“I am thankful, dearest mother, very—very thankful; and cow I will tell you what I bave been thinking about. Tam fond of this kind of work, you know, aod I think I contd a0 easily earn a support in this ‘way, und yet be always with you; for you know if I ‘was to teach echool, we thould be separated so much, Dont you tbiak it isa good plan, mother?” said Elsie, anxiously, as she saw her mother bend her head upon her haads. For a moment Mrs. Gray did not an- swer. Should ber daughter—her young, fragile and Deautiful daughter, bend day afier day over the toil- some needle? Should she bow her fair young head hour after hour over the tedious work, to obtain the scanty pittance with which the seamstress was re- warded? her daughter, whom she had sheltered from the cold and guarded from the heat—whom she bad Burtured a8 delicately as the rarest exotic of the green- houre~-should she toil—end 10i]—end toil for bread? ‘There was misery in the thought, and raising ber hol- low eyes, she said, ‘no, Elsie, no, darling—not yet, not yet. Twill see our good Deacon Walters, Your father’s parishioners will not surely let hie widow aod his orphan want for bread.”
“But, mother, Lam young, you know, and I must do something for a living, and I would eo much rather be here with you, and take in the sewing, than to teach school and board around from house to house, as the teachers have to."
+ “Well, Elsie, I will think about it; you are no doubt right, but it will behard, very hard, my daugh- ter”
‘That evening Mra. Gray slipped from the house, snd went down to the dwelling of Deacon Walters. She wus closcted but « little while with him, and ‘when she parted from him, he said—
“1 will do all Lean for you, Mrs. Merwin, but my Safluence has not been much since the young minister came. Farewell—God be with you,” and he grasped her hand warmly.
A week from that evening Deacon Walters called ‘upon Mrs. Gray, at the parsonage.
“We held a meeting at the vestry, last night,” be eaid, “but the—ahem! the parishioners said that— that the young minister bas » growing family, and that they—they bave to fncrense his salary, end that the church is in debt, and they—zhey say they are not able to do anything for you; but I've got the promise of the lest quarter's payment, and @ small sum which ‘we took up by subseription,” and Deacon Walters Inid twenty-five dollars on the table, without saying that twenty wes from his own purse, and the rest made up by sixpences and ninepenoes from the gene- rous congregation,
Good old man—how his heart bled for the delicate wife and fragile daughter of bis last minister! how it throbbed with holy indignation for the wrongs which they endured so patiently! Would that tbeir case was: an isolated one; but no, scores of delicately reared wives and daughters of ministera ere turned out upon. the world to seek their sustenance #8 they may, uo- aided by those who listened year afler year to the preaching of the word of life from the upwearied lips of the husband and feiher. Shame! ehame! a bitter end burwing shame to the inhabitants of the towns and villages who sanction euch unchristian, such inhuman conduct. With whet agonizing lamentar tions will they cry in the last day, saying, “Lord, when saw we thee an hungered or athirst, and did not minister unto thee?” and bow full of teuth will de the answer, “Inasmuch as ye did it not to one of the least of these, ye did it not to me!”
Elsie commenced enthusiastically ber labors, and through the tong hot days she fagged not, for her young heart sustained her with the thought that she was earning the bread for her dear mother and for hereelf, and she was agaia bappy in being useful, Sometimes e blush would Git across her face, ax sho thought how rapidiy the weeks were passing, and how soon Philip—dear Philip, would be with her again, and then she would sigh, for nhe could not belp wondering why be had not written to her in her be- reavement, and fencying bow surprited he would be to see her so much changed, for Elsie had indeed changed—changed from the pure and anowy bad to the wonderously lovely and almost queealy lily, Her girlish form was fest perfecting in the full and tese contour of the woman, and her dark mou fing 0 tightly ber graceful form, was singularly be- coming, Thus a month fitted by, and at her litte writing-desk Elsie was counting the earnings of those four busy weeks.
Over and over aguin she counted—was it possible that she had earned scarce two dollars, ‘Try hard aa she could, and she did, indeed, try very bard, she could not make it more, and with a tong, sad sigh, she went to her mother’s room, and laid the little pile of silver on the bureau.
“It is very litle, mother, isitnot?” she said, “very little, after sewing #0 long and s0 steadily—we shall never be able to live, I am afraid,” ebe sighed.
Poor ehild! had she been able todie, it woutd have been better, far better for her, as far as mortal eye could then see, for it would have saved her young heart from many a pang, but the tried gold comes forth pure and unalloyed from tbe furnace, and through the chastenings and affictions of earth, the apitit is prepared for its Heavenly home.
‘That night she went to carry home little bundle of work, and she strove to walk cheerfully over tho grase-grown path, although ber apiril was heavy within her, She reached the house, and afier re- ceiving the pay she turned to leave, buta name an rested ber alteation, aod abe paused long enough in the doorway 10 Rear the speaker add——‘and his father’s e-going to New Haven first, ind then Mr. Phil joins him, and they go from there to Niagara, and then across the lakes.” . Elsie had heard enough —enough to tend the tears rolling thick and fast down her feverishly glowing cheeks, and she turned from the road-side into the wood-path which led down be- side the old school-house, and through the glen to the toaesive oak which had Witnessed their first parting. ‘There, upon the moss, she threw berself, crashing the king-cups and the daises, and the long fern leaves which wore growing in that wild place side by side, and she wept bitterly over-her repeated disappoint men's, and murmured at the destiny which seemed mocking hee brightest hopes.
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