Lois Mead, or, The adopted daughter

Material Information

Lois Mead, or, The adopted daughter
Series Title:
Good girl's library
Added title page title:
The Adopted daughter
Richardson, James H. ( Engraver )
Orr, Nathaniel ( Engraver )
Sheldon & Company (New York, N.Y.) ( Publisher )
Place of Publication:
New York
Sheldon & Company
Publication Date:
Copyright Date:
Physical Description:
105, [2] p., [5] leaves of plates : ill. ; 16 cm.


Subjects / Keywords:
Christian life -- Juvenile fiction ( lcsh )
Adopted children -- Juvenile fiction ( lcsh )
Charity -- Juvenile fiction ( lcsh )
Temptation -- Juvenile fiction ( lcsh )
Pride and vanity -- Juvenile fiction ( lcsh )
Social classes -- Juvenile fiction ( lcsh )
Boredom -- Juvenile fiction ( lcsh )
Publishers' catalogues -- 1871 ( rbgenr )
Bldn -- 1871
Publishers' catalogues ( rbgenr )
novel ( marcgt )
Spatial Coverage:
United States -- New York -- New York
Target Audience:
juvenile ( marctarget )


General Note:
Some illustrations engraved by Richardson and some by N. Orr.
General Note:
Publisher's catalogue follows text.
Preservation and Access for American and British Children's Literature, 1870-1889 (NEH PA-50860-00).

Record Information

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:
This item is presumed to be in the public domain. The University of Florida George A. Smathers Libraries respect the intellectual property rights of others and do not claim any copyright interest in this item. Users of this work have responsibility for determining copyright status prior to reusing, publishing or reproducing this item for purposes other than what is allowed by fair use or other copyright exemptions. Any reuse of this item in excess of fair use or other copyright exemptions may require permission of the copyright holder. The Smathers Libraries would like to learn more about this item and invite individuals or organizations to contact The Department of Special and Area Studies Collections ( with any additional information they can provide.
Resource Identifier:
026852929 ( ALEPH )
ALH3706 ( NOTIS )
57568846 ( OCLC )

Full Text
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"Away goes the coach full of passengers over the steep
bank by the road."



Gfjt Saoytit Einglytlr

498 & 500 BROADWAY.
1 S7 1.

Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 185S. by
In the Clerk's Otffce of the District Court of the United Statb
for the Southern District of Now York.

S ntt1nts.

I.-THE ACCIDENT ......................... 5
II.-THE ADOTiTION ......................... 14
III.- THE PROMSE.......................... 21
IV.-TrE JOURNEY......................... 21

V.-THE NEW ROME........................ 34

VII.-TiE VOICE OF CONSCIENCE ................ 54
VIII.-THE PARTY............................. 64
IX-A SUDDEN DEATH........................ 7
X.-A "NEW MAN"........................ 84
XI.-THE OLD HI0ME........................ 90
XII.-CONCLUS8oN........................... 101




C OU go down a steep hill, and all
at once you come to an old farm
,,-, house. It is brown, never having
been painted by any thing but
the weather. There it stands,
with its green door in the center,
checked with white, and on each side
are two little windows made of six
panes of glass each, and curtained with
gay paper containing all the colors of
the rainbow, the blue and red glaring
conspicuously. Between this and the
road is an old-fashioned well-sweep.


Many a hand, which has let down that
bucket, is now palsied with age or
wasting away in the grave. A rail
fence is in front of the house, and in-
stead of a gate there is a pair of bars.
Yet in spite of the homely look the
place has, here live five happy children.
They know not what it is to be lone-
some-they who all summer are raking
hay in the fields, picking berries or
hunting hens' nests in the barn. And
in the winter, too, they are not lone-
some, for they are sliding down hill,
popping corn, and cracking nuts. But
now it is a bright summer's day, and
the children are-perched on the bars,
watching for the stage coach which
passes regularly every day. With this
exception, not more than two or three
teams pass all day long, and these, per-
haps, greg.t lazy oxen, drawing some


heavy load to the distant town. So no
wonder it is a novelty to them to see
the stylish stage coach as it goes thun
during by. The tallest of the little
group is Joseph, a good-natured boy
eleven years old, and who already
begins to be quite useful on the farm.
The next is Samuel-he is two years
younger than his brother; and then
comes Lois, the prettiest of the whole
flock. Her eyes are dark, so is her
hair, which will curl in spite of every
effort to keep it straight. She is bare-
footed, and is dressed in a faded calico,
and yet every movement is remarkably
graceful and pretty. The next is
Mary, a shy, quiet child; and last of
all comes the baby, who is every body's
pet. He sits perched on the topmost
rail, where he is crowing away to his
heart's content. "Hurrah! there comes


the stage!" exclaims Joseph. Sure
enough! But the children perceive
at once that something is the matter.
The horses are dashing on at a furious
rate-now they sheer a little to one
side towards the deep ditch by the
rbad-the driver is thrown from hii-
seat-one wheel comes off, and then-
oh, dreadful to see !-away goes the
coach full of passengers over the steep
bank by the road, trunks and all tumb-
ling together in confusion. And there
stand the children, pale and trembling,
and almost beside themselves with
Farmer Mead and his hired man,
who are cutting hay in the meadow
close by, run at once to give their as-
sistance. .They help one and another
from the ruins of the old coach, each
looking very pale, and last of all they


take out one who seems to be dead.
They lay him out on the grass. Poor
little Mary begins to cry.
"Oh, there's somebody killed," she
says; ain't you scared, Lois? And
now they are bringing him right over
here-what shall we do ?"
Sure enough, there were six men
bringing the poor traveler towards the
house. His black hair was matted
with blood, his face covered with blood,
and his arms hung lifelessly down. It
was indeed a very solemn sight. Joseph
let down the bars, and as they drew
near they knew that he was not dead
for they could hear him groaning. He
was laid upon the bed in the spare
room. The hired man was dispatched
at once for a physician, and with breath-
less anxiety the travelers awaited his
arrival. At length he came; he exam-


ined his patient and said that he could
not, at present, tell the extent of his
injuries. He had received a great ner-
vous shock, but might not be immedi-
ately dangerous. No one knew the
stranger's name, nor where was his
home. He had been a lively, pleasant
companion on the way, but they had
learned nothing of his history.
As none of the other passengers were
seriously injured, Mr. Mead's lumber
wagon was procured to carry them on
the remainder of their journey. Sor-
rowfully they took leave of their suf-
fering companion; but night was coming
on, and prudence forbad delay. And
now Farmer Mead's little family were
alone-alone, perhaps, with the dying.
This had been by far the most event-
ful day in the children's lives. Now
they were huddled together on the


door-step, where they were crying as it
their hearts would break. Their mo-
ther heard their sobs, and came out to
comfort them. She was very gentle in
her ways. She did not say much, but
she put her arms around them, and drew
them to her.
"Don't cry so," she said, "God will
watch over us, and watch over him.
Oh, I wish I knew he was a Christian,"
and here poor Mrs. Mead herself burst
into tears. "My poor children," she
said after a moment's pause, "I am so
glad that none of you are sick and
dying. You are spared to me, but I
can never rest until I know you have
given your hearts to the Saviour." She
did not say any more, but as her tears,
one after the other, fell on the little
heads nestled in her arms, they felt
that she was weeping, not because


there was sickness and death in the
world, but because none of her own
little flock had given their hearts to
Come, children," she said, "we
will go in. Dr. Avery will watch with
our poor stranger, and father will read
the chapter, and then you must all go
to bed."
They found their father already
seated by the kitchen table with the
Bible open. That night he only read
these three verses: Let not your
hearts be troubled: ye believe in God,
believe also in me. In my Father's
house are many mansions: if it were
not so, I would have told you. I go to
prepare a place for you. And if I go
to prepare a place for you, I will come
again and receive you unto myself;
that where I am, there ye may be also."


