Title: The divided money
Full Citation
Permanent Link: http://ufdc.ufl.edu/UF00027042/00001
 Material Information
Title: The divided money
Physical Description: 95, 16 p., 1 leaf of plates : ill. (some col.) ; 15 cm.
Language: English
Creator: Religious Tract Society (Great Britain) ( Publisher )
Unwin Brothers (Firm) ( Printer )
Gresham Press ( Printer )
Publisher: Religious Tract Society
Place of Publication: London
Manufacturer: Unwin Brothers, The Gresham Press
Publication Date: [1874?]
Subject: Christian life -- Juvenile fiction   ( lcsh )
Lost articles -- Juvenile fiction   ( lcsh )
Theft -- Juvenile fiction   ( lcsh )
Sick children -- Juvenile fiction   ( lcsh )
Repentance -- Juvenile fiction   ( lcsh )
Bldn -- 1874
Genre: novel   ( marcgt )
Spatial Coverage: England -- London
England -- Chillworth
General Note: Date of publication from inscription.
General Note: Frontispiece printed in colors.
General Note: Publisher's catalogue follows text.
Funding: Preservation and Access for American and British Children's Literature, 1870-1889 (NEH PA-50860-00).
 Record Information
Bibliographic ID: UF00027042
Volume ID: VID00001
Source Institution: University of Florida
Holding Location: Baldwin Library of Historical Children's Literature in the Department of Special Collections and Area Studies, George A. Smathers Libraries, University of Florida
Rights Management: All rights reserved, Board of Trustees of the University of Florida.
Resource Identifier: aleph - 002225418
notis - ALG5693
oclc - 60404837

Full Text


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N a neat, comfortable room of
a cottage in one of the lanes
of the village of Milton, a tidy-looking,
pleasant-faced woman was covering a
good-sized table with preparations for
tea. -The table stood near the open
door, for it was a warm, still July
evening: On one side of the room
was a cradle, in which an infant lay
mumbling a crust of bread between
its little toothless gums, while beside


it on the floor, playing with some toy,
her little sturdy legs projecting very
considerably beyond the tiny frock,
sat a plump, rosy chird of about four
years old. Though still herself little
more than a baby, it seemed her pro-
vince to attend to the other baby, who
kept her actively employed, for, tiring
of its crust, the honey on which it had
by this time sucked off, it was amusing
itself by continually throwing the same
as far as its strength admitted into the
room, whereupon little Polly would
scramble to her feet, and with untiring
good humour run again and again to
bring it to the baby.
Entering a field not far from the
cottage was a pretty, very neat-looking
girl of ten years of age, evidently on
her return from school, for she carried
a book and slate under her arm.
Springing down from a stile, she was


gaily pursuing her way along the foot-
path lying across the field, when a
voice called to her to stop.
It was not a pleasant-toned vice;
there was a sharp, unsubdued ring in
it that at once proclaimed the owner
to the young school-girl, who there-
upon very unwillingly stayed her steps.
You get along at a fine rate !" cried
the new-comer, panting violently, and
wiping her heated face as she also
jumped down from the stile. Why,
what are you in such a hurry for,
Lizzie Grove ?" she added, laughing.
"Have you heard your house is on
fire? or what ?"
Oh, don't say those things, Mar-
garet! I can't bear to hear you," replied
Lizzie, the colour rushing to her cheeks
at the mere mention of such an afflic-
tion. "I didn't know I was going
particularly fast-I always love to get


quick home, wherever I come from,
and I do it unthinking, I suppose."
"Oh! do you ?" said her companion,
staring at her; "well, that's more than
I do; my liking is quite the other side,
for I love nothing so much as to get
quick away, I do. Don't I wish I
could get away altogether? There's
not many of them would see my face
darkening the door again if ever that-
came about."
Margaret's whole appearance-reck-
less, dirty, and slatternly-was only
too sadly in keeping with these un-
happy sentiments; and yet she was
but one year older than Lizzie, and
not a plain or unpleasant-featured girl.
But why don't you like your home?"
Lizzie asked, gently. Now it was
greatly against her wish to be seen
thus in apparently close companionship
with a daughter of so disreputable a


family as the Gales; but her kind
heart would not let her betray that
such was her feeling, and she therefore
forced herself to appear to take an
interest in the talk. Are your father
and' mother unkind to you ?"
Oh, no," answered Margaret, care-
lessly; "they be nothing particular
one way or the other: father's very
well when he is sober, which he is not
more than two or three evenings a
week, maybe; and mother-why, she
lets us do just as we likes most whiles,
which is not being unkind neither, I
take it."
Well then, why do you dislike
your home so ?" persisted Lizzie.
"Oh, I don't know-it's a horrid
place somehow; it's all noise and
whirligig from morning till night.
You know there be such a lot of us-
I be the eldest of eight-and go where


I will about the house, I hear mother's
and all the others' voices a shouting at
each other, or something of that sort.
Often I be sick with headache, or
summat or other-for you wouldn't
think it, but for all I look so strong, I
am not; and the noise and racket and
altogether almost drives me mad some-
times, and far enough out of home, I
can tell you."
Oh, what's that ?" exclaimed Lizzie,
suddenly, and running forward as she
spoke. Almost at the same instant
Margaret also caught sight of some-
thing lying on the path at a little
distance before them, and, eager to
reach it first, rushed after Lizzie with
such impetuosity, that, coming in con-
tact with the latter as she stooped to
pick up what she now perceived to be
a purse, the two girls fell rolling over
each other on the grass.


"Oh-you shouldn't do that! 'twas
very rude of you!" panted Lizzie,
struggling to her feet, with a flushed
face, and still grasping the purse
tightly in her hand.
"I say, Lizzie, what have you got
there ? Whatever it be I've a right to
it just as much as you have, for I saw
it at the same moment you did," cried
Margaret, breathlessly, and pressing
forward, holding out her hand, with a
look and gesture that half threatened
a forcible obtaining of the disputed
property, if necessary.
No, Margaret, indeed you didn't;
* I saw it first-besides," continued the
young school-girl in a firm, grave tone,
*that for the moment wonderfully re-
pressed the violent spirit stirring up the
heart of the other, "you know we
neither of us have any right to a six-
pence of it; it doesn't belong to us,


and we must find out who it does
belong to."
"Why! what is it then-money ?"
rejoined Margaret, excitedly. Let's
see it, Lizzie, will you ? What's the
good of holding it behind your back ?
I won't snatch it away! I give you my
word, I won't-so let's see."
Lizzie, frightened and reluctant,
brought her hand forward, disclosing
a small leather purse, evidently full
of money. Margaret's every feature
sparkled wickedly at sight of this
tempting prize.
Look here, Lizzie; come and sit
on this bank a -minute. I have some-
thing to say to you." She spoke in a
low determined tone, and at the same
time catching hold of Lizzie Grove's
arm with an assumed fierceness she
did not really feel, pulled her to the
spot she named.


