The sunny summer passed away; autumn came and brightened the hills and valleys for a little time, then was buried beneath its own dead leaves; and now winter has brought its snow and cold winds to Frankie’s home.

Frankie loves the winter. The keen winds only make his eyes brighter and cheeks rosier. Then he has such a nice sled, and there are such famous hills for coasting! To be sure, it mars his pleasure to think of Aleck, who is so lame and weak that he has to stay in the house all the time, but he is a merry-hearted little fellow, and dearly loves to go flying down the long hill on his swift-going sled. “I say it’s too bad, Aleck! Can’t you ever ride down hill?” Frankie’s bright face looked troubled. He was buttoning his warm overcoat, to go out for a morning ride.

Aleck’s patient face for a moment wore a sad, weary look, then, looking up cheerfully, he said, “Oh, I dinna mind, Frankie,—not much. You ken I’m used to staying i’ the house. Then this window is sae sunny, and Dickie sings most a’ the time, and the flowers are sae bonny.”

“Well, I get awful tired when I have to stay in. It’s just like having Sunday every day.” Frankie gave his fur cap an energetic pull over his eyes, and was starting off with a merry whistle, but his mother, who had been a quiet listener to the conversation, said, “Wait a moment, Frankie, I want to talk to you. Why is it that you do not like Sunday? Don’t you like to give one day to God for all the six working and playing days He gives you?”

“I want to go, mamma. Oh, dear, the boys’ll be gone,” was the impatient reply, as he twisted the knob of the half-opened door. “Can’t I go, mamma?”

Mrs. Western said nothing, and, unheeding her reproachful look, he ran off, drawing his sled after him.

It was a clear, crisp, sparkling winter morning. Coasting never was better, and Joe and Will were as merry as ever, but Frankie did not enjoy it.

“What’s the matter, Frank?” asked Joe, seeing his sorrowful expression. “Fingers cold?”

“No,” said Frankie, “but I am going home,” and without a word of explanation he ran off. Rushing into the sitting-room, his eyes filled with tears, he put his arms around his mother’s neck and said, “O mamma, I am sorry.”

“So am I, darling,” said his mother, kissing the tearful face. “Sit down here by me and we will talk a little about the Sabbath, and see why it is my little boy dislikes it so much.” “I would like it, mamma, only it is so long. I don’t like to keep so still, and I get so sleepy in church, and I keep thinking about my sled and the fun I could have if it wasn’t Sunday.” He paused, quite satisfied that he had made a good case for himself, and his mother, taking up her sewing, told him, in her low, calm tones, the following story.

“A father sent his little boy on a long journey, through a dark and dangerous way; but before bidding him good-bye, he gave him a letter which would tell him how to escape the dangers, and how to find the way through the darkness. This is what he said to the child, who stood all eagerness and haste to be gone.

“‘My child, you are just starting on your journey. You are full of life and hope, and the way looks bright before you, but even in this broad, sunny path, are many dangers; and, as you travel further, the path narrows, the flowers are fewer, and the forest is darker; still further on, are rocks, and underbrush, and pitfalls, and at the end of this rough way is a dark and rapid river which you must cross. If you pass over this stream safely, you will find yourself in a beautiful place. In that land I will give you a home, and you shall live with me forever.’

“‘But how can I go all that dark way, father?’ and the boy’s face was full of doubt and fear.

“The father handed him a letter, saying,

“‘This letter will tell you just what to do. Whenever you are in trouble, look at this. Nothing can happen to you about which this will not help you. But you are not to travel all the time. Every seventh day you shall pause in your journey to rest and read this letter, and think of all I have told you, and of the pleasant home to which you are going. It will give you so much strength, and make your heart so light and happy that you can travel faster and further than if you had not stopped.’ “‘But need I stop at first, father, when the way is easy and I am not tired?’ asked the boy.

“‘Oh yes, my child, or you will forget it by and by; then, though the way be easy, it has dangers which you cannot avoid unless you study the letter very carefully, and store it in your mind, so that you will know what to do if danger comes suddenly. Therefore, my child, remember to rest in your journey one day out of seven, read this letter, and think of your father and the home beyond the river.’

“Merrily the child started off, chasing the butterflies and plucking the flowers as he ran along the sunny way, so full of glee that he seldom thought of his father’s letter until the day of rest came. Then he read it, and tried to think of what his father had said to him; but it was very hard to shut out the visions of the butterflies and birds and flowers. He was restless and tired, for he cared more to please himself than obey his father; so he gradually gave up the day of rest, and then commenced his troubles. All his roses were full of sharp thorns, the path was crowded with rough stones and pricking briers, great snakes darted out from the trunk of every fallen tree, and he grew so weary with constant running, was so bruised with frequent stumbling, and so torn and scratched with briers, that you would hardly have known him. If he had gone on in this way much longer I do not think he ever could have reached the pleasant home which his father was to have ready for him. But in the midst of his troubles he remembered the letter, and, drawing it out of his pocket, read the almost forgotten message, ‘Remember the Sabbath day to keep it holy.’”

“That’s one of the commandments, mamma,” Frankie said. “But was that a true story about the little boy? What was his name?”

“Frankie Western,” replied his mother. “God, his heavenly Father, has given him a letter, the Holy Bible, which will tell him how to live every day so as to escape all the sins that lie in his path, like the stones and thorns and briers which troubled the little boy. His Father has told him to leave his work and play on the Sabbath, and study this letter, the Bible; but he does not like to do it, and I fear that in future he will have as much trouble as did the child about whom I have told you. He will say more naughty words, and be more apt to disobey mamma, and to feel cross toward Benny Field. Then as he grows older, and the way becomes darker, I fear he will lose the way and never reach his home in heaven.”

“I don’t want to lose the way, mamma. I won’t if I’m good, will I, mamma, and stay in Sundays, and read the Bible like Aleck?” asked Frankie, anxiously.

“No, darling, you will not lose your way if you love God and do just as he commands you; and one of his commandments is, ‘Remember the Sabbath day to keep it holy.’”