Then he knelt down and prayed for his
little children, that the sins they had
committed that day might be forgiven,
and that as they had lived a happy
family on the earth, so they might be
an unbroken family in heaven. Nor
did he forget the stranger, whom Prov-
idence had thus thrown in their midst.
In a voice choking with tears he begged
his heavenly Father to spare his life a
little longer, that he might repent of
his sins, and that at last, with the saints
on high, they might all meet in those
mansions of rest. That prayer the
children never forgot, and having eaten
some bread and milk for their sup-
per, they quietly stole to their little



HE next morning the sick man
was much better. He was still
weak and suffering, but he was
conscious of his situation. In
answer to their questions, he
said that his name was Henry Graham,
and that he lived near New York.
Mr. Mead proposed at once to write to
hisfamily, but this the stranger begged
him not to do, as his poor wife was
already ill and he feared the shock
would he too much for her.
Only let me stay here a few days,"
he said, "for I feel that the quiet of
this place will do me almost as much
good as medicine."


Mr. Mead assured him that he was
heartily welcome to their humble home.
Instinctively they felt that he was
rich. Every thing about his appear-
ance said so; and yet there was some-
thing so indescribably pleasant in his
voice and manner, that he had not been
in the house a day before they were
all attracted to him.
But Lois was most with him. She
was his little nurse. She sat beside
his bed to hand him his medicine, she
dusted his room and kept it in order,
and every morning she brought in a
bunch of fresh violets, which she placed
in a tea-cup on the stand by the win-
dow. His eye kept following her in
every movement. She was so simple,
so childish, yet so useful to her mother,
and withal so graceful, that he was
charmed with her. He had nothing to


do but to lie there and think what a
beautiful woman Lois would make if
she could be educated-he had half a
mind himself to adopt her. There was
something about the Mead family dif-
ferent from any other that he had ever
met. There was a peacefulness about
their quiet home that he had not seen
elsewhere, and yet it did not come from
the earth. It was evidently their re-
ligion that made them so happy. Their
actual wants were all supplied, but they
had no luxuries. Mrs. Mead, with her
own hands, did all the work for her
family; and yet she always found time
to soothe her children when they were
fretted, to listen to their little prayers
at night, and to speak those few low,
gentle words that only such a mother
can speak.
One day when Mr. Graham was so


far recovered as to be able to sit
propped up in the rocking-chair, he
called Lois to him and taking her in
his arms, he kissed her and said,
Lois, how would you like to go
home with me and live? I haven't
any little girl. I used to have one
once, and her name was Alice, but she
died. I have been lonesome ever since.
Come, will you go ?"
Lois did not answer for a moment,
then thoughtfully said,
"Yes, sir, I will go."
Mr. Graham held her in his arms a
long time until she fell asleep. When
Mrs. Mead came in, she found Mr.
Graham with his chin resting on the
head of little Lois and weeping.
': Mrs. Mead," he said, "I wish you
would give me this child. I would'
take good care of her and love her."


"The house would be lonesome
enough without Lois," said Mrs. Mead,
shaking her head. "Are you in earn
est ?"
"Yes, in earnest," said Mr. Graham.
"From the moment I first saw her, I
wished to adopt her. My only child is
dead, and she shall be in her place and
have every advantage that wealth and
affection can procure."
"We will think of it," said Mrs.
Mead. Poor child there will be but
little before her here but hard work.
It isn't much we can do for children in
a worldly way here on this small farm,
and a mor' age on it at that, but yet
who could give up a child ? and besides,
who would, lead my little girl in the
narrow path to heaven, for this, sir, is
the most important of all?"
I feel that it is," said Mr. Graham,


"although I never realized it until I
came here. And yet I wish you to
seriously think of it, whether you can
not give her to me to be mine on the
earth, and to be loved in the place of
little Alice."
"There is every earthly advantage
in favor of your proposition," said Mrs.
Mead; but oh, sir, what if in gaining
the whole world she should lose her
soul ?-the thought is dreadful!"
Yes, that is true," replied Mr.
Graham; "and yet sooner or later your
children must leave you and go forth
into the world, and that, perhaps, with-
out being converted. You can not al-
vways keep them with you; and what
matters it if Lois goes a little earlier
than the others? I will promise never
to hinder her becoming a Christian.
There is still another view of the sub-


ject," continued Mr. Graham. You
may have to lose your farm, and soon
be scattered hither and thither. All
the children may thus be taken from
your influence. On the other hand, I
will pay up this mortgage, whatever it
be, adopt Lois to be my daughter, and
try to bring her up to be a good and
noble woman."
Mrs. Mead was silenced, if not con-
vinced, and after many a family con-
sultation, it was decided that Lois
should go with Mr. Graham, and that
in six weeks' time he was to come for



EVER did six weeks fly so
swiftly as did these. There
Swas no church near there, but
every Sabbath they all went to
prayer meeting at the school-
house. Deacon Smith always took lead
of the meeting. When he found that
Lois was going away, he prayed God
to bless the little lamb, that, in six
weeks was to leave them forever, and
to keep her pure and unspotted from
the world. The next Sabbath he prayed
the same prayer, only varying it by
begging God to bless her who in five
weeks was to leave them; and thus he
prayed on the fourth week, and on the


third, and on the second, until the last
Sabbath came, and with streaming eyes
he begged Heaven to bless her who
was now to leave them forever. When
the meeting was over, Deacon Smith
came to bid her farewell. HIe took
both her hands in his and said, Lois,
I shall never see your face again on the
earth-shall I meet you in heaven ?"
Lois did not answer.
There is one verse that I want you
always to remember; it is this, I will
love them that love me, and they that
seek me early shall find me.' Poor
little lamb," he said very tenderly, I
wish you were safe in the Saviour's fold."
Lois wished so too. Young as she
was, she had wished it a great many
times in her short life; and yet it
Seemed as if she did not really know
how to'come near to Jesus.