"Don't, Margaret, don't! I don't
want to sit down; let me go, or I'll
call father-you know our cottage is
just the other side of that hedge, and
he will hear me directly, he will."
"There, you hold your stupid noise,
do! and just sit comfortably down here.
I am not going to eat you up, purse
and all, so don't you go for to be such
a silly," replied Margaret, in a voice
both so reassuring and contemptuous,
that Lizzie, half ashamed of the fear
she had betrayed of a girl little more
than her own age, sat down, albeit
with a very unwilling, guarded ex-
pression in her fair gentle face, and
an additionally tight hold upon the
Now, look you, Lizzie Grove,"
commenced Margaret, with strong
resolution in her tone and manner,
"I saw that purse as soon as you,


and if so be you don't go halves with
me in what it holds, I'll take it all-
there now-and if I hear of your
telling of me, I'll make pretence I
want to find the owner, and give it
up at once, and swear you wished me
to share and share alike, but I wanted
to be honest, and wouldn't-there-
so now what are you going to do ?"
Margaret looked so lawless, and
altogether so capable and willing to
carry out her threat as she uttered
these words, that poor little Lizzie,
who had never been thus addressed
in her young life before, nor placed in
so singularly perplexing a situation,
felt utterly bewildered, and moreover
so subdued by the threatening gleam
in Margaret's -eyes, that she did not
venture to further withhold the purse
when the latter half forced it from her


Opening it, Margaret hurriedly
poured the contents into her lap.
There were a quantity of sovereigns,
and three bank-notes, and her whole
person trembled with excitement while
gazing down at the glittering heap of
gold-far exceeding anything the two
girls had ever conceived of before.
One, two, three, four," counted
Margaret, and at the same time
dexterously hiding one of the notes
(a ten-pound) and five of the sove-
reigns between the folds of her dress.
"Forty gold pounds and two ten-
pound bank-notes," she concluded;
"and look-here's thirty pounds for
you, and thirty for me."
Oh, Margaret, don't do that!
please please, don't entreated
Lizzie, earnestly.
Don't do what ? asked the other,
with angry impatience.


"Don't take it-don't keep it! It
will be very wicked to do so-indeed
it will. God will be so angry-father
said He would."
Nonsense, Lizzie! don't talk stuff!
Your father didn't know about it, so
how could he say so ?"
"Yes, he did--leastways, it seemed
he did when, the other evening, Jim
began talking about it."
There-don't talk more, Lizzie,"
interrupted Margaret, impatiently, "for
it's clear you don't know a bit what
'tis you be talking about. Jim! how
could Jim know about it days before
it happened ?"
Oh, I don't mean that Jim spoke
of our finding the purse, but he asked
just that-I mean, he asked father if a
body found any money-he even said
money-and kept it, would the doing
so be as wicked as breaking open a


box and stealing from it. And father
said, yes, that anybody wicked enough
to keep money or anything valuable
'they picked up, without trying or
wishing to find out who it belonged
to, would be bad enough, he feared,
to steal it from anywhere they had a
chance. And he said--"
Well-I wouldn't-there," inter-
rupted Margaret, indignantly; and I
don't call it stealing to take what one
finds lyingin the pathafore one. And
now listen to me, Lizzie; don't you
be a great silly about it, but just you
put your share by till you go away
somewhere for a bit. Why, you'll be
going into a situation before long-for
from all I have heard of your mother,
she ain't one to let the grass grow
under your feet-and then only think
what a lot of fine beautiful clothes you
can buy, and nice things to eat-and


none the wiser how you got them!
Won't that be prime!"
While Margaret's tongue thus ran
on, so did her fingers; the money was
divided, and throwing one portion into
Lizzie Grove's lap, she put the other
into the purse, saying she must carry
hers in something safe, or maybe she
should be dropping sovereigns all
along the road, as she had such away
to god, "And now I must be off; so
good-bye, Lizzie. If some one must
go shares in my luck, I am glad 'twas
you, for I always liked you better than
other girls; you are always civil and
nice, and I'd rather you had it than
any other."
Oh, Margaret don't take the
money!" pleaded the young girl
again, in quite an agony of distress;
"it's such a great lot. Think what
a loss it will be to them that dropped


it; and perhaps they be poor, and it
be all their savings. You will be very
sorry when it is all spent," she cried
out more earnestly, and standing up,
as Margaret, nodding and laughing,
began to walk quickly away in the
direction they had come. God will
make you sorry, Margaret-He'll be
sure to-"
Good-by!" bawled the reckless
Margaret from a distance. Mind
what I told you, and don't be a great
In a few minutes she disappeared
on the other side of the stile, and
Lizzie, grieved and bewildered, and
holding the money tightly clutched
up in her cotton frock, pursued her
way home.



IZZIE'S home was the pretty
cottage before mentioned, and
which corresponded so entirely with
the whole appearance of the young
school-girl, that her coming in to the
flower-garden in front seemed to at
once give the only finishing touch to
the little scene it had required.
"See here, mother! see what I
have got!" she cried, running to the
table, and carefully placing the money
upon it.
Poor Mrs. -Grove's comely face
flushed all over with surprise as she
"Why, Lizzie, where did this come
from ?"
"'Oh, it isn't ours, mother-how I


wish it were!" replied the child,
reading instantly the wistful feelings
of the parent's heart, and sorry for
'having excited them, merely to be
disappointed. Margaret Gale and I
found it in Farmer Baker's field," she
hastened to explain, and then briefly
detailed her unwilling companionship
with Margaret, and subsequent dis-
covery of the purse.
"Dear, dear that was very bad of
her-very bad," said Mrs. Grove,
shaking her head in grave astonish-
ment. I couldn't have thought such
a young thing as she could be so
wicked. No-it isn't ours indeed,
my child, and I'll put it up here till
father comes home. He'll know best
what to do about finding who it be-
longs to." Saying which, the good
woman placed the money in a plate
on the shelf.


"He'll be home soon," she con-
tinued, looking at the clock, which
was a quarter past six. Ah, there
they be ;" and her face brightened as
the welcome sound of the opening
garden gate and heavy steps approach-
ing the door met her watchful ear.
Dear father, I have something to
show you!" exclaimed Lizzie, bound-
ing forward, and affectionately catching
hold of the hand of an honest, decent-
looking labourer, who was followed by
two sturdy lads of eleven and thirteen
years of age, trudging up the garden
Hast thee, my little lass ?" replied
the father, with a kindly smile. "Well,
wait a bit; we shall be back in a
minute or two." His sons and him-
self then placed their tools in an
outhouse, and, having refreshed and
cleaned their hands and faces under


a pump in the rear of the cottage,
returned, and sat down to their cheer-
ful-looking table. Clean, orderly ways
were by the Groves anxiously im-
pressed upon their children, next to
lessons of truth and uprightness.
Lizzie's little history was soon again
told, and produced but one feeling
amongst the party assembled-sur-
prise, and indignant disapproval of
Margaret's conduct throughout, and
an earnest desire to restore what re-
mained of the money to the unfortu-
nate loser, whom each and all feelingly
sympathised with. Directly, therefore,
the tea was over, Samuel Grove, put-
ting the sovereigns and note in his
strong leather purse, went at once to
the vicar, the Rev. William Haynes,
accompanied by little Lizzie.
The vicar was walking in his garden
when they arrived, and there he re-


ceived them, and heard Grove's ac-
count-how his little maid saw a
purse lying before her, and she and
another lass, Madgy Gale no doubt
his reverence knew Madgy Gale?
Oh, yes, his reverence knew of the
whole family of Gales only too well,
as a grave assenting shake of his head
Yes, sir," responded Grove, his
look and tone fully agreeing with the
unspoken regretful opinion evidently
entertained of that as yet untameable
lot by the worthy clergyman. Yes,
sir;" and Grove continued his narra-
tive, and concluded with putting the
thirty pounds into Mr. Haynes' hand.
The latter, transferring it to his
purse, thanked and commended Grove
for his promptness in immediately in-
forming him on the subject, as no time,
he added, must be lost in not merely


finding the owner, but also in recover-
ing the other half of the sum, and, if
possible, saving Margaret Gale-per-
haps all her family-from the conse-
quences of a great sin.
Well, good evening to you, sir,"
said Grove, moving toward the gate.
" I am right glad to leave it with you.
My wife and I were not comfortable-
like till I did; for, says she, there be
no hands so wise and good as our
minister's, and he'll do the best about
it. So now it be all right."
I am much obliged for your and
your wife's good opinion of me, Grove;
and rest assured I will do my best to
always merit it. Good evening to you."
No fear of that, your reverence.
Good evening, sir."
Without a minute's unnecessary
delay, the clergyman set off for the
Gales' house.



