "I wish there was. How are you coming along at home?"

"I don't know," said Ellen; "I am not there just now, you know; I am staying up with Miss Alice again."

"Oh ay! while her brother's at home. He's a splendid man, that young Mr. Humphreys, ain't he?"

"Oh, I knew that a great while ago," said Ellen, the bright colour of pleasure overspreading her face.

"Well, I didn't, you see, till the other day, when he came here, very kindly, to see how I was getting on. I wish something would bring him again. I never heerd a man talk I liked to hear so much."

Ellen secretly resolved something should bring him; and went on with a purpose she had had for some time in her mind.

"Wouldn't it be pleasant, while you are lying there and can do nothing—wouldn't you like to have me read something to you, Mr. Van Brunt? I should like to, very much."

"It's just like you," said he gratefully, "to think of that; but I wouldn't have you be bothered with it."

"It wouldn't indeed. I should like it very much."

"Well, if you've a mind," said he; "I can't say but it would be a kind o' comfort to keep that grain out o' my head a while. Seems to me I have cut and housed it all three times over already. Read just whatever you have a mind to. If you was to go over a last year's almanac, it would be as good as a fiddle to me."

"I'll do better for you than that, Mr. Van Brunt," said Ellen, laughing in high glee at having gained her point. She had secretly brought her "Pilgrim's Progress" with her, and now with marvellous satisfaction drew it forth.

"I ha'n't been as much of a reader as I had ought to," said Mr. Van Brunt, as she opened the book and turned to the first page; "but, however, I understand my business pretty well; and a man can't be everything to once. Now let's hear what you've got there."

With a throbbing heart Ellen began, and read, notes and all, till the sound of trampling hoofs and Alice's voice made her break off. It encouraged and delighted her to see that Mr. Van Brunt's attention was perfectly fixed. He lay still, without moving his eyes from her face, till she stopped; then thanking her, he declared that was a "first-rate book," and he "should like mainly to hear the hull on it."

From that time Ellen was diligent in her attendance on him. That she might have more time for reading than the old plan gave her, she set off by herself alone some time before the others, of course riding home with them. It cost her a little sometimes to forego so much of their company; but she never saw the look of grateful pleasure with which she was welcomed without ceasing to regret her self-denial. How Ellen blessed those notes as she went on with her reading! They said exactly what she wanted Mr. Van Brunt to hear, and in the best way, and were too short and simple to interrupt the interest of the story. After a while she ventured to ask if she might read him a chapter in the Bible. He agreed very readily; owning "he hadn't ought to be so long without reading one as he had been." Ellen then made it a rule to herself, without asking any more questions, to end every reading with a chapter in the Bible; and she carefully sought out those that might be most likely to take hold of his judgment or feelings. They took hold of her own very deeply, by the means; what was strong or tender before, now seemed to her too mighty to be withstood; and Ellen read not only with her lips but with her whole heart the precious words, longing that they might come with their just effect upon Mr. Van Brunt's mind.

Once as she finished reading the tenth chapter of John, a favourite chapter, which between her own feeling of it and her strong wish for him had moved her even to tears, she cast a glance at his face to see how he took it. His head was a little turned to one side, and his eyes closed; she thought he was asleep. Ellen was very much disappointed. She sank her head upon her book and prayed that a time might come when he would know the worth of those words. The touch of his hand startled her.

"What is the matter?" said he. "Are you tired?"

"No," said Ellen, looking hastily up; "oh no! I'm not tired."

"But what ails you?" said the astonished Mr. Van Brunt; "what have you been a crying for? what's the matter?"

"Oh, never mind," said Ellen, brushing her hand over her eyes, "it's no matter."

"Yes, but I want to know," said Mr. Van Brunt; "you shan't have anything to vex you that I can help; what is it?"

"It is nothing, Mr. Van Brunt," said Ellen, bursting into tears again, "only I thought you were asleep; I—I thought you didn't care enough about the Bible to keep awake; I want so much that you should be a Christian!"

He half groaned and turned his head away.

"What makes you wish that so much?" said he, after a minute or two.

"Because I want you to be happy," said Ellen, "and I know you can't without."

"Well, I am pretty tolerable happy," said he; "as happy as most folks, I guess."

"But I want you to be happy when you die, too," said Ellen; "I want to meet you in heaven."

"I hope I will go there, surely," said he gravely, "when the time comes."

Ellen was uneasily silent, not knowing what to say.

"I ain't as good as I ought to be," said he presently, with a half sigh; "I ain't good enough to go to heaven; I wish I was. You are, I do believe."

"I! Oh no, Mr. Van Brunt, do not say that; I am not good at all; I am full of wrong things."

"Well, I wish I was full of wrong things too, in the same way," said he.