Farmer Mead's home was very lonely
that Sabbath, for the next day Lois
was to leave them, and this hung like a
shadow over their spirits. After dinner
her father read the chapter as usual,
then he called Lois to him, and took
her in his arms and talked with her a
long time. She could not tell what
made his voice tremble so, but it did so
that sometimes she could hardly under-
stand what he was saying.
"My little girl," he said, we shall
never forget you. We will always pray
for you, and every Sunday after1loon
you may think of us praying for you
that God may give you a new heart.
And now, Lois, I want you to promise
me that you will spend one hour alone
every Sabbath in reading the Bible,
and trying to pray; will you ?"
"Yes, father, I will."


"If we ever hear from you again
what news do you suppose would make
us most glad of any thing?"
To hear that I was a Christian."
Yes, Lois, that is every thing-
every ling. God can be just as near
you there as he is here. He loves you
and you must love IIim. I can not save
you-if I could I would. Who can ?"
Jesus Christ."
"Oh, yes, he can, and he will if you
ask him. He says, Ask and ye shall
receive, seek and ye shall find, knock
and it shall be opened to you.' The
Bible is all full of just such precious
words. Lois, this is the last Sabbath
that we shall spend together on the
earth. I shall expect to see you in
I will try to be there, dear father,"
said Lois.

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He kissed her, and then he put her
down from his knee and offered a
prayer. That night Lois went up
stairs as usual to bed, and was soon
fast asleep, but her mother could not
sleep. She crept to Lois's little bed,
and sitting down on it, she took her,
though fast asleep, in her arms, and
held her a long time. Lois awoke, and
found her mother crying.
Mother," said she, can't you give
me up ?"
"I'm afraid not," said her mother.
" You knuw what my greatest care for
yoa is."
"Yes, mother, I will try to remem-
ber all you have taught me."
Oh, I hope you will. You must
promise me something now, will you?"
"Yes, mother."


It is this, that you will not let a
day pass without praying."
I will promise, dear mother. You
must not grieve so much because I
am going."
Mrs. Mead kissed Lois, a great many
ties, and then went down stairs.


I I' -*


Page 2.



HE next morning Mr. Graham
came for Lois. We will pass
over the leave taking, which
was sorrowful-it could not be
otherwise. There were a great
many last -words to say, until at length
Mr. Graham caught Lois in his arms
and placed her in the carriage. They
were soon going up the hill, and past
the grave-yard and the school-house,
but her eyes were so full of tears that
she could not see much. Poor Lois
Mr. Graham sat gazing on the little sad
face beside him.
" Lois, you mustn't cry any more,"
said he, drawing her towards him and


wrapping his cloak around her; "are
you sorry you are going home with me
to be my little girl?"
Oh, no, sir."
"I will try to be very kind to you.
What have you got in your box ?"
All this time she had been holding a
little square box in her arms, as if that
were the last friend she had in the
They are my things," said Lois.
"Well, what things ? Supposing we
look at them."
Lois untied the string, and, sure
enough, her box was full of treasures.
There was a long strip of patchwork
bed-quilt of her own sewing; various
certificates of good behavior in school;
little locks of braided hair, tied with
red ribbon, and fastened to bits of
green paper; there was also a little red


Bible and an old hymn-book, the last a
present from Deacon Smith.
So you love hymns, do you ?" said
Mr. Graham.
SAnd you love to read your Bible ?"
"Some, but not as much as mother
"What do you suppose, makes her
love it so well ?"
Because, she says, it tells about
her best Friend."
"And who is her best Friend ?"
Why, Mr. Graham, you know it is
Jesus Christ," said Lois.
You must not call me Mr. Graham
any more," he said; "you must call me
father, and my wife, mother; will you ?"
Yes, sir, if I c.,n remember it."
"Are you getting tired ?" asked Mr


"Not much," said Lois.
"We will go as far as L-- -, to-
day," said Mr. Graham. That is a
large place, and we will stop there, and
buy you some nice dresses. Now you
may be thinking up what you would
like to have."
They reached L- in time to do
the important shopping, and the next
day they resumed their journey. It
was almost dark when they began to
draw near home. Lois was wide awake
now. She had been wondering what
kind of a place it would be, and how
Mrs. Graham would look, and if she
would like her.
Come, Lois," said Mr Graham,
"here we are at home. Tell me how
you like it."
The carriage was now passing through
an arched gateway into what to her


seemed a woods, only there was no un-
derbrush about. They rode up a long
graveled carriage-way, till they came
to a large house. A servant assisted
them in alighting, and then Lois and
Mr. Graham ascended the massive
steps and passed into the hall.
You are tired, my little girl," said
Mr. Graham, glancing down at the be-
wildered face of Lois. "You can go
to your room to-night, and to-morrow
you can see your new mother."
He led her up stairs to the door of
her room. It was a very large, beau-
tiful apartment, hung with blue. It
had been designed for little Alice, but
Alice was sleeping in her grave, and
could never more rest on that soft
Lois, my daughter," said Mr. Gra-
ham, do not forget what your mother


has taught you. Now I must go-will
you kiss me good night ?"
Lois put both arms around his neck
and kissed him. Then she sat down
and began to look around her. The first
thing she saw was a book-case filled
with books, many of them with tempt,
ing red covers. There was every thing
in the room that good taste could sug-
gest, but Lois was more pained than
pleased with its luxuriousness, for she
did not know what to call so many
strange things, nor how to use them.
She took her little box in her arms.
and. sat looking at it, as if she did so
wish it could speak to her. She untied
the cover and took out Deacon Smith's
hymn-book. How many times she had
seen the good old man read hymns out
3f it in prayer meeting, and sing as if
be were singing himself up into heaven;


but she did not mean to sing any to-
night, for fear somebody would hear
her. She next took her Bible. She
was glad it was an old one, for those
thumb marks and torn leaves had a
familiar look that money could never
buy. She read a few verses, said her
prayers, packed her things into her box
again, and then went to bed and to



HE next morning a servant came
to assist her in dressing, and
^ when that was over, Mr. Gra.
ham came for her. Breakfast
was not yet ready, and so he led
her out on the piazza. Mrs. Graham
was already there.
"You are better than usual this
morning, are you not, Kate ?" asked
her husband.
"Mr. Graham," said she, turning a
pair of flashing black eyes upon him, "
wish you would not keep asking me if
I am better. I tell you I am well-all
that ails me is being cooped up here in
this lonesome place, without one parti-


cle of excitement, and this trouble-
some cough; but that's nothing. If I
could only keep my spirits up, that's
all I need."
And here the lady gave a bright
laugh, and shook her curls.
"Is this the child?" said she, look-
ing at Lois.
"Yes," said Mr. Graham, taking
Lois by the hand and leading her to
his wife.
She is rather pretty," carelessly
remarked Mrs. Graham; "shouldn't
wonder if she made quite a brilliant
A good woman, I hope," said Mr.
Graham. After all, that's the great
"Preaching again, as I live!" re-
torted the lady. What has got you
into the habit of late of giving your


conversation such a terrible religious
flavoring? You know I hate it. Come
here, child. What's your name ?"
"Lois, ma'am."
"Lois what ?" said Mrs. Graham,
"Hush, Kate, don't annoy her,"
said Mr. Graham.
Oh, no, I didn't mean to. Where
did you get such an old-fashioned
name ?"
"I was named after a very good
woman," said Lois.
"Where did she live ?"
"In the Bible, ma'am."
"In the Bible ? rather close quarters
that! But what can you do?"
Wash dishes, sew, and dust rooms.
;'Yes, yes," laughed Mrs. Graham,
"that will do for the useful; now for
the ornamental. Can you dance ?"