HROUGH the fields and meadows,
and along the roads, Margaret
sped on her way, after leaving Lizzie
Grove. Her eyes and cheeks were
sparkling and flushed as they had
never been before, and her heart
throbbed, as with thrilling feelings
of wild delight she grasped the purse,
and thought of its contents. Forty-
five pounds!" she murmured. The
sum seemed exhaustless to this poor
girl, who had never before in her life
even seen at once as much as half the
amount, and to be herself the actual
possessor of the whole And now she
began to bethink her that, after all, it
was perhaps a mistake on her part to
have let Lizzie Grove keep any of it.


She was up to so little, that, ten
chances to one, she would, notwith-
standing all her (Margaret's) advice,
carry it to her mother; and Mrs.
Grove was just a woman to take it to
the police or to the clergyman, who,
would in their turn set to work to find
the lawful owner. Thus reasoning,
Macgaret saw the near danger impend-
ing over herself and her ill-gotten
gains; and Lizzie's warning, called out
so clearly and eagerly after her-" God
will make you sorry, Margaret-He'll
be sure to"-returned again and again
to her remembrance. A cloud came
over the brightness of the girl's spirits
as these thoughts assailed her, and she
kept repeating, He'll be sure to."
"Will He be sure to?" she questioned.
"But in what way will He do it ?"
Her steps flagged, as did her spirit,
at this point, and for a passing mo-


ment her soul harkened to the entreaty
of conscience "that now, when there
was yet time, she would turn back and
give up the money." Her movement
slackened into a walk slower and
"What stuff!" she cried presently,
and beginning once more to quicken
her pace. "Why, I declare I am
getting just such a silly as Lizzie
Grove! I don't care-there-come
what will, even if I am sent to prison !
I am sure I shall not be worse off
than I am now. There is such a riot
always going on at home, that maybe
prison is not the worst place to be in,
after all." Thus saying, and with a
strange laugh, good and bad feelings
striving for the mastery over her young
soul-a painful laugh, at once reckless,
bitter, and sorrowful she again com-
menced running rapidly.


Margaret in a few minutes entered
the single village street, a straight and
long one, and striking from the right
of which ran a small alley, terminating
in a timber-yard. Here a flock of
dirty, ill-dressed boys and girls were
at play of divers noisy kinds; and,
standing at the entrance into the yard,
Margaret called, in a loud, shrill voice,
that must have been heard at least half
over the village, "Bill! Bill! Billy!
come here!"
Billy, a short, fat, merry-faced lad of
eight years old, with thick, utterly
uncared-for curly black hair, roguish
bright eyes, and round, plump cheeks,
through whose colouring of dirt and
tan the roses flourished with a rich-
ness neither dirt nor tan could destroy,
was in the highest state of enjoyment
of a game of leapfrog. He both saw
and heard his sister; but, concluding


her presence there, as on some for-
mer occasions, threatened an end of
his amusement by-a summons home,
affected for some time not to hear
her; and not until Margaret wrath-
fully employed several angry terms,
strengthened by threats and an in-
creased shrillness of voice, did he
choose to answer.
Well, what dost thee want,
Madgy?" he asked, at last, in a half-
sulky, half-defiant tone.
I only want to speak to you-so
come here."
"Oh, I believe that! Don't thee
wish thee may catch me!" laughed
the urchin, turning to resume his play.
But I do, I tell you," screamed his
sister; "I want nothing else; so come
here quick, for I have no time to
"Call it out where thee be, then;


I ain't deaf," replied Billy, still sus-
That certainly seemed the simplest,
as also the easiest mode of proceeding;
but true it is that guilt makes cowards
of us all. The wicked flee when no
man pursueth ;" and Margaret felt
apprehensive of allowing any of the
youngsters before her to hear the
message she wished to send home, un-
important though in sound it was, and
though they were too young, she knew,
and excited by play, to trouble after-
wards to inquire concerning her words.
"I won't go home yet, Madgy, so
don't thee touch me," said Bill, coming
very unwillingly forward, and with
every appearance in his mischievous
face and figure of resisting all attempts
to overcome his inclinations.
"I don't want you to go home till
you choose," replied Margaret, ap-


preaching the boy, who stood on the
defensive, sharply watching her every
movement, and ready to tear away at
the slightest attempt to lay a hand on
him; but just you say this when you
do," she continued, lowering her voice
-" Tell them I shall not be home to-
night-nor, maybe, for many a night;
for I am going to cousin Bennett's."
The doubtful expression in Bill's
broad face of Margaret's honesty of
purpose towards him deepened con-
siderably at this unexpected announce-
ment, at so late an hour.
Oh, I'll tell 'em, don't'thee fear,"
he answered, jocosely, and that I
saw thee a-driving off in a coach and
six; so good-by." And with a loud
laugh he turned, and bounded away
before Madgy, who was casting about
in her mind what excuse she could
send home, could think of what to say.


Her cousin, Susan Bennett, a straw-
bonnet maker, in a small way of
business, lived in Birmingham, fifty
miles distant from Milton. Margaret
was in the habit during the year of
occasionally walking to this cousin,
making the journey in three days or
so; but she had always set off early
in the morning, to have a good many
hours of light before reaching the
wayside cottage where she passed
the night, its inhabitants being old
acquaintances of hers.
For a few minutes now she hesitated
what further to say or do; then, with
sudden resolve; quitted the alley, and
hastened away.
Let things all find their own feet,
and right themselves," she muttered,
recklessly; I won't trouble about
them-not I. I'll live to enjoy my-
self, that's what I'll do now, come


what may afterwards." But again
came down the cloud with Lizzie's
warning-" God will make you sorry,
Margaret-He'll be sure to;" and the
girl took to running-running now
from her own thoughts, nor stopped
till she reached the railway station
outside the village.


ARGARET was speeding on her
way in a third-class carriage to
Birmingham by the time Mr. Haynes
reached her mother's cottage. He
found the lower half of the door shut
and locked, and, looking over the top
into the low-roofed, but tolerably spa-
cious apartment, discovered that its
only occupants were four very dirty
ragged children, the eldest of whom,


a girl six years of age, and one of the
others, were amusing themselves by
throwing bits of wood and paper into
a large blazing fire. At the extreme
end of the room a baby lay fretting
and crying in a cradle, its dismal wail
-for the poor little thing was hungry,
and altogether miserable-being so
entirely unheeded by the others, that
it sadly enough proved how inured
and hardened they were to the un-
happy sound.
To his repeated inquiries of the
eldest girl, where was their mother
or their sister Margaret, Mr. Haynes
at first obtained no other answer than
a rude stare, finally a bewildered,
" Don't know;" and nothing more
could he elicit. Hearing the sound
of women's voices talking and laugh-
ing loudly some distance farther on,
he proceeded in that direction, and,


turning the corner of a cottage, found
himself amidst a group of five or
six slatternly-looking women clustered
about the door, some sitting on the
step, some standing, and here and
there one holding an infant. An
evidently surprised and disconcerted
feeling instantly possessed the party
at sight of the clergyman, whose reli-
gious teachings they, one and all,
knew themselves to be sinfully and
ungratefully indifferent to, it rarely
occurring, notwithstanding his untiring
efforts to induce -their attendance, that
any came to his ministry, or exerted
their mothers' influence to oblige their
children to do so.
So it was, therefore, that this little
hamlet, this offshoot, as it were, from
the village, contained in its small space
more matter of spiritual anxiety to the
worthy vicar than did all the rest of


his parish. They were a small com-
munity, whose means of livelihood
rendered them quite independent of
all other styles of work. Every'man
and boy was a brickmaker, an exten-
sive brickfield lying only a quarter
of a mile distant from their habita-
tions; while the isolated position of
the latter, placing them beyond sight
and knowledge of the more respect-
able portion of the Milton population,
unhappily favoured and encouraged all
the evil inclinations of the worst dis-
posed. Prominent even amongst the
most disorderly of this little colony-
prominent in idleness, disorder, and
utter neglect of every Christian duty,
was the Gale family. There was not
a mother amongst this community of
brickmakers who so carelessly left her
children to any fate that might betide
them as did Mrs. Gale.


