strangers;" and it did not enter into the child's mind that she was doing more or less than was required of her as their representative. Possibly the men were taken unawares by the frankness and fearlessness of the little girl, or it may be they were amused by her simplicity and innocence; for Mary observed that they looked at each other and laughed, though silently, as they accepted the invitation. "So you are all alone here, are you?" said one of the men, when they had seated themselves. "Yes, sir," said Mary; "I and Rover are keeping house to-day." "And who is Rover?" "Our big dog. Didn't you see him? I wonder he did not bark when you came through the yard; but he would not have hurt you; he is a good-natured dog." 66 Dogs never hurt us; we take good care not to let them," said the other man, who had a very harsh and unpleasant voice, and was older than the first speaker; "and as to your Rover 66 وو Well, never mind about Rover," interposed his companion, laughing: "here we are you see; you don't know what we are come for, I suppose.' "No, sir, but you would like something to eat and drink, I dare say," said the child. "You are right enough there," said the surly man, “and you had better let us have something, and pretty quick too." "Don't frighten the girl; what's the use of that?" said the younger and least forbidding of the strangers. "You need not mind what my mate says," added he, turning to Mary; "Tom is a crooked stick, you see; but you need not mind him. The truth is, we are uncommon hungry; and that puts him out." Thus reassured-for Mary was a little frightened by the rough tones in which she had been addressed the child spread the table bountifully for the unexpected guests, placing cold meat and bread, and a huge pie before them, not forgetting to draw a jug of beer from the cellar; and then she sat down with the strangers. "Won't you ask a blessing first ?" said she, when the younger man had taken knife and fork in hand, and was hacking at the large joint. The man desisted from his employment. "I forgot that," he said, "and it is not much in my way either. Come, Tom, you say grace, will you?" and he looked mirthfully at his companion, who, in reply, muttered something between his teeth which Mary did not understand, save that there was a word which sounded very like foolery," coupled with an oath. 66 "Tom has forgotten his manners, my child," said the younger man, still good-humouredly; "but you must not mind him. Suppose you were to ask a blessing," he added, looking at Mary. "Yes, sir, if you please," replied Mary, who began more and more to wonder at the strangeness of her guests; and without hesitation, she stood up and repeated the familiar prayer-" For what we are about to receive, may the Lord make us truly thankful, for Jesus Christ's sake." "So they leave you to keep house, while they are away at church, eh?" said the younger man, when the meal had so far proceeded that the first edge of his apparently ravenous appetite had been taken off, and he had sufficient leisure to notice the child, who, on her part, had watched, with some amusement, the havoc her visitors had wrought on the provisions set before them. "Yes, sir; this is the first time, though, I have been left alone," said the child. "And how soon will they come back again?" he asked, with some interest. 66 Oh, sir! I don't expect them back till past five o'clock. You see, they always stop to both services.' "Just so," rejoined the questioner, carelessly; and after a short interval, occupied in eating, he asked another question" Wasn't your father at Wmarket yesterday?" "Yes, sir." "Of course he was, Jem," said the unpleasant man, angrily. "Didn't we see him there? and didn't he tell us he would be glad to see us any day we liked to give him a call? And if he did not happen to be at home, we were to A look and a whisper from his comrade caused the speaker to break off suddenly; and then followed another silence, interrupted only by the continuance of the meal. "Aren't you afraid of being left here all alone?" asked the pleasanter of the men, presently. "No, sir," said the child. "But suppose any bad people should come while they are all away-robbers, for instance ?" "God would take care of me, sir," said Mary. "I dare say you know the hymn about his taking care of them that trust in him, don't you?" "I can't say that I do. What hymn is it?" "It has this verse in it "The hosts of God encamp around The dwellings of the just, Who make his name their trust." "I know all that hymn, sir," added Mary. "Do you, really? Well, what comes next?" said the man, who seemed disposed to chat with his young entertainer in spite of the winks and impatient interjections of his companion. "This is the next verse," said Mary,— Oh, make but trial of his love: How blest are they, and only they, "And then the hymn goes on "Fear him, ye