"No, ma'am."
Sing ?"
Yes, ma'am."
"What can you sing ?"
"Oh, a good many things--- Did
Christ o'er sinners weep,' and 'The-
Happy Land,' and"-
"Never mind the rest," said Mrs.
Graham. "Mr. Graham," said she,
turning to her husband, "was it your
taste that rigged that child out-that
blue silk, with monstrous plaids, and a
pink sash? Horrid! that's all a man
knows! Please leave her toilet to me
in future, and you may superintend her
moral education, for which you seem so
particularly fitted. Here, little Quaker,
kiss me. There, be careful, don't
rumple my collar-just touch your lips
to my cheek, that's enough. You


neednt be afraid of me. I'm not a
bear-I won't bite."
Lois could not help thinking that
Mrs. Graham was, to say the least,
very queer. Her tone was pettish and
yet she was laughing. She was a tall
woman, with brilliant eyes, but her face
was deathly pale, and her hands were
almost transparent they were so thin
and white. After breakfast, Mr. Gra-
ham asked Lois to walk with hi'm
around the place. He took her first to
the garden, where they gathered a fine
bouquet. Then he led her out to the
carriage-way by which they had come
to the house the evening before. Then
they strolled out into what Lois had
called the woods, but which was really
a well kept park. Scattered here and
there were little rustic seats, on one of
which they sat down to rest.


"Well, Lois," said Mr. Graham,
"how do you like your new home ?"
I think it is too pleasant," said
"Why so?"
I don't know, sir, but we read in
the Bible about people having all theii
good things in this life, and in the life
to come nothing but trouble. I am
afraid it will be so with me."
"I hope not," said Mr. Graham, wifh
a sigh. "What do you want to do
here? You love to study, I hope."
"Oh, yes, sir, very much."
Then to-morrow you shall begin.
We shall not send you away to school
because we can not spare you. You
may come and recite your lessons to
me, and every day I shall expect you
to read to me for half an hour. Can
you read nicely ?"


"Yes, sir, all but the hard words.'
"Then I will try to help you over
these. Do you think that I will make
a good teacher?"
Yes, sir."
"And you must learn music. Your
mother is very fond of it, and for her
sake you must try and excel in it.
Little Alice could sing very sweetly,
and she was not older than you when
she died. You must practice a great
deal-do you understand me ?"
"Yes, sir."
"Now if you are rested we will
walk on."
They followed a little footpath through
the trees, when all at once they came
to a bright, sunny spot. There was
only one tree there, and that was a
willow, and under its long, drooping
branches was a little grave. It was


marked by a small marble slab. Lois
did not need to ask whose grave it was
-she knew it was the resting-place of
little Alice. Mr. Graham seated him-
self close by it, and beckoned to Lois
to come and sit beside him.
"This is where my Alice is buried,"
he said; "I shall never see her face
Oh, yes, you will," said Lois; "my
mother says that in the morning of the
resurrection we shall all see each other."
"Yes, but my little girl is gone to
heaven, and I can not hope to go there."
"Why not?"
Because I can not pray, Lois; I
never did really pray; and yet I know
I'm not the worst man in the world. I
sometimes think God ought to forgive,
me. But do you know what they do
in heaven ?"


"Mother says they are praising God,
and. casting their crowns at his feet,
and crying Holy, and they are with
Christ all the time."
Then I don't think I should be
happy there; would you be?"
"I suppose we must have new hearts
first," said Lois.
"Yes, that is true," said Mr. Gra-
ham; "I never thought much about
such things before I went to your
house, but now I think about them a
great deal. But we will not talk of
this any more. Come, won't you sing
me a hymn ? I feel just like hearing
Lois began,

SO land of rest, for thee I sigh;
When will the moment come
7hen I shall lay mine armor by,
And be with Christ at home ?"


Mr. Graham seemed much affected
while she was singing.
"You picked out just the most un-
comfortable hymn you could think of,
didn't you, Lois ?"
"Oh, no, sir," said Lois, "I only
know five or six, and this is one of
Mr. Graham now took the flowers
they had gathered in the garden, and
placed them in the marble vase at the
head of the grave, there to wither and
die as little Alice herself had done
in the very spring-time of life.



TIE next Sabbath Lois accom
panied Mr. and Mrs. Graham
to church. It was about four
Smiles distant. She had never
been to a real church before, and
her ideas of one were modeled after
the little school-house where they used
to go to prayer meeting. Hence great
was her surprise as they walked up those
stately aisles. The sweet, solemn notes
of the organ enraptured her, and with
a kind of silent awe she gazed around
her. The minister preached an elo-
quent sermon, but there was not one
word of it for children like Lois.


During prayer, she did not rise with
the rest, but sat leaning her head on
her hand, sighing in her inmost soul for
the familiar sound of Deacon's Smith's
voice praying for the little lamb that
was now to leave them forever. Lois
felt that she should need all those
"Well, little Quaker," said Mrs. Gra-
ham, as they were returning home,
"how did you like it ?"
"It was all very nice, ma'am," said -
"Yes," said Mr. Graham, laughing,
"Lois has just expressed it-it's nice--
nothing to do but to put on your
satin slippers and step straight into
Well, I'm sure I don't want to go
to heaven any other way," said Mrs.


Oh, it will do very well if you are
sure of getting there at last," said her
"Well," said Mrs. Graham, "I ex-
pect to get along about as othei
people do, and that's all I care for. I
have always found it safest to float on
with the current."
Yes," said Mr. Graham, but would
it not be wiser to find out where the
current will lead us? It says in the
Bible, Enter ye in at the strait gate :
for wide is the gate and broad is the
way that leadeth to destruction, and
many there be that go in threat. Be-
cause strait is the gate and narrow is
the way that leadeth unto life, and few
there be that find it.'"
"There's the text," said Mrs. Gra-
ham, 1 i.ihlii2, "now for the sermon;
but I shan't hear it, for I've had preach.


ing enough to-day," and- she turned the
conversation to gayer subjects.
There was but little at Mr. Graham's
to distinguish the Sabbath from other
days. Mr. Graham read the newspa-
pers, while his wife lounged on the
sofa, and complained of having nothing
to do. Little Lois spent an hour as
she had promised her father she would
do, in reading her Bible and trying to
Weeks passed away in which she
had but little to try her. At last
the quiet was broken in upon by the
arrival of Maggie Henderson, a niece
of Mrs. Graham. She had been at a
boarding-school, and had come to spend
her vacation. It was with some conster-
nation that Lois saw the young lad.y-
for such she evidently thought herself,
though but two years older than Lois


