opened his eyes, and seemed to catch the shadow n hers, for he curled up his lip with a pitiful, ved expression, very touching to behold. She ssured him with a smile, and began to sing,

"There is a land of pure delight."

e baby lay quietly, and soon fell asleep, and the eavy heart lay quiet too, for there was comfort for in that good old hymn.

LUCY sauntered listlessly along, and at last threw herself down upon the ground, at the foot of a tree. It was a lovely, quiet evening; the crickets hummed cheerfully around her, and the fresh, pure air was as full of life and cheer as they.

"I wish I was good!" said she. "I wish I was a Christian! I wish I could help being fretful and selfish. Oh! I do wish I could be a Christian! But it's no use. The more I try to be good, the worse I am. I do hate so to sew and to work; and I do love so to read and to study! Mother says the children are growing older; but so am I growing older, and not learning any thing, hardly. But it is wicked to fret about it, I know. Oh! I do wish 1 was a Christian!"

Silent as was the energetic desire, Lucy started as she heard an approaching footsten as if detected in

was her father. He sat down by her side, and
little time both were silent. At last he said:
Your mother has been telling me that you are
tly interrupted and hindered in your studies.
feels troubled about it, and so do I. But we
st try to keep up our courage, and hope for
ghter days."

"If mother could spare me, I should like to go
ay some where to school," returned Lucy. "There
a good school at H, and it would not cost
ach."

"Mother would spare you," he answered kindly;
out, my dear child, why not go to school here!
Thy leave home? Is it already distasteful to you!"
"No, indeed, father; but Miss Wheeler says,
here's no use in my coming to her any longer.
The says," she added, coloring, "I've learned all
ne can teach in a village school."

"You should have told me that," he answered.
"There was no need, at first: mother thought she
would manage it so as to give me time to study at
ome, and I thought it was going to be so nice!
But she has to interrupt me. She cannot help it.
And so I don't learn any thing at all."

will soon leave school," said her father.

"She's nearly that; but you know she got behind-hand by her long sickness. That's the reason I know more than she does."

"That's one reason," he answered, smiling.

"Well, father, when she leaves school, if you and mother could spare me to go to H, I would be very industrious, and I would wear very simple clothes, and very soon I could keep school myself."

"Dear child," said he, "I certainly will not refuse to consider the question, at least." He rose and walked slowly homeward. Lucy sat still, with a beating heart. She was full of that hunger and thirst after knowledge that would not be appeased, and for the moment, it almost consumed her. She did not see the big drops on her father's brow, as he revolved her proposal in his mind, nor hear the sighs that had forced them there.

"Mother," said he, as he entered the house, "Lucy says she has learned all Miss Wheeler can teach her."

"Yes," she answered, quietly, "I know it. Miss Wheeler told me so herself."

"But you did not tell me."

"You had cares enough already."

"Could we possibly send her to H, do you

me mother cast her eye about the room. Is there any thing we could sell?" thought she. You can't spare us," said the old chairs, as her fell upon them. "There are too few of us now." Where will you eat your dinner; how will you your ironing, if I go?" asked the pine table. "I must stay and rock the baby!" cried the dle, now appealed to "I've rocked all your bies for you, patiently; yes, I rocked you when u were a baby yourself. And now, would you n me away?"

She sighed a little; then her patient heart took urage, and her imagination ran into her bed-room, d looked in all her drawers to see what was

"Dear me!" it said, "what is there worth lookg at here! Old, patched shirts; baby-frocks and prons, faded and worn; that collar you've had wer since the flood; no body would take the gift of nem. And for pity's sake, what would you do ithout them?"

"You don't think of any way in which it could e done?" said the father, at last.

"No, not just yet. But perhaps I shall in time," he seid determined to look at the bright side of