She was not a bad-tempered wo-
man, nor otherwise unkind to them,
but seemed as perfectly indifferent
concerning their fate, morally and
physically, as though they had simply
been a flock of sparrows. Lounging
in and out of each other's cottages,
gossiping in the streets and at the
doors, was the great occupation of the
day amongst the wives and daughters
of the hamlet. The ceaseless exer-
tions of Mr. Haynes, notwithstanding
his many disappointments and morti-
fications, to secure the attendance of
at least a few of the children at the
day-school, had met with success
much beyond his expectations in the
case of Margaret Gale. For three
years she was each day so tolerably
punctual a scholar, that, being natur-
ally endowed with good abilities, she
had acquired a very fair amount of


knowledge. But this good behaviour
on the part of the child was principally
the result of a delicacy of health,
occasioned by early parental neglect,
and which made any place that was
quiet and orderly preferable to the
noise and continual confusion prevail-
ing throughout the brickmakers' ham-
let. As advancing years, however,
brought independence of feeling and
action, and Madgy acquired the dan-
gerous knowledge that there were
other pleasanter ways of avoiding
the dis luietudes of her home than by
going to school, her attendance at
the latter gradually dropped off, and
finally ceased altogether. Fortu-
nately, much good seed had in the
time been sown, and those who cared
for her real interests waited hopefully
for the results.
But to turn from this explanation.


"Good evening, Mrs. Gale," said
the vicar, after kindly greeting the
rest of the little party, and advancing
to a large, stout, good-humoured-look-
ing woman, who stood with one arm
akimbo, while with the other hand
she awkwardly endeavoured to partly
conceal her face by wiping her mouth
with her dirty apron. "I wish to
speak to your daughter Margaret.
Do you know where she is? Can
you bring her at once to me?"
Madgy, please your reverence ?
I haven't a notion where she is. I
haven't seen her since dinner," re-
plied the woman, in a loud, but not
disrespectful voice.
"I must see her this evening,"
persisted Mr. Haynes, anxiously.
" Have you any idea where she
may be? I will go myself to see,
if you can only tell me -or any of


you?" he added, looking at the
By the general expression (though
they all protested ignorance on the
point) that he saw come immediately
into the faces of those present, as the
earnestness of his manner excited
suspicion that Madgy Gale had been
committing some *flagrant fault, for
which he considered it his duty to
instantly reprove her, it was clear
that if any one of them could have
enlightened him as to her where-
abouts, they would not have done
"Perhaps she may be at home,"
suggested the mother, slinking away
as she spoke, though quite certain in
her own mind the girl was not there,
but anxious to escape from under the
-as it seemed to her-censuring eye
of their neglected minister.


I fear that's not likely," he replied;
"for I have but just come from your
cottage, and saw no one in it then
but some very young children playing
dangerously near the fire."
"Indeed!" said Mrs. Gale, hasten-
ing away. "They be sure to be at
mischief of some kind, if only left
a minute by themselves."
What's Madgy been a-doing, your
reverence ?" inquired one of the wo-
men, carelessly; but his reverence
deemed it prudent not to answer the
question, and wishing them all good
evening, followed Mrs. Gale. The
latter, concluding he would do so,
hurried on to be in time to conceal
from his observation any mischief or
misfortune that might have occurred
during her long absence-far longer
than this prodigal waster of hours had
the least conception of. Fortunately,


nothing particular had happened, and
she was in the act of hushing the
wailing baby in her arms as the vicar
At once informing the mother of
the cause of his visit, he earnestly
entreated her to use her utmost en-
deavours to induce Margaret to follow
the example of the Groves, and bring
the money to his house, to be by him
returned to the rightful owner, who,
without doubt, he said, would be sure
to reward her for her honesty.
It was some minutes before Mrs.
Gale, whose thoughts moved but
slowly, could recover from the state
of astonishment she was thrown into
by this account, exclaiming,
Well, to be sure! Only think
of them two a-finding all that lot of
money! Well, I do wish it had been me
that picked it up. But there---I never


was that lucky in my life. Good for-
tune never comes to me, it doesn't."
Mr. Haynes would have talked to
her reprovingly for this answer; but
he was too anxious to find her
daughter to lose more time at present.
So after a few further inquiries con-
cerning Margaret's usual places of
resort, he returned quickly to the
village, bethinking him sadly that
Mrs. Gale's look and tone, when ex-
pressing her regret at not being the
finder of the purse, did not promise
favourably for the restoration of the
money, should Madgy bring it home.
While proceeding along the street
from which Margaret had but two
hours before passed out so rapidly,
he was stopped upon hearing the
bell of the village-crier, followed by
"Lost." Then came an account of
the very purse which at that moment


was the subject of so much anxiety to
him. To his further perplexity, how-
ever, the announcement stated the
lost sum to have been seventy-five
pounds, not sixty, as declared by
Lizzie Grove. Which of the two
children, therefore, had kept the extra
fifteen pounds ? The proclamation
further offered a reward of-ten pounds
to any person bringing the same to
Haughton Hall, near Milton, or giving
such information as would lead to its
My readers, knowirig what the good
vicar did not- Margaret's hasty flight
from Milton- are of course prepared
for his lengthened search, ending, as it
did, in weariness and disappointment.
With great regret, and feeling in how
perilous a position the whole affair at
present rested, he returned at a late
hour to the vicarage.



ARLY after breakfast the next
morning the vicar again visited
the Moorfield hamlet, and heard
with surprise from Mrs. Gale that
Madgy had not yet returned home, nor
did they know anything about her, or
where she was. Now it was perfectly
clear to Mr. Haynes that the first part
of this information was correct, but
the second was not. His constant
intercourse with the poor as well as
the rich of his village, had given him
a clearness of insight into their many
phases of character that rendered it
extremely difficult to deceive him;
and if Mrs. Gale had herself confessed
to the fact, -he could not have felt
more convinced than he did that she


was well aware of her daughter's pre-
sent place of concealment. Whether
this professed ignorance was assumed,
however, to save the girl from punish-
ment, or to secure a portion of the
found money for herself, he could not
then tell; but decidedly it was for one
or the other purpose.
Do you know where your sister
is, my little man ?" he inquired, turn-
ing hopelessly from the mother's stolid,
indifferent face to little Bill, who, with
his hands thrust into his trousers'
pockets and his two feet wide apart,
had stood immovably staring up at
the tall figure of the vicar, with a half
amused, half mischievous expression
in his wide-open black eyes.
Oh, sir, how can he know?" in-
terposed the woman, hastily. He
don't know nothing about Madgy--
how could he ?"


Bill's features expanded into a
broad grin under the grave scrutiny
of his minister, and spinning round
on his heels, he dashed out of the
room, and out of the hamlet in a
few minutes; and thus ended all hope
in that quarter.
Again saddened and disappointed
-for the vicar was one who sorrowed
keenly over the sins of his flock-he
quitted Moorfield and walked to the
village, to see and converse with Lizzie
about the fifteen pounds. Calling her
to the outside, beyond hearing of her
school companions, he questioned, and
saw at once by her surprised, inno-
cent manner, and open, unhesitating
answers, that she had, as he from the
first believed, acted throughout with
unblemished honesty; and therefore
with Margaret alone lay the commit-
ment of this additional, and, in a


certain way, even more positive theft.
He then told Lizzie of the words of
the crier the evening before. "So
you see," he continued, "if Mar-
garet had acted honestly, she, as well
as you, would have had five pounds
to lawfully spend as she chose; but
now, as you can put the owner in the
way to recover perhaps the whole of
the lost sum, the full reward will be
legally earned by you."
Instead of satisfaction, an expres-
sion of great distress came into
the little girl's gentle face at these
"Oh, please, sir, I can't come
against poor Margaret !" she cried,
quite breathlessly. She might be
taken up, sir, and put into prison-
father said so; and she has always
been so kindlike to me, for all she
is a bit rude. I wouldn't touch the


