"She is a waif," he replied, laughing. "We have deferred our fishing expedition, by Dixon's advice. He warned us that there would be a squall."

"And I am heartily glad to see you return," rejoined Mrs. Dayne. "I have been out at least a dozen times to look at the sky; it threatens a heavy storm."

"We are hungry, mother; and this little girl is half-famished. Let us go indoors, and Miss Annie Elderwood will tell you the story of her misfortunes."

We entered the low passage, and the lady led me at once to her bedchamber. It was a little room, with a small window shadowed by evergreens; and to me it seemed cool, and fresh, and dim-a sort of bower. Then, while I answered Mrs. Dayne's questions, her gentle hands divested me of my hat and cape, and smoothed my tangled curls.

"You must have been very much frightened, my child?" she said.

"Yes," I answered, shuddering at the remembrance of my desolation. "I thought I should never see my home again."

"You will see it to-morrow, I hope," rejoined Mrs. Dayne.

"I was very

"I had often

My tears began to flow at this. disobedient," I said, in a broken voice. been forbidden to walk upon the logs, for many little children have been drowned there. If I had gone home straight from school, I shouldn't have seen the pretty boat, nor have got into it; and then silly Dan could not have cut me adrift."

"Our lives are made up of 'ifs,'" remarked the lady, speaking rather to herself than to me. "Do not cry, my dear," she added, kissing me. "Your trouble will soon be over, and it has taught you a lesson. But you must not forget to thank God for having taken care of you."

"I asked Him to help me," I whispered, "and He did. He sent the wherry, and they took me on board."

"Then you have been taught to pray," said Mrs. Dayne; and she kissed me again with greater tenderness. "We love the Saviour, Annie, my son and I. Do you and your friends love Him too?"

"Nurse loves Him," I answered, "and so do I. But I am not quite so sure about uncle."

She dismissed the subject, and led me out of the chamber, asking, as we went, if I did not think her cottage was something like a doll's house.

In a very small parlour I found the two young men awaiting our coming. Tea was spread on a round table which was laden with homely delicacies. Mrs. Dayne seated herself at the tray, and Norman liberally supplied me with cake and bread-and-butter. Meanwhile the wind rose higher and higher, moaning and shrieking around the cottage, and tossing the green boughs of the evergreens against the window.

"I should like to get a glimpse of the sea, now," said Mr. Wayvern. "I think I will run down to the creek by-and-by.”

"You must prepare for a thorough drenching, if you go," remarked Mrs. Dayne; and several large

rain-drops splashed heavily upon the panes as she spoke.

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"That's a gale!" cried her son. Come, mother, let us go into the drawing-room; it is more cheerful there."

The drawing-room looked out upon the garden. I could see the shrubs swaying wildly to and fro, and the currant bushes beaten down before the wind. Who would have thought that the sweet summer day would have had such a stormy ending!

"You will not study to-night, Dayne; you could not read or write calmly in such a hurricane as this," said Wayvern.

"I don't think it will last long; these violent storms are generally short-lived," replied his friend. "Like a passionate child, it will exhaust itself by its own vehemence."

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'The same thing may be said of children of a larger growth,"" remarked Mr. Wayvern. 'Fanaticism, enthusiasm-these are mental tempests that rave for awhile, and then subside."

"I am sorry for your flowers, mother," said Mr. Dayne. "The wind is using them roughly. And already some of your roses have escaped from their fastenings."

"I must ask Barker, to-morrow, to come and repair damages," she answered. "He understands gardening very well."

"That is the man who derived such comfort from the sufferings of the Malagasy," said Mr. Wayvern, laughing. 'Your son has been lending him a

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missionary book, Mrs. Dayne. Norman is more than half a parson already, isn't he?"

"His heart is in his work," responded the widow, quietly.

"Well, Mrs. Dayne, I really think it a great pity that he should have chosen such a poor profession. With his talents and his ready wit, he might have made a fortune at the bar. Now he will be wastedthrown away as a country curate or a city missionary. What scope is there for his intellect in the sphere he will occupy?".

"Norman believes that he is specially called by God to preach His gospel," replied Mrs. Dayne. "How can any gifts be wasted if they are spent in His service?"

"I hold that a man should do the best that he can for himself," averred Wayvern.

"You and I differ in our notions of what is 'best,' Charles," said Dayne, smiling; "and I own, frankly, that I am not looking for any great amount of prosperity or distinction in this present life. Like our Master, we must say, 'our kingdom is not of this world,' if we would inherit that kingdom prepared for us before the foundations of the earth were laid."

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There has always been a kind of infatuation among those who hold your faith," resumed his friend. "From the earliest times, men and women have recklessly flung away their lives and possessions for the sake of their creed. Self-sacrifice is your motto, is it not? But if after all the suffering, and

toiling, and striving, there should be no recompense hereafter; what then?"

"We know in Whom we have believed," answered Norman, "and we are quite confident that all His promises will be performed. But even if there were no other world than this, our religion has not been in vain. Is there any other creed that has done so much for men and women? Has any other faith exerted such a purifying influence as ours?"

"It is a beautiful faith, I admit," returned Wayvern, musingly.

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"Ah, Charles," said his companion, speaking with deep earnestness, "to you it is only as a 'lovely song.' The story of our Lord's life and death is a marvellous tale, that moves you by its pathos; the history of His church interests you, and even enlists your sympathies. But there is in you no desire to become a member of Christ's mystical body; no readiness to take up your cross and follow Him."

"And yet, Norman," replied Wayvern, in a mournful tone, "there are times when I long to be a true believer in your Saviour. I am restless, and ill at ease; there are clouds hanging over my life; and I need comfort, and help, and guidance. I take my own course-indulge my own fancies; and yet I am not satisfied."

"Mother," said Norman Dayne, "will you sing to Wayvern that favourite hymn of mine ?"

Mrs. Dayne seated herself at the piano, and sang in a sweet, clear voice, and with a distinct utterance