saints, and you will then "While hungry lions lack their prey, For such as put their trust in him, The man shifted uncomfortably on his chair, and a shade passed over his countenance. Then he rose from his seat, and looked out at the window. Here he was joined by his companion; and a hurried conversation passed between them, in whispers at first, then louder as it became more earnest, though the child was unable to judge of its purport. She saw, however, that the men became angry with each other, and that the younger of the two seemed determined to carry his point against all the persuasions and arguments of the other. "I tell you-no, Tom," he said, aloud: "I won't have it; and if you try it on, we will see which is the best man, you or I." Mary did not hear more, for natural delicacy induced her to withdraw to a greater distance; and presently the men walked out into the farm-yard, where they continued their discussion. In about a quarter of an hour, the younger man returned alone. "I want to know your name," said he. Mary told him her name. 66 Ah, I shall not forget it. I am just come back to say good-bye to you, Mary." 66 Will you not wait till father comes home?" she asked. No, it is of no consequence. We may call again some day, perhaps, when he is at home. Good-bye, Mary;" and the man held out his hand. They shook hands and parted. "I wonder where Rover has been all this time," thought the child to herself when the men had disappeared; and she ran out to call him. But meeting with no response, she soon returned to the house, and passed the remainder of the afternoon in reading. On the return of the family, Mary told her parents of the visitors she had entertained; whereat they wondered: but it was not until late in the evening, when, to the great grief of all, but especially of Mary, poor Rover was found dead in the farm-yard, evidently poisoned, that a suspicion was entertained of the real character of these guests. "But they could not have been thieves and robbers, father," said the weeping child, when this startling solution of the mysterious visit was broached; "for if they poisoned poor Rover, they did not steal anything, did they?" No; they had stolen nothing; they had not attempted to rob the house, though, from the hint they dropped about W market, they were probably aware that the farmer had taken home a considerable sum of money on the previous evening. It was very mysterious, and very providential too, the pious farmer said; and there the matter ended, only, that thenceforth, it was thought prudent to leave a stronger Sunday guard at the farm than a child of twelve years old. It may be that a second visit was apprehended, but, if so, the apprehension was unfounded; for nothing more was, at that time, heard of the suspicious Sunday guests. THE COTTAGE DOOR. CHANGE OF ABODE. "God is his own interpreter." on the THERE are changes in village as well as in town life, but we are not so accustomed to them; and after pursuing “the noiseless tenor of our way for a happy season, we are apt to forget that it is written, "Because they have no changes, therefore they fear not God." It is, therefore, our wisdom as well as our peace to have our hearts "stayed Unchangeable One, that we may not be "afraid of evil tidings;" and it is part of the discipline his children need during their earthly education to learn that "we have no continuing city here." In "the secret place of the Most High," abiding under "the shadow of the Almighty," is the only tranquil refuge where "The changes that will surely come, We need not fear to see." I should have been glad of rain and clouds one lovely day, to excuse myself from taking my usual place in the garden chair; but I knew it was weak and foolish, and I tried to overcome the oppressive feeling. But it was no small trial to see those wagons lumbering past, containing the furniture of the best and most beloved friends we had in the neighbourhood, with whom for years we had taken sweet counsel, and walked in Christian fellowship. How the whole village would miss the manly character and good example of their friend and patron, the thoughtful sympathy of his wife, the active usefulness of their children. But it was their clear duty to go, for other claims called them to a very different locality; and the parting, as trying to them as to us, must be made. They came, not together, but one or two at a time, during that sad day, to say farewell. My sweet friend, Margaret, the eldest daughter, came alone and last. "Oh, Ruth," said she, "you will think of us on Sunday: no dear pastor to speak to us, no happy school class, no familiar faces round us; but all cold and dreary, without sympathy, or anything like the spiritual privileges to which from childhood we have been accustomed. I feel as if we were being uprooted from our natural place of growth and nourishment." |