money, sir. I don't want it-I should
hate it. Oh, I wouldn't touch it!"
But, my dear child, don't you see
that the really injured person cannot
be righted unless he is informed of
who has robbed him ?"-replied the
vicar, his liking for the little girl in-
creased tenfold by this proof of her
disinterested kindness of heart-" that
he must not only be informed, but
aided, if possible, in apprehending the
thief ?"
But, Mr. Haynes, shall I be
obliged to do that ?" panted Lizzie,
the distress in her face deepening,
and her eyes filling with terrified
tears, as for the first time she realized
the fearfully dangerous position her
disclosure of Margaret's name had
placed the latter-in. Oh, sir!- oh,
Mr. Haynes, please don't be angry,"
she went on; "but if I had only


known--if I--" Then suddenly she
stopped, remembering that the con-
fession she was about to make was
totally in opposition to all those lessons
taught her at school, and by the good
vicar -himself. Covering her eyes
with her hands, she sobbed, Mar-
garet never thought I'd tell of her like
that she didn't think it of me! -
oh, she didn't think it of me, I know."
Mr. Haynes, a grave, quiet man,
stood for a few minutes silently con-
templating the little weeping figure
before him. He knew it would be a
work of time to teach the warm-
hearted child to understand this, to
her, new phase of honour- the be-
trayal, so it seemed to her, of a trust-
ing friend perchance her ruin for
the pecuniary benefit of a passing
When at home this evening, Lizzie,


talk to your parents on this subject,"
resumed the vicar. I know of no
better-principled people than they are,
or any whose judgment or advice you
can more safely rely upon. And now,
for the present, good-bye." He softly
laid his hand on her shining head.
" God for ever guide and protect you,
my child, and keep you in the love
of our blessed and merciful Saviour!"
And so he went on his way to Haugh-
ton Hall.
Haughton Hall lay about two miles
distant from Milton. Its possessor,
Colonel Clare, a man of much wealth
and of a benevolent heart, was an old
friend of Mr. Haynes, who therefore
had no difficulty in at once obtain-
ing an interview, upon making his
name known.
The history of the finding the
purse was soon told, and with many


expressions of regret that a portion
only of the lost sum had been as
yet recovered, the vicar handed the
latter to the colonel, who, thanking
him, said,-
Well, but, Haynes, how can you
be quite sure that the little damsel
who has returned this thirty pounds
is really as honest as she seems, and
is not still in possession of all the rest,
or at least of the portion unaccounted
for-the fifteen pounds ?"
"I feel as sure of her as I do of
myself," replied the vicar, confidently;
" and if you knew her and her family
as I do, you would also. I am certain
that not one of them could be capable
of such an act of dishonesty."
Colonel Clare smiled. "What's
their name?"
"Grove Samuel Grove, as the
father is called."


Grove," repeated the old officer,
with brightening face. "Oh, that makes
the matter straight at once. I know
them well, and a more decent, honest
set do not exist. Sam Grove worked
a long time for me they lived near
here at that time, you know-and I
always found him the most straight-
forward, industrious fellow possible.
My wife and daughters, who were
greatly pleased with the rest of the
family, were very anxious to have
secured them as tenants on our estate,
but at that time I had no disengaged
cottage, nor the prospect of one. Oh,
yes, I do not wonder at your confidence
in any of the children of that family;
but who is the other girl -the run-
away thief?"
Ah, that I much wish not to tell
you. Of course, if you particularly
desire it, I will do so ; but at any rate


I should be very glad to wait awhile
longer- that is, until I have made
another effort to find her and recover
the money."
Do you not think that the police
could best, and in the speediest way,
effect that ?" rejoined the colonel,
thoughtfully, and at the same time
A pained expression came into the
good vicar's face. Do you think so ?
Do you wish that ?" he asked, anx-
"No, I don't wish it; but I can't
help thinking, Haynes, that of all
soul-destroying evils, nothing has
a worse effect than successful un-
punished first acts of depravity.
They are in my opinion as perilous
to the spirit as the unchecked com-
mencement of mortal diseases to the
body. But it is quite unnecessary my

saying this to you," added the colonel,
more quickly, "whose opinions I
know are the same as my own on that
subject, only your kinder and more
gentle nature shrinks from the putting
them into practice. You see I am by
profession a disciplinarian, to say no-
thing of my natural character, which
decidedly inclines that way."
I quite see the sense and justice
of what you say," replied Mr. Haynes,
thoughtfully; "and if I were only
sure her punishment would be of a
beneficial kind, I would gladly favour
any plan to bring it about."
Well, you know I am a magistrate,"
replied Colonel Clare. "The offence
has also been corhmitted upon myself,
who was the loser of the purse, and as
the girl is, you say, young, I have no
doubt I shall be able to secure an
awardment of punishment that may


perhaps prove of lasting benefit, by
removing her for a time from the evil
influence of her present associates.
Once catch her, and identification will
be easy enough, as Grove's daughter
was with her at the moment of finding
my purse.
The vicar shook his head, and
smiling dubiously, said, I suspect
the latter will be by far the most
difficult part to adjust." He then
narrated the particulars of his inter-
view that morning with Lizzie, and
her determined refusal of any award
for the conviction of her companion.
"She must be a noble-hearted
little girl, if she only acts up to those
sentiments," rejoined the colonel.
" But we shall see!"
Not to lose time, shall I bring her
to you this evening ?" suggested the
vicar. "You can then ascertain for


yourself how far you will be able to
depend on her assistance."
"Ah, yes, that will be a good plan
-thank you very much;" and after
some further conversation, the friends
parted, Mr. Haynes saying he should
meanwhile use his utmost endeavours
to discover in what direction the un-
happy young thief had betaken her-
self, or whether she was still concealed
in Milton.


s early that evening as circum-
stances allowed, the good vicar
drove Lizzie Grove in his gig to
Haughton Hall. The poor little girl
was full of fear at the prospect of the
coming interview, and her heart
throbbed with apprehension lest she


should find herself in some way com-
pelled to come against Margaret Gale,
and get her into prison. Once during
the drive she ventured timidly to ask
the vicar whether such might be the
case, but upon his telling her Colonel
Clare would without doubt be better
able to answer that question than -he
could, she did not presume to continue
the subject.
Arrived at the Hall, they were
ushered into the library, where in a
few minutes Colonel Clare joined
So you are the little girl who
honestly gave me back your portion
of the divided money ?" he began,
directly they were seated, and holding
out his hand to Lizzie, who came and
stood trembling before him, her gentle
face rapidly alternating from red to


Please sir, it wasn't mine; I had
no right to it," she answered, in a low,
explanatory tone, and looking doubt-
ful whether he understood the true
state of the case.
"You are quite correct, my child,
you had no right to it-no right what-
ever; nevertheless, you had what
dishonest people regard as the same
thing-in fact, in their eyes as the
best thing of the two-you had 'pos-
session.' It was an unfair possession,
certainly, but you both had it, and
you who have learned to love God
and obey His laws, you instantly used
your power to make all the restitution
you could; while the other girl, your
companion I do not yet know her
name"-Colonel Clare hesitated an
instant, with an inquiring expression,
but Lizzie gave him only a wide-open,
distressed look of her blue eyes for


answer, and he resumed "while the
other girl has disregarded every sense
of right, and wilfully robbed me--for
that is the true state of the case -- set
at defiance the commands of God and
man, and robbed me of a large sum
of money. Now, Lizzie," continued
the old officer, "will you answer
me a few questions? I do not say
answer truly, for that I feel convinced
you will, if you answer at all."
"Do you know where she is at
present ?"
No, sir, please, I don't," said the
little girl, with eager gladness at find-
ing the question one she could openly
reply to without compromising the
safety of Margaret.
"Have you any idea where it is
likely she might be ?"
No, sir, please, I have no idea."
Think a moment: has she to your