-alight from the carriage. She greeted
her aunt with a great show of affection,
and declared that she had come to turn
the house upside down, which thing she
soon did.
Lois had been in no haste to greet
her visitor. At last ?.;-Li. came up
to her and said, "Bless me! what a
shy thing you are! Why don't you
come and speak to me? Waiting first
to see how you like my looks ? Well,
how do you ?"
"Pretty well," said Lois in a tone
that was not very complimentary.
"I should think you would be lone-
some here," said Maggie. "What do
you do ?"
"Learn my lessons, and then play."
That must be dull business here all
alone. Oh, you don't know what sport
we do have in school. There are lots


of us girls, and we play all sorts of
tricks on the teachers, and worry the
very life out of them."
"Do you think that's right ?" asked
Of course it is; they're paid.
Where shall I sleep-with you?"
"I don't know," said Lois, in a tone
that said, I hope you won't.
Where about is your room ?"
Over the library."
Bless me that's where Alice Gra-
ham died. I wouldn't sleep there for
any thing. Ain't you afraid ?"
"No," said Lois.
"Well, you're a queer thing. Come
let's go up there and see how it looks.
Why don't you speak? You haven't
said two words since I came."
Lois reluctantly led the way up stairs
to her room.


"What a lonesome place!" said
Maggie; "it looks just like you. What
have you got here ?" said she, spying
Lois's box on the book-case.
"You shan't look into that," said
Lois, seizing her box of treasures in
her arms.
"Yes, I will, too," said 3\1 ,-l-.; and
being the stronger of the two, she
snatched it from Lois and began fumb-
ling the things over.
"Where did you get all this old
stuff ?"
Lois was too angry to answer.
Well, you've got some temper,
haven't you ?" quietly remarked Mag-
Whose hair was that ?" It was her
mother's, but Lois did not speak.
"It's braided kind of queer," said
Maggie; "I believe I shall tear it to


pieces and see how many strands thIpr
Lois screamed for help. Mr. Gra-
ham, alarmed at the cry overhead, came
to her assistance.
Oh, father," said Lois, "do send
her away-she's tearing my things all
to pieces."
"Uncle Graham, you are entirely
mistaken," said Maggie, her face in-
stantly glowing with one of its sweet-
est smiles, I did not mean to harm
any thing; I am sorry that Lois is so
"I don't care what she does," said
Lois impatiently, "if she'll only let
that box alone."
SLois," said Mr. Graham, that box
is yours, and M, .i. must not meddle
with it again." Here Mr. Graham went
down stairs.


"There," said Maggie, "I should
think you'd be ashamed of yourself-
you're a real tell-tale! You look mad
enough to eat me up."
"I wish I could," said Lois.
"You don't get rid of me so easy
as all that," said Maggie. "I'll see
every thing there is in that box in
spite of you. Some time when you are
gone, I'll come up here and rummage
things over to my heart's content, and
you may help yourself. Where did
you get so much old trash-from
home ?"
Lois could have borne any thing
better than this reflection on her early
Why don't you answer me ?" said
Maggie; "did uncle Graham take you
from the poor-house ?"
No," said Lois, indignantly..


Come," said Maggie, lon't stance
there looking daggers at me. Let us
make up and be friends again." Which
meant that Lois was to sit down as
she had done at first and patiently
listen to her exploits at school.
That night Lois said her prayers
with a very disturbed heart. She was
in any thing but a peaceful frame of
mind; and instead of asking her heav-
enly Father ito forgive the past and
grant her grace for the future, she
hurried through the form and was soon
The next day, Maggie, who seemed
to find her chief happiness in torment-
ing those younger than herself, began
another series of persecutions, which
were not much more patiently borne
than those of the day before.



T last the Sabbath came-that
day of all others when malice
should be put far from the heart.
Lois as usual went up stairs to
spend an hour in reading and
prayer; and as she thought of them
all at home praying for her, how bit-
terly did she regret the angry words
she had spoken.
"Dear Jesus," she said, falling on
her knees, "do help me to be good, and
keep rme from speaking an angry word
to i Maggie all this week. Dear Saviour,
I am weak, but thou art mighty. I
pray thee to be near me and to help
me to right"-


"Amen!" said a voice behind her.
She looked up, and there stood her tor-
mentor, Maggie, who had crept cau
tiously in at the door, and had been
listening to every word she had been
saying. Lois felt outraged. She coulu
have borne any other insult than this.
She rose from her knees, and, with a
face flushed with anger, she raised her
hand and struck M:.r..i.- in the face.
There, Lois," said Maggie, if that
isn't pretty! Very pious you are, I
must say! I'm going straight to tell
Aunt Kate."
Go," said Lois; but you've done
a mean thing, I wouldn't do-to steal
into a room that way, and listen to
folks when they don't want you to hear
them. You're the meanest girl I ever
saw, and I shall be glad when you go


What a sweet little saint you are "
said Maggie. What a beautiful statue
you would have made kneeling there.
I don't wonder Uncle Graham fancied
Lois's anger was too great for her
control, and she rushed straight out of
the house. She went into the woods,
bare-headed, and going she cared not
whither. As she walked l],.r._. her
conscience began to ask her questions.
" Lois," it said, have you done right?"
"Yes," answered her wicked heart;
M, '_ --ie was to blame: she provoked
me." But is that any excuse for
you? Did Christ do so?" Oh, no."
"Perhaps poor's mother was
not like yours," su _-: .- Conscience;
"she does not know how to pray, and
you ought to pity her." "I wish I
had not done so," sighed Lois; oh,


I wish I hadn't-how very, very wicked
I have been." She sat down on the
dry leaves-for it was autumn-and
began to cry. "Oh, I need a new
heart," she said, "I can not be good of
myself." To which Conscience said,
"Ask Jesus and he will give you one."
But she did not dare to kneel down
there and pray, for fear Maggie would
come darting out from behind some
tree or bush, and give her another sur-
prise. "I suppose I ought-to go and
tell I am sorry for being so
angry with her, but it would be very,
very hard work," thought Lois.
She looked through the trees and
saw Mrs. Graham coming. "Oh, I
don't want to see her," thought Lois.
" She don't love me much now. I wish
it was any body else."
"Well, little Quaker," said Mrs. Gra-


ham, "so you've been getting into a
Yes, ma'am."
"What makes you hang your head
down so?" said Mrs. Graham. Why
don't you look me straight in the
face ?"
Oh, I have been so wicked," said
Lois, bursting into tears.
S"Ni,,, !,-: no, you haven't. You
did just right-Maggie was provok-
But I did wrong," persisted Lois.
"No such thing 1" said Mrs. Graham.
" If any body strikes you, strike back.
I admire your spirit-didn't know you
had so much. You'll find out you've
got to fight your way along in the
world, and you may as well begin now
as ever.
But, ma'am," said Lois, I feel as