"But I am," said Ellen, "whether you will believe it or not. Nobody is good, Mr. Van Brunt. But Jesus Christ has died for us, and if we ask Him, He will forgive us, and wash away our sins, and teach us to love Him, and make us good, and take us to be with Him in heaven. Oh, I wish you would ask Him!" she repeated with an earnestness that went to his heart. "I don't believe any one can be very happy that doesn't love Him."

"Is that what makes you happy?" said he.

"I have a great many things to make me happy," said Ellen, soberly, "but that is the greatest of all. It always makes me happy to think of Him, and it makes everything else a thousand times pleasanter. I wish you knew how it is, Mr. Van Brunt."

He was silent for a little, and disturbed, Ellen thought.

"Well!" said he at length, "'taint the folks that thinks themselves the best that is the best always; if you ain't good I should like to know what goodness is. There's somebody that thinks you be," said he a minute or two afterwards, as the horses were heard coming to the gate.

"No, she knows me better than that," said Ellen.

"It isn't any she that I mean," said Mr. Van Brunt. "There's somebody else out there, ain't there?"

"Who?" said Ellen, "Mr. John? Oh no, indeed he don't. It was only this morning he was telling me of something I did that was wrong." Her eyes watered as she spoke.

"He must have mighty sharp eyes, then," said Mr. Van Brunt, "for it beats all my powers of seeing things."

"And so he has," said Ellen, putting on her bonnet, "he always knows what I am thinking of just as well as if I told him. Good-bye!"

"Good-bye," said he; "I ha'n't forgotten what you've been saying, and I don't mean to."

How full of sweet pleasure was the ride home!

The "something wrong," of which Ellen had spoken, was this. The day before, it happened that Mr. John had broken her off from a very engaging book to take her drawing-lesson; and as he stooped down to give a touch or two to the piece she was to copy, he said, "I don't want you to read any more of that, Ellie; it is not a good book for you." Ellen did not for a moment question that he was right, nor wish to disobey; but she had become very much interested, and was a good deal annoyed at having such a sudden stop put to her pleasure. She said nothing, and went on with her work. In a little while Alice asked her to hold a skein of cotton for her while she wound it. Ellen was annoyed again at the interruption; the harp-strings were jarring yet, and gave fresh discord to every touch. She had, however, no mind to let her vexation be seen; she went immediately and held the cotton, and as soon as it was done sat down again to her drawing. Before ten minutes had passed Margery came to set the table for dinner; Ellen's papers and desk must move.

"Why, it is not dinner-time yet this great while, Margery," said she; "it isn't much after twelve."

"No, Miss Ellen," said Margery under her breath, for John was in one corner of the room reading, "but by-and-by I'll be busy with the chops and frying the salsify, and I couldn't leave the kitchen; if you'll let me have the table now."

Ellen said no more, and moved her things to a stand before the window, where she went on with her copying till dinner was ready. Whatever the reason was, however, her pencil did not work smoothly; her eye did not see true; and she lacked her usual steady patience. The next morning, after an hour and more's work and much painstaking, the drawing was finished. Ellen had quite forgotten her yesterday's trouble. But when John came to review her drawing, he found several faults with it; pointed out two or three places in which it had suffered from haste and want of care; and asked her how it had happened. Ellen knew it happened yesterday. She was vexed again, though she did her best not to show it; she stood quietly and heard what he had to say. He then told her to get ready for her riding lesson.

"Mayn't I just make this right first?" said Ellen; "it won't take me long."

"No," said he, "you have been sitting long enough; I must break you off. The Brownie will be here in ten minutes."

Ellen was impatiently eager to mend the bad places in her drawing, and impatiently displeased at being obliged to ride first. Slowly and reluctantly she went to get ready; John was already gone; she would not have moved so leisurely if he had been anywhere within seeing distance. As it was, she found it convenient to quicken her movements; and was at the door ready as soon as he and the Brownie. She was soon thoroughly engaged in the management of herself and her horse; a little smart riding shook all the ill humour out of her, and she was entirely herself again. At the end of fifteen or twenty minutes they drew up under the shade of a tree to let the Brownie rest a little. It was a warm day, and John had taken off his hat and stood resting too, with his arm leaning on the neck of the horse. Presently he looked round to Ellen, and asked her with a smile if she felt right again.

"Why?" said Ellen, the crimson of her cheeks mounting to her forehead. But her eye sank immediately at the answering glance of his. He then, in very few words, set the matter before her, with such a happy mixture of pointedness and kindness, that while the reproof, coming from him, went to the quick, Ellen yet joined with it no thought of harshness or severity. She was completely subdued, however; the rest of the lesson had to be given up, and for an hour Ellen's tears could not be stayed. But it was, and John had meant it should be, a strong check given to her besetting sin. It had a long and lasting effect.