knowledge any friend or friends, or
relation, with whom she is intimate,
in any of the great manufacturing
towns, not very distant-Birmingham,
Manchester, and so on ?"
A sudden remembrance flashed
through Lizzie's mind-yes, the Bir-
-mingham cousin whom she. knew
Margaret often visited-the words of
the latter also to herself, to keep her
money until she, Lizzie, could go away
for a bit; yes, Margaret had gone off
to Birmingham to this cou in; she
had now no doubt on the point.
As these thoughts rushed to her
recollection, such a pale, frightened,
distressed expression came into her
face, that Colonel Clare's kind heart
was touched, and, with a reassuring
smile, he reminded her she was not
upon her oath, nor in any way bound
to answer a question she did not like;


but at the same time he pointed out
the injury it would be to the guilty
girl to succeed in her iniquity, and
to find that only pleasure and enjoy-
ment had resulted from its perpetra-
tion. Also he gently reminded her
that ten pounds should be hers, if the
remainder of the sum, or even a good
portion of it, were by her means even-
tually recovered; and she ought not,
he added, to overlook the advantage
which that money would be to herself
and family.
"Oh, please, sir, I don't care for the
money," pleaded Lizzie, "and neither
would father nor mother-not in that
way, I mean. Father was saying only
last night, sir, that if so be he found
anything of value himself, and when
he took it to them as lost it, if they
was well-to-do, and liked to reward
him for the bit of trouble not for


the giving back what wasn't his to
keep, but just for the bringing it to
them-he would take it and be thank-
ful; but he wouldn't take a sixpence,
if so be he was forced to tell of another,
to get back the lost thing that way.
And he said he shouldn't like his
children to do so neither."
Well, there, you see by that, my
dear child," replied the colonel, "your
worthy father, though he wouldn't
take money, would denounce the
guilty party, if necessary, for the re-
covery of the lost property I mean,
would help to bring them to justice."
The poor little girl could say no-
thing to this, and now, quite overcome
by the agitation, perplexity, and dis-
tress she had throughout been strug-
gling against, covered her face with
her arm, and burst into a violent flood
of tears. This at once settled the


matter with the good-natured colonel,
who, smiling and shrugging his
shoulders despairingly at the vicar,
leaned back in his chair, with the air
of a man half inclined to do nothing
more in the business, but allow it to
take its own course. He was the
more impelled to this inaction by now
feeling convinced his suspicions were
correct, and that the young thief had
gone off to some one of the great ma-
nufacturing towns, where his money
would in all probability be expended
long before the police could lay a
finger ,upon her.
Mr. Haynes was on the point of
suggesting that Lizzie should return
and have another talk with her father
on the subject, when Colonel Clare
rose and rang the bell. He would send
for his wife, he said, to come and give
her opinion on the affair.


In a few minutes Mrs. Clare, a kind-
looking elderly lady, entered the room.
Look here, my dear," exclaimed
her husband, abruptly. Here's a
puzzling case for you to set moving
again, for at present it is at a stand-
still." He then briefly explained the
circumstances, and asked what she
advised his doing perfectly well
knowing in his own heart what that
advice would be.
The old lady contemplated the
little trembling, weeping form before
her, with very kind, compassionate
eyes, and laying her hand soothingly
on the child's shoulder, drew her to
her side, as she sat down and pro-
ceeded to ask sundry questions of the
vicar regarding the Grove family.
"Your account of them quite con-
firms my former opinion," observed
Mrs. Clare, presently. "They were


poor people whom my daughters and
self always took much interest in."
Then, turning to her husband, she said
she quite understood Lizzie's feeling,
and her fear lest she should get her
schoolfellow into prison, and that they
must talk the matter quietly over to-
Poor little Lizzie was inexpressibly
comforted from the first by the kindly
presence of this Christian lady, and
great was her further relief at hearing
these words.
And now the bell was rung for cake
and fruit, of which Mrs. Clare made up
"a little basket full, not only for Lizzie,
but for her old friends-she graciously
said-Mr. and Mrs. Grove. In a few
-minutes more the good vicar and his
young companion were again on their
way to the village of Milton, the load
of oppressive apprehension lifted from


the child's heart, and her light spirit
again free and happy as it was wont
to be.


YEAR has passed-since the events
we have narrated a year of
great advantage and change to the
poor Groves.
No further attempts were made on
the part of the Clares to recover the
lost forty-five pounds; but the good
vicar for long after prosecuted a vigi-
lant search, in hopes of finding the
runaway Margaret, and bringing her
to repentance, if not to justice. He
even went to Birmingham, to the
afore-mentioned cousin's house-un-
successfully, however, the latter pro-
testing she had not, to use her own


words, set eyes on Margaret Gale
for the last year !"
One morning, a month following
Lizzie's memorable visit to Haughton
Hall, Mrs. Clare drove to the Groves'
cottage quite unexpectedly to its
humble inmates-to propose to the
poor mother that she and her family
should, as soon as possible, become
tenants on her husband's estate.
" The move would be one greatly to
their advantage," the amiable lady
said. "Samuel Grove would be in-
stalled as permanent under-gardener,
and in rent-free possession of a cot-
tage. The gardens were very large,
and his sons, whom the colonel knew
to be particularly steady, well-con-
ducted lads, would, if their father liked,
be engaged to work under him until
old enough to earn higher wages."
Although it was the early afternoon,


and Mrs. Grove was washing her hus-
band's and sons' shirts, no disorder,
dirt, or preventable wet were to be
seen, either within or without the cot-
tage. The baby, clean, comfortable,
and happy, was lying in the cradle,
cooing and kicking, and throwing its
little dimpled feet and arms about;
and when, weary of this unshared-in
sport, it would utter a short, impatient
complaint, the four-year old baby im-
mediately forsook her own private
play, and tottering to the side ,of the
cradle, did her small utmost to amuse
her infantine charge, and set it off again
.or a time kicking and cooing. There
was the presence of a soothing, quiet
contentment, an orderly peacefulness
about this simple abode which particu-
larly attracted and pleased Mrs. Clare
as she entered, and which made her
doubly rejoice at the thought of her


mission. As might be supposed, the
poor hard-working mother, whose
principal anxiety was always to secure
the hard-earned half-yearly payment
for their cottage, was delighted beyond
her power to express at the brilliant
prospect thus suddenly opened up to
them-their house free of rent, and a
certainty of good work, not over hard,
like that her kind, excellent husband
and dutiful sons often had now.
As she afterwards told her husband,
she was that took a back, she couldn't
speak, she couldn't; she feared she
must have seemed like a savage, she
I hope you'll like my proposal ?"
said Mrs. Clare, a little anxiously;
" and that it will be convenient to your
husband and self to accept it ?"
"Like it, my lady I can't speak for
the gladness in my heart. Oh, madam,


how kind of you to think of us -and
the master God bless him!" She
spoke breathlessly, and her tears so
filled her grateful eyes, she was obliged
to constantly apply her apron to them
-a neat, tidy apron it was, too, despite
all her hard work.
So all was settled arrangements
made without any expense to the poor
Groves; and henceforth they became
the tenants of a neat little cottage, of
convenient size, however, for all their
requirements, just without the walls of
the large vegetable and fruit gardens
the father and his sons would have
to work in. Lizzie attended another
school, belonging exclusively to the
Clares, who had established it on their
property; and the young ladies and
"their mother frequently visited it, and
inspected the improvement and gene-
ral manners and conduct of the girls.


There was also a boys' school without
the estate, which William and Harry,
Lizzie's brothers, went to every Sun-
day. Well, as we said, a year had
passed away since the momentous
finding of the purse, and during all
that time nothing had yet been heard
by any one but her own family of
Margaret Gale.


IT was the beginning of the
second year, in the month of
July, that Lizzie one day met.an old
acquaintance, Sarah Green, who told
her Margaret had returned to Moor-
field hamlet more than a month, and
was very ill-so ill, the girl went on to
say, she did not think she had once
left her bed since coming home.