if I ought to ask Maggie to forgive
"To forgive what? You only stood
up for your rights. No, don't make
such a fool of yourself. Here, let me
put my arms around you and kiss you.
There, don't cry. I'll see that you are
not abused in my house."
Mrs. Graham's unwonted tenderness
gave the greater weight to her danger-
ous though pleasant counsel, and Lois
resolved to follow it. When she re-
turned to the house, she met Maggie
with a somewhat defiant air.
That night she said her prayer-
the Lord's prayer-as usual; but when
she came to this part of it, Forgive
us our debts as we forgive our debtors,"
she paused. Did she wish God to for-
give her as she had forgiven M I:-i: ?
Oh, no. Would God love her when


there was so much strife and hatred in
her heart. She felt sure he would not.
What would her pure-hearted mother
say if she knew how that Sabbath had
been spent?
Lois shuddered at the thought. She
lay down on the bed but could not
sleep. "I must go and ask MI.. 1.- to
forgive me," she said. "I can never
rest till I do; I must go." It was late,
but she checked her sobs and went to
Maggie's room. M:._, was already
asleep. Lois sat down on the bed.
Maggie, do wake up," she said.
Maggie started at once.
Why, Lois, how you frightened
me; what do you want ?"
I want to tell you I am so sorry for
behaving so badly to-day."
Did Aunt Kate make you come?"
"No, she told me not to say any
thing to you about it."


"Then what makes you ?"
"Oh, because God doesn't love me
when I am angry; do tell me you for-
give me."
"Why, of course-I was just as
much to blame as you, and a little more
so. But it was rich to see you go on
so-you did look so queer with your
eyes flashing and snapping-it was real
comical. But what sent you over here
this time of night ?"
"I couldn't sleep; I was afraid you
might die before morning, and then I
couldn't ever tell you I was sorry."
How pokerish you talk! What
makes you cry so ?"
Because I've been so wicked."
Come, go back to bed. I'll own
up I was more than half to blame.
Bless me if I made such a fuss every
time I did wrong, I should have my


hands full. How do you suppose Aunt
Kate will like all this hubbub when she
hears of it to-morrow ?"
"I don't know," said Lois; any how,
I must try to do right."
Well, you're a little fool, and she'll
tell you so. Besides, what's the use ?
To-morrow you'll act ten times worse,
and to-morrow night you'll have to go
this powwow right over again. Dear
me, how sleepy I am! Do go to bed."
Lois, much relieved, went to her room
and was soon asleep.
Next morning Lois found Maggie
on the piazza, and groaning as if she
were in great distress.
What's the matter, Maggie ?" asked
Lois; "are you sick ?"
"Worse than that," said Mi,-.-;
"I'm worn out; my constitution's used
up !--this being broken of my rest so I


can't endure !" And here Maggie burst
into a loud laugh, and seizing Lois by
the shoulders, gave her a violent shake.
" Rather romantic you were last night,'
said Maggie; "I'm not used to having
angels kneel at my feet for pardons;"
but Lois was now determined, if possi-
ble, to control her temper.
During the remainder of M3.-,-iil's
visit she was restrained from violent
outbursts of anger, but her spirit waa
continually chafed.



()OUR years have passed away,
during which Lois has not been
i j, idle. She has progressed rap-
W idly in her studies, but has not
Outgrown the fatherly teachings
of Mr. Graham. Nor has he wearied
of his pupil, for some of the happiest
hours of his life have been spent in
that little library in teaching Lois.
And now she has become in many re-
spects his companion, for she can enter
into his studies, and not only read
aloud to him from his favorite authors,
but appreciate them. There is a pecu-
liar grace and gentleness in her man-
ners, and both Mr. and Mrs. Graham


gaze upon her with pride and affection.
But, alas! Lois has not as many long-
ings to be a child of the Saviour as
she had four years ago; indeed, having,
in a measure, conquered her one great
fault, a hasty temper, she has ceased
to feel her constant need of Christ.
Poor Mrs. Graham, now wasted to a
perfect shadow, still glides around the
house laughing as gayly as ever.
"Dear me," she said one day, after
a violent fit of coughing, "if I don't
get something to help this before long,
I shall be sick. I think doctors are
the most stupid set of people in the
Mr. Graham gazed on the face of
his wife with an expression of sad-
What makes you look at me so ?"
she exclaimed. "You know I can't


bear to have any body moping around
me. You look just as if you thought
I was going to die. I am not. You'll
soon see me well if I can only keep my
spirits up. Can't we do something to
enliven this place? Let us give a
party. The house shall be brilliantly
lighted, we will illuminate the park,
and put a few lamps in the garden-
the effect will be fine. Do let us have
the house alive once in the world-old
and young-a regular barbecue !"
"But, Kate, could you bear the ex-
citement ?" asked her husband.
The least allusion to Mrs. Graham'.
illness always made her angry, neither
could she endure the slightest opposi-
tion to her wishes. Mr. Graham ac-
quiesced, but it made his heart ache
to see her entirely absorbed in prepara-
tions for the approaching festivities-


giving orders to the servants in a faint,
gasping breath, and yet laughing and
declaring she was well.
Lois herself anticipated much plea-
sure from the evening. Her greatest
solicitude was that the weather should
be pleasant. Her utmost wish in that
respect was granted, for as she awoke
in the morning and looked out of the
window she saw that the sun was bril-
liantly shining, and that not a cloud
darkened the sky.
At an early hour she began to dress
for the evening; and as she surveyed
herself in the long mirror, the smile of
gratified vanity more than once rested
on her face. She was no longer the
shy Lois Mead, but the adopted daugh-
ter of Mr. Graham, and as such society
had petted and caressed her. When
her toilet was done, she went out on


the piazza. The cool of the day had
come on and the stars were beginning
to twinkle in their azure home. There
was a dreamy softness in the air, lights
were glancing from the trees, and the
old house seemed longing to bid its
guests a cheery welcome. Afar in the
distance Lois beheld one taper faintly
burning. It was hung in the branches
of the willow that shaded the grave of
Alice. She stood watching that one
pale, lonely light. It looked so hke
Alice's spirit, keeping silent watch over
the mound where her body was sleep-
ing, and perhaps gazing down with
mournful eyes on the flowers with
which Lois herself had filled the vase.
Lois loved to cherish the illusion
Like every imaginative person, she
delighted to think of the world of
spirits, bat it was in the light of

I. .___--

'"She stood watching that one pale, lonely light."
rage 63.