What was the matter 'with her?
Lizzie asked, feeling truly sorry for
poor reckless Margaret.
That, Sarah did not know exactly.
So many things had been said about
her, there was no telling what to
believe, or what not. Some people
declared she was dying of consump-
tion; others, that she had met a
dreadful accident, and broke her arm
or leg; and others, again, that she
had got a fever, which was killing her
by slow degrees. "And, oh, I can't
memberr the half they say," con-
tinued Lizzie's informant; "but the
long and the short of it all is, she is
very ill of something, if she is not just
dying; and Parson Haynes has gone
several times to the house to see her,
and can't."
"Can't, Sarah? Why not ?" in-
quired Lizzie, in surprise.


"Because they won't let him in.
Madgy won't see him."
"How strange!" sighed Lizzie.
"And he such a good, kind gentle-
man, and always so good to Madgy,
he was, when she used to go to
I say, Lizzie, what a lucky lot you
and yours be!" interposed Sarah.
"And I was told it all came of your
giving back a big purse of money you
found to Colonel Clare. Well, for
sure, some folks seem born to luck,
they do."
But don't you see, Sally, luck had
really nothing to do with it? If I
had been dishonest, and kept the
money, where would our luck be
then ?"
But it isn't everybody has the luck
to find a purse of money," retorted

Father says it is just the good or
bad use everybody makes of the ways
and means God puts into their hands
that brings them what some folks call
good or bad luck," replied Lizzie;
" and there's no such thing as chance
luck, he says. Doesn't the Bible say
that God works everything together
for good to them who love Him ?
And the Bible is never wrong; for in
one way or other, father says, sooner
or later, it's sure to be so."
We must here observe that it was
unknown to any but the vicar and the
Groves that Margaret had absconded
with Colonel Clare's money. As the
girl could not be found, Mr. Haynes
feared that if she was publicly spoken
of as a thief, she might never again
return to her home, and thereby
become utterly lost and ruined.
"Well, you and yours be a proof of


the truth of your words, if no one else
is," replied Sarah; and I have been
three years in service now,.and must
confess that I always see that the
honest ones are by far the happiest,
and can be sure of good places any
day, and keep them, too; while the
dishonest ones are always unhappy,
and for ever changing their situa-
A week after the foregoing conver-
sation Lizzie received a message that
surprised her greatly--nothing less
than an earnest request from Mar-
garet Gale that she would come and
see her. This petition was written in
a good round hand by Madgy herself
on a dirty scrap of paper, and brought
by little Bill, who twisted it up and
threw it in at the Groves' cottage door
in so uncivilised and wild a manner,
scampering away immediately after,


that it left them all doubtful whether
more than a hoax was intended.
Something, however, of brief, grave
melancholy in the style of the request,
inclined Lizzie to believe it genuine;
and, with her mother's consent, and
accompanied by Harry, she set off the
next evening after school for Moorfield
They found Gale sitting outside the
cottage door with a friend, smoking a
pipe, and such a hubbub and confusion
prevailing in the kitchen, as instantly
impressed Lizzie with the feeling that
the noisy road without was far pre-
ferable. Five children, from three to
seven years of age, were scampering
about, squabbling with each other and
clamouring for their tea, which Mrs.
Gale, wholly regardless of their noisy
demands, was leisurely preparing.
Every now and then, however, she


would suspend operations, to scream
at the top of her voice to some more
than usually outrageous child, often
strengthening her revilings by hard
cuffs and still harder epithets.
Lizzie, terrified by scenes and sounds
so strange to her, shrank back against
Harry, and would in all probability.
have run away, had not Mrs. Gale, at
that instant seeing them, come forward
to receive and at once take her upstairs
to Margaret.
In an ill-furnished, and to the last
degree comfortless room, still scattered
over with the unsettled, untidy evi-
dences of several young sleepers inha-
biting it, lay the sick girl. There was
another bedstead in the room beside
her own, and also make-up bedding
on the floor in a corner, both in the
wildest state of disorder, as though
the occupants had indulged in an un-


restrained game of play previous to
dressing in the morning. Lizzie natu-
rally expected Margaret to look ill;
but anything so mournfully changed
from her former self, the little girl
was utterly unprepared for. Her face
was white and wasted, and her whole
form shrunk to half its original size,
while her reckless, careless expression,
was displaced by. one of pain and
Oh, Lizzie, I am so glad to see
you," she exclaimed, in a weak, trem-
bling voice, holding out her thin hand,
which the former clasped warmly in
both hers. I so feared they wouldn't
maybe let you come," she went on.
"And I have been so ill!-and oh, so
I am now, for the matter of that. I
see you are sorry for poor me, Lizzie.
You was always a kind-hearted, good
little thing, you was." The sick girl


spoke sadly, sinking back wearily on
her pillow as she concluded.
Lizzie, whose gentle, pitying face
had been struggling hard to conceal
the feelings of pained surprise that
filled her at sight of Margaret, was so
overcome by these words, she could
no longer control herself, and sitting
down, laid her soft face on the girl's
hand, and burst into an agony of tears.
Poor Madgy, who was very weak,
instantly joined her, and for some
minutes they silently wept together.
Presently, remembering that this
was not good for Margaret in her
suffering state, Lizzie with a deter-
mined effort restrained her agitation.
" Oh, don't cry, Margaret !" she said;
"it will hurt you. Please try not to.
It was so wrong of me to set you off
-but-but I couldn't help it, I was
so sorry. I am so sorry to see you


like this. How did you get so, Mar-
garet ? What made you so ?"
It all came of that money-that
horrid, horrid money !" replied the
sick girl, still crying bitterly. Ah,
Lizzie, how many's the time your
words have come back to my mind!
Don't you recollect calling them out
to me ?-' Don't take it, Margaret!-
God will be sure to make you sorry.'
And He has- over and over again
He has-till I have almost wished
myself dead."
Oh, don't you say that, Madgy!"
sobbed her companion. I can't bear
to hear you -it isn't right it isn't
right, indeed."
If I was only half as good as you
are, Lizzie, I feel I should be happier,"
resumed Madgy, sorrowfully. But I
am very wicked-I know I am very,
very wicked. Well, this was how it


all happened. When I left you that
evening-ah, me how strong and well
I was then to what I am now, and
how happy, for I thought I held in my
hand the power of no end of pleasure
and plenty plenty of feasting, and
fun, and fine dress. Well, away I
went to Sukey Bennett. Wasn't she
right glad when I showed her the
money! I told her how much we had
found, and all the rest of it, and that
she mustn't say I was with her if any
one came after me; and she said, Oh
no; catch me at it!' "
Oh, what a wicked woman she
must be !" interposed Lizzie, with an
amazed, shocked look. "And she is
so much older than youare !"
Well, she promised everything,"
continued Margaret, and the next
evening she and I went off to some
distant gardens, where there was all


sorts of fun going on, and we didn't
come home till quite late; and every
evening we had some pleasure or
other. But it was only after the work
of the day was over, for Sukey and
I agreed not to be wasteful of the
money; and, moreover, Sukey couldn't
leave her business, so we worked all
day (for I helped her), and were out
all the evening, and late at night often.
Little fit we were for work, I can tell
you. Over and over again, when I
felt miserable, I thought of your words
- that God would make me sorry.
Well, somehow- I can't tell how it
was-I didn't enjoy myself half as
much as I expected; things weren't
by. a deal near so pleasant as I thought
they would be, and I saw they weren't
to Sukey either, for we were both
always so tired, and headache, and
sometimes by evening I was too sick


Sto go where we had intended. Oh,
my! wasn't Sukey in a nice temper
when that was the case! I used to
think of you then I did indeed. I
thought how gentle and kind you used
to be to me when often I was ill at
school; and I began to wish to my
heart I had taken your advice, and
given back the money. But there, I
felt it was all too late now to be sorry;
and if it hadn't been that the minister
left word with Sukey, in case I came
to her, that no one but himself and the
Groves knew, or ever should know, of
how I had acted, I could never again
have come home-never."
Lizzie's eyes filled with tears. Mar-
garet put her arm round her, and
kissed her.
I never see any face so sweet and
pleasant as yours," murmured the
sick girl; it does me good to look at
6 ';


you. But I am getting tired," she
added, wearily, "and I hate the
thoughts of all that's past, so I'll
finish my story quick.
Well, I had been with Cousin
Susan nearly two months, and we had
so managed our money, together with
what she could add to it, that there
was still a bit left. To do something
first-rate with this last sum was what
we now turned over in our minds, and
so we decided to get our friends to-
gether and have a picnic. The morn-
ing was bright and beautiful when we
set off; there was a lot of us-three
boats full and each set brought
plenty to eat and drink, so altogether
there was every promise, I said several
times, of our having a pleasant day.
And so we had at first, but it came
on to rain. I took a chill, which
brought on a fever, and I was laid up


for a long time, very ill. When I was
beginning to mend I was visited by a
city missionary, they called him, who
talked with me and prayed with me.
If I felt miserable before, at times, I
felt ten times more miserable now.
Seeing me look so unhappy, he asked
me one day when we were alone if
there was anything upon my mind
I told him how wicked I had. been.
I said I could not pray, and could not
feel happy; that I was too wicked for
God to hear me.
He looked hard at me. 'Too
wicked ? Why, child, the prayers
of the penitent sinner are just the
prayers He loves to hear. Ah, it
would have-been bad for me, and the
like of me, if God did things in that
way. No, don't you think that; go
to Him all the same. All the same ?
all the more, say I. Doesn't the Bible


tell even the greatest of sinners to
repent and come to God ? Why, does
not our blessed Saviour Himself say
that He came not to call the righteous,
but sinners to repentance ? Yes, He
tells us that God so loved the world
that He gave His only-begotten Son,
that whosoever believeth on Him
should not perish, but have everlast-
ing life. Again He says, Come unto
Me, all ye that labour and are heavy
laden, and I will give you rest; and
He has promised the gift of His
Holy Spirit, to convince us of sin, and
righteousness, and judgment to come,
and to bring us to repentance, to holi-
ness, and heaven.'
"So the good old man talked on,
and said a deal more, which I remem-
ber as if spoken but yesterday. I
really believe it helped, at that time,
to keep me from going right away out


of my mind, and I told him so when
wishing him good-bye at parting. I
had been ill six weeks, hardly able
to move, and nearly dying several
"Was your cousin kind to you ?"
asked Lizzie.
Kind ? oh, no! If it hadn't been
for poor Molly, her girl of all work, I
shouldn't be here to tell you this. She
scarce ever came near me, and was
angry at my keeping so ill. But for
her fear of the doctor, who said it
might kill me, she would at once have
sent me to the hospital. Well, at last
I was able to leave my room, and
to crawl downstairs; but as I couldn't
abide the thought of going home, I
proposed to Susan that I should work
for her at the bonnet business-which
I pretty well understood-for a year,
for only my keep, and then go into


service as housemaid or something
of that kind. At present I was too
young, I thought, and felt too weak
to do hard work.
Wx ll, she was glad enough at the
arrangement, and hard enough she
kept me at work, I can tell you.
However, the consequence of that
was, she didn't make the gain out of
me she hoped and expected, for I
often became ill again-too ill to work
for a week or more, sometimes, or to
even hold up my head. By the end
of the year it was clear my health
was quite broken up, ahd Susan Ben-
nett declared she wouldn't be cum-
bered with me any longer, and wrote
to father to bring me home. This he
did at once, and more kind-like-poor
father! than I ever thought he'd
have been. And there, Lizzie," con-
cluded the sick girl, sighing wearily,


"I have told you all now-I have
nothing more to say."
But, Margaret, what does the doc-
tor say? Does he think you won't
get well again ?" asked her friend,
No, he don't say that, exactly-
he doesn't seem to know what to say,
but I almost think he thinks it. I am
so weak, you see, and feel as though I
had almost lost, or was losing, the
use of my limbs. Try and come often
to see me, and to read the Bible to me,
won't you, Lizzie ? I have no one I
care to speak to, and the very sight of
your face does me good, as I say."
Lizzie promised, and kept her pro-
mise faithfully.



IHREE months have passed since
the interview just narrated be-
tween Margaret and Lizzie. Mean.
while the former, blessed with youth
and a good constitution, slowly strug-
gled again into a state of partial health,
and was once more able to come down-
stairs. But there, the ceaseless noise
and discomfort that prevailed was, in
her present weak, irritable state, so
unendurable to the sick girl, that she
was fain to return for refuge to the
comparative qui-et of her own room,
preferring that, despite its desolate-
ness and solitude. Full of good re-
solves, however, and determined, with
God's help, if restored to health, to
live quite a different life to that she


had hitherto led, Margaret asked her
mother, who was nothing loth to have
the trouble taken off her neglectful
hands, to give her all her young
brothers' and sisters' clothes to mend
and keep in order. This was io
light undertaking, and such unvaried
labour and continual confinement
tended greatly to retard her recovery.
The sight of her still white, spiritless
face, and wasted form was matter of
much distress to the tender-hearted
Lizzie, and finding that nothing she
could say made any impression on
Mrs. Gale, who considered Madgy, as
she said, doing wonderfully well, she
spoke to the vicar, and begged him to
interfere in some way; and so this
came about.
One evening Lizzie, to her extreme
joy, found her poor friend's face
brightened with hope and happiness


of a sweet Lnd pleasant kind it had
never worn before.
"0 Lizzie!" she exclaimed, eagerly,
"shut the door, and come and sit
down and hearken to the news I have
to tell you." Margaret then said that
she was to go and stay for a time in
the vicarage, helping the old house-
keeper, Mrs. Cartwright, to the best
of her power, until sufficiently re-
-covered to undertake a more active
and profitable situation elsewhere.
Dear\Margaret, how glad I am!"
rejoined Lizzie, her soft eyes sparkling
with tears of sympathy.
But, Lizzie, isn't it curious how
things make one's feeling change
Think of my being so joyful about
that which, little more than a year
back, I should have run far enough
away from as a downright affliction
--the being servant to Mrs. Cart-,


wright, who, as you know, is so reli-
gious and particular. And now, her
being both these is just what I like.
Isn't it strange ?"
Oh, yes," responded Lizzie; "and
she's so good-tempered and kind with
it. Dear Madgy, you are indeed
fortunate- thank God for it. I am
so glad, for at present you want
change and care sadly."
Lizzie's next visit, the week follow-
ing, was to the vicarage, and pleasant
it was to see, even in the few days
she had been there, how improved
poor Margaret's appearance, manners,
and general expression were. Nor, as
time advanced, did any disappoint-
ment cloud the hopes and expecta-
tions of the excellent Mr. Haynes, in
the case of either of these village
They are now quite young women.


Lizzie Grove, in whom, after the affair
of the purse, the Miss Glares took the
warmest interest, was taught to fill
the situation of lady's-maid to them-
selves, and is now more than realising
their fullest expectations, by her con-
stant efforts to please, her honesty,
piety, and good-temper. When Colo-
nel Clare heard of all that had hap-
pened, the loss of the money never
caused him the least vexation. You
know, Mr. Haynes," he one day said
to the worthy vicar, it is a small sum
to have been instrumental in saving a
soul! Good has truly been brought
out of evil ; and I only hope the good
will prove abiding,;with God's blessing
on your earnest labours." Margaret
Gale is housemaid in the vicarage.
Good Mrs. Cartwright became so
sincerely attached to the poor sick
girl, she could not bear to part with


her; and she also gives perfect satis-
faction and contentment to her ge-
nerous benefactors. Her health is
greatly improved, but still very deli-
cate, and she is often a severe sufferer.
To the last hour of her life-and she
knows it, and submits with humble,
and yet grateful resignation-she will
bear with her painful, yet proftable,
because humbling, reminders of the


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