poetry-there was no Christ in all her
thoughts. "What a beautiful home
this is," thought Lois. Oh, I am so
happy !"
She entered into all the festivities of
the evening with unwonted zest. Never
had admiration and flattery been so
welcome to her as now, nor had she
ever before so fully appreciated her
position in society.
Mrs. Graham was in her gayest
spirits. True, she often complained of
faintness, but she strove not to yield
to it. There she stood, hour after
hour, chatting with this one and that,
though her voice was so feeble that she
could scarcely speak above a whisper.
Lois, radiant with happiness, was
standing in the hall when the clock
struck twelve. A paleness instantly
came over her face. That day she had


forgotten to pray, thus for the first
time breaking her promise to her
mother. There she stood overcome
with terror. She seemed to hear the
clock still striking on, slowly and
solemnly, as if trying to tell her that
the day was forever gone. Gladly she
saw the last of her guests depart and
then retired to her own room. She
sank down on her knees in perfect de-
"Oh, mother, dear mother," she said,
"what have I been left to do? I have
broken my promise to you, I have for-
gotten God, and I feel as if he had cast
me off. I know now I shall never meet
you in heaven." iHer thoughts carried
her back to that little brown house
and to the time when that promise was
given, and well she remembered how
her mother had wept lest this very evil


should come upon her. "There is no
hope for me," she sighed, "no rest
either in this life or the life to come;"
and then remembering what a comfort
the Bible always was to her mother,
she resolved to go to it in this her hour
of distress.
She took down her little box, into
which she had scarcely looked for weeks
and months, and taking her old Bible,
she opened it at random, and turned to
these words, Because I have called,
and ye refused; I have stretched out
my hand and no man regarded; but
ye have set at nought all my counsel,
and would none of my reproof: I also
will laugh at your calamity, I will mock
when your fear cometh; when your
fear cometh as desolation, and your
destruction cometh as a whirlwind;
when distress and anguish cometh upon



you. Then shall they call upon me, but
I will not answer; they shall seek me
early, but they shall not find me."
There was no comfort here-dread-
ful words were these! They told her
that there was a time when the soul
was beyond all hope, and the more
she thought of this, the more she felt
herself already lost. She turned over
the pages to see if comfort could not
somewhere be found. She read, The
wicked are like the troubled sea, when
it can not rest, whose waters cast up
mire and dirt. There is no peace, saith
my God, to the wicked." She laid
down the book, not daring to read
more. All the next day and night
those fearfulwords were passing through
her mind.
The next day was the Sabbath. Mrs.
Graham, for the first time, complained


of illness, and none of the family went
to church. Lois went to her room.
She had no heart to pray, she did not
care to read, and yet she was filled
with unrest.
Oh, that there was some one to tell
me how I might come to Christ," and
then bursting into tears, she said, if
Deacon Smith could only pray for me
just once again, how much good it would
do me. Maybe they are all in the
little school-house now, praying and
singing, my father, my mother, my
brothers, and my sister; and, perhaps,
they are at this moment singing the
hymn Deacon Smnth used to love so
well, Jesus, lover of my soul.' "
She opened her hymn book, and
then, as if joining with those distant
but familiar voices, she sang it through.


Jesus, lover of my soul,
Let me to thy bosom fly,
While. the billows near me roll,
While the tempest still is high:
Hide me, 0 my Saviour, hide,
Till the storm of life be past;
Safe into the haven gpide;
0, receive my soul at last!

SOther refuge have I none;
Hangs my helpless soul on thee;
Leave, oh, leave me not alone;
Still support and comfort me:
All my trust on thee is stayed,
All my help from thee I bring;
Cover my defenseless head
Beneath the shadow of thy wing.

SThou, 0 Christ, art all I want;
More than all in thee I find;
Raise the fallen, cheer the faint,
Heal the sick, and lead the blind:
Jit' and holy is thy name;
1 am all unrighteousness;
Vie and full of sin I am;
Thou art full of truth and grace."

"Yes," said Lois, "that is all so
true. There must be salvation in
Christ, if I can only believe. Help
thou mine unbelief.'" She opened her


Bible and turned to these words:
" Ho, every one that thirsteth, come ye
to the waters, and he that hath no
money; come ye, buy wine and milk
without money and without price."
"Dear Saviour," she said, "I am
thirsting for this water, and I have no
money to buy it with. I pray thee
give it to me." A little further on she
read, Let the wicked forsake his way,
and the unrighteous man his thought,
and let him return unto the Lord, and
he will have mercy upon him, and to
our God, for he will abundantly par-
don." Precious words were these!
" Dear Saviour," she said, I have no
one to whom I can go but unto thee.
Thou hast said, Come unto me, all ye
that labor and are heavy-laden, and I
will give you rest.' Blessed Jesus, turn
me not away, I give myself unto thee."


I can not picture the scenes of that
day. Lois was alone, and yet not
alone; but as the hours stole on, until
at length she sat gazing on the inde-
scribable glories of the setting sun, one
could tell by the expression of her face
that she had found rest-that peace
that flows like a river, and which the
world can neither give nor take away.
And when did Christ ever turn any
away that came to him with a sincere
and humble heart ?



T length Mrs. Graham sent for
Lois to come down. That lady's
face was the very picture of
weariness and discontent.
"Oh, Lois," she said, this
has been the longest and the lonesomest
day I ever saw. It is very selfish in
you to shut yourself up so, and not try
to amuse me. Now you must sit down
to the piano, and rattle off the liveliest
thing you know."
Oh, not to-day, mother," said Lois
Mrs. Graham flew into a passion at
"Dare you disobey me," she said,.


"when 1 have done so much for you
How ungrateful you are !"
"Let me play and sing a hymn,"
pleaded Lois.
Oh, well, I had just as lief," said
'Mrs. Graham, instantly pacified; "only
let it be a pretty one, and something
Lois, having chosen a hymn that ac-
corded well with her own feelings,
"0 where shall rest be found-
Rest for the weary soul?
'Twere vain the ocean depths to sound,
Or pierce to either pole.
"The world can never give
The bliss for which we sigh
'Tis not the whole of life to live
Nor all of death to die.
"Beyond this vale of tears
There is a life above,
Unmeasured by the flight of yeais;
And all that life is love.
"There is a death whose pang
Outlasts the fleeting breath:
O, what eternal terrors hang
Around the second death I


"Lord God of truth and grace,
Teach us that death to shun,
Lest we be banished from thy face,
And evermore undone."

She sang this beautiful hymn with
the spirit, and hence threw unusual ex-
pression into it.
"That does very well for such a still
evening as this," said Mrs. Graham.
" It is very sad, but I rather like it."
"I am glad you do," said Lois, as
with moistened eyes she rose from the
Nonsense !" said Mrs. Graham, her
manner instantly changing. I'm not
going into raptures over it. I do hope
next Sunday I can go to church. Even
if the sermon is horrid dull, why you
know a body can look around and see
the folks, and that is something. Oh,
I do suffer so 1"
"Are you ill, mother ?" asked Lois.


"No, it's not that, but I am in such
wretched spirits. There, you needn't
stay here any longer-kiss me and go
up stairs."
Lois left her somewhat reluctantly.
She would gladly have spoken again of
that rest for the soul, but Mrs. Gra.
ham's manner forbade it.
After retiring she spent a moment in
prayer-in such prayer as the Christian
only knows, and then, for the first time
in her life, she lay down to sleep in
perfect repose, feeling that sho was safe
with Jesus.
About midnight she was awakened
by a servant who told her that Mrs.
Graham had been taken with bleeding
at the lungs. She hurried down stairs
but she was too late. Mrs. Graham
was already dead. Her physician had
told them that she was liable to be


thus taken away at any moment; but
though anticipated, the shock was none
the less severe.
Lois," said Mr. Graham, she's
gone, and she didn't even speak one
word to me."
Lois covered her face with her
hands, and tried to look up to Jesus
for strength.
My daughter," said Mr. Graham, in
great distress, you must pray for her."
"Oh, I can not, father," said Lois;
"it is too late."
"You must," repeated he. Oh, as
you loved her and as you love me,
pray for her poor soul."
Lois shook her head.
"Will you not do it?" he asked.
" Kneel down by the bed, and ask God
to forgive her her sins. My poor wife
must not be lost."


"Father," said Lois, bursting into
tears, she is beyond all prayers. Let
us leave her in the hands of God."
"I can not," said Mr. Graham, "I
can not. If she had been a Christian
I wouldn't have said a word, but for
her to die so, it is dreadful! Lois, you
must pray."
Lois knelt, but she did not pray for
the dead, but she begged her Saviour
to send his own peace to Mr. Graham's
"Isn't there something you can do
for her?" said Mr. Graham in an agcn-
izing voice. "Isn't there some way
that she can yet be saved ?"
Lois shook her head.
How hopeless," he said, as he
paused to gaze on the ghastly face of
his wife. My poor lost Kate! lost
forever and forever! Oh this is too
much to bear 1"


Until Mrs. Graham's body was
buried, he could not be satisfied that
she was beyond all hope, and many
times each day he begged Lois to piay
for her; but the moment she was laid
in the grave, he felt that all was over,
and gave himself up to despair.
Days passed away, but the shadow
that rested on their home only grew
the darker. Mrs. Graham had lived a
prayerless life on the earth, and they
could not gather the least hope that it
was well with her now; and yet she
had been loved as few wives and moth-
ers have been loved. She had been a
gay, brilliant woman in society, and
friends came to condole with them;
but not one of them could extract a
drop from their cup of anguish.



HE Sabbath came again, but poor
Mrs. Graham was not there to
complain of the long lonesome
Sunday. Lois and Mr. Graham
went to visit her grave.
"Father," she asked, can you not
say yet, The Lord's will be done ?'"
"No, no," said he.
And yet," said Lois, "there is rest
for you even in this great trouble; it
is in believing in the Lord Jesus
Mr. Graham shook his head.
"Lois," said he, somewhat sternly,
"you do not understand it. If my
wife had been a Christian, I could have


laid her in the grave without a tear. I
wonder that any one should weep when
a Christian dies."
Father, you must not feel so," said
Lois. Why not come to Christ your-
self? It would break my heart if you
too should be lost."
Lois, are you a Christian?" asked
Mr. Graham.
I hope I am," said Lois.
Iow long have you been one ?"
"For a week. I could not have
endured this week if Christ had not
helped me."
"I am so glad to hear this," said
Mr. Graham. How could I have
met your pious mother in the other
world, and had her ask me for her child,
and told her that she was among the
lost? But as for me, it is no matter.
It would be selfish in me to ask to be


saved, when, if I had been a Christian
years ago, I might have been the means
of leading my poor wife to Christ. I can
never undo all the evil I have done."
Nor can any of us," said Lois.
" All that God asks of us is to believe
in Jesus Christ, who came to die for us
that we might have eternal life. Hasn't
he made it easy for us ?"
Oh, yes," said Mr. Graham, but
Christ is a great ways off from me."
After the first violence of Mr. Gra-
ham's grief had subsided, Lois observed
with pleasure that he seemed to be
seeking the Saviour. She prayed for
him, and sometimes with him, and when
she read aloud to him, it was oftener
from the Bible than any other book;
yet months passed, and he could find
no rest. His face wore the same look
of settled despair.



One day Lois said to him, "Why are
you not happy in believing in Christ?
Can you give up all for him ?"
"Yes, I think I can," said Mr. Gra,
And if he should never send relief,
what then ?"
I suppose I should pray on and die
praying; what else can I do ?"
"Would you be willing to ask others
to come to Christ, even though you
could not find him yourself?"
Oh, yes," said Mr. Graham, I do
not wish others to be lost-it really
does not matter much for me."
"Then will you do to-morrow what
I have long wished might be done-'
gather the servants together and talk
and pray with them ? They have souls
as well as we."
Lois saw by the workings of Mr.


Graham's face that she had asked a
hard thing of him. He did not answer
for a moment, and then he said, "Yes,
Lois, I will do it."
The next morning he called them
together. He told them how dark his
own soul was, but he assured them
that if they would only come to Christ
they would find forgiveness. Then he
prayed for each one, and while he was
thus pouring out his heart for others,
the divine light shone into his own soul.
He rose from his knees a new man in
Christ Jesus.
Afterward, when he was walking
with Lois, he said, "I did not know
there was so much rest for me on the
earth; it is wonderful. I can even
bear my one trouble now-and a great
one it is-with Christ to help me. I
wish we could do something for others."


"Yes," said Lois, we must try to
spend our lives in doing good. Every-
body's soul is worth saving, and we
must remember it."
Mr. Graham remained thoughtfully
silent for awhile, and then he said,
"Lois, how glad your mother would be
if she knew you were a Christian.
Would you not like to go with me and
visit her ?"
Lois was entirely overcome. Her
face, rather than her words, expressed
her thanks to Mr. Graham for this un-
expected kindness.



HE next morning they started
on their journey. As Lois
Sdrew near her old home, she
felt her heart tremble both with
hope and fear. More than four
years had passed since she had seen
father, or mother, or brother, or sister,
nor had she once during this time heard
any tidings of them; for it was one of
the conditions on which Mr. Graham
had taken her, that she should be en-
tirely separated from her family.
On their way they had stopped at gay
places, but now they were in the midst
of the quiet country, and Lois could
see that the landscape was each mo-

, ..- I...



meant growing more and more familiar.
She was riding in what seemed to her
the same stage-coach that she had daily
watched as it passed her father's door.
She went by the school-house, where
she had so often heard Deacon Smith
pray. How she longed to ask some
one if the old man was yet alive. Then
she came to the grave-yard. She could
see many a new grave in it, and willows
that were very small when she went
away, had now grown to be tall and
graceful trees.
They passed on, and in a little while
they were on the top of the hill, which
they began slowly to descend. Lois
looked anxiously out of the window.
Yes, there still stood the little brown
house in its old place at the foot
of the hill. It did not look any older
than it did when she went away, al


though the storms of five winters had
been beating against it. The little
green door, with its checks of white,
looked just as bright and cheery as
ever; even the well-sweep was in its
accustomed place.
The stage stopped in front of the
house and they alighted. Lois missed
the children that used to hang on the
bars; indeed the bars were gone, -and
in their place was a little gate, which
was made to shut itself by means of a
chain fastened to a stake, with a stone
in the center to act as weight. Her
eye took in even this slight change.
With a trembling heart she ran up the
walk. She paused ere she knocked at
the door, for little did she know but
strangers might come to open it and
tell her, perhaps, that some she loved
were sleeping in their graves. At last