the different birds. Lila felt quite proud of being able to do that.

"It's just like this, little miss," Aaron would say. He always called her "little miss," because he thought it would sound too familiar to say "Miss Lila." "It's just like this. God has given us a beautiful world. There's beauty in every part of it. See this here little leaf, now! See how beautiful and perfect it is! See the tender little veins running through it, as delicate and pretty as the little veins in your own white hands. Look at anything you like in Nature, from the daisy up to the great big tree, and see for yourself whether everything hasn't got a beauty of its own. An' so it is with the birds. God give them each a different kind of song, so as they could praise Him in many voices. Have you ever seen a little bird drinkin'?"

"No," said Lila. "At least, I have never noticed it. You see, I have always lived in London, and people are too busy there to notice the birds much."

"Well, when you see one, watch how it lifts its little head to the sky, just as though it was thanking God. And that's what it always sounds like to me when I hear the birds a-singing in the woods-as though they was a-thanking God in many voices. And every one of 'em has got a beauty of his own."

“ང

"Can you tell the song of all of them, Aaron?" asked Lila wonderingly.

"Well, I think I can," replied Aaron modestly. "Yes, I think I can. Now, there's the thrush and the black bird. Their song is very much alike, but there's more whistling, like, about the blackbird, and he sings more in bits. I can't tell you very well in words, but I'll explain to you when we hear one singing. Then there's the yellow-hammer. He's a bit raspy in his song, just as though he always had a sore throat-chit, chit, churr-that's how he goes-but all the same there's something about his singing that's always pleasant to me."

"I never even heard the name of the yellowhammer," said Lila.

"Oh, he's a pretty little bird," replied Aaron -"very gay and smart-looking altogether. The little rascal's appearance is better than his song. That's often the way of the world, isn't it, miss? I'd rather hear the little wren, after all, with its sweet song and its homely coat. But still the yellow-hammer has got a sweetness of his own. I'll tell you exactly how I feel about them all. When they're all a-singing, it sounds to me just as though they was a grand choir, a-mingling together to praise the Lord. There's the high-toned birds, like the lark and the little robin. They comes in as trebles. Then there's the thrush, so mellow and low, just like an alto. Then there's the rooks a-cawing, so deep and gruff it sounds like bass. And when they're at it altogether it's just like a choir a-singing."

Thus Aaron would talk, and thus Lila would listen to every word with wide-open eyes and ears. It was all so new and fresh to her. How bright and sweet everything was to her after the smoky air of London! She used to jump and sing for joy as she ran along the meadow that led from the Manor House to the wood. How the sun

glistened upon the land, throwing a thousand gleams and shimmers upon the meadows! How the rays of golden light danced and quivered beneath the trees, as the leaves above fluttered and rippled in the wind! He seemed to be in the best of tempers, did the old sun, during that glorious summer-time. He peeped at you through leafy boughs, just as though he were saying, "Ah, there you are!" He smiled upon the waving corn in the wheatfield, and upon the naughty birds which were pecking at the grains. He shone with a warm kindly glow upon the firs in the plantation. He sent mischievous little sunbeams to wake the birds, who broke forth into such

melody that the very woods seemed to be singing. The long grass whispered and rustled. The hedges murmured low. The whole world was full of brightness and sweet delight, and Lila burst into song again and again as she crossed the meadow. Looking for Aaron was almost as good as playing at hide-and-seek. She never knew exactly where he would be: sometimes he was working at the new gateway which he was making in the corner of the hay-field; sometimes he was among the coppices in the plantation. When she caught sight of him she would creep up quietly and come upon him with a sudden whoop. He mostly knew that she was near, for his ears were very sharp; but he used to pretend, all the same, that she had surprised him, and would turn round with such a start that Lila would sit down and laugh till her

cheeks were quite rosy. If, after searching for some time, she had failed to find him, she would stand in the middle of the wood and cry "Coo-hoo, coo-hoo!" at the top of her sweet little voice; and Aaron, if he was within hearing, would answer, so that she might be guided to the spot where he was working.

"Ay, ay, little miss," Aaron would say as she came up to him, peeping at her, meanwhile, over his spectacles, and smiling. 66 Ay, ay, that's it."

Aaron had a funny habit of saying "That's it," after some thought had occurred to him, just as though everyone else knew what was in his mind.

"Ay, ay, that's it," Aaron would say.

"What are you thinking about?" Lila would ask.

Well, I was just thinking," Aaron would reply, "that this here wood is just like life. We are all, as you might say, in a wood. Our poor eyes can't see further than just a few yards round us, and we go blundering on, like blind creatures, from thicket to thicket and copse to copse, not knowin' what's the best way for us to go. And we're all the time a-cryin' out for what we want, just like you was a-callin' in the wood just now. Oh, blessed be they as trusts to the guiding voice of Him who knows how to direct their path, and blessed be they as follows that path in obedience and faith! There's no more trouble, little miss, no more trouble, when we does that."

Lila was silent. She did not quite know what he meant then, but in later days she often thought over his words, and understood how wise they were.

II.

I think you can never have seen a funnier little house than Aaron lived in. I am sure I have not. All you could see peeping out from the foot of the hill was a bare bit of white-washed wall, a door, a big waterbutt, and a chimney leaning to one side, as who should say, "Please catch me, I am falling!" That, you will admit, was a funny-looking housesimply a door, a wall, a waterbutt, and a chimney. Where was the rest of it, then? Where was the roof? Where were the other walls? Where were the windows? Where was the rain-pipe for the waterbutt? Well, I can assure you, it puzzled everyone who came near. People used to look and peer and screw their heads this way and that, as they passed, in their endeavours to solve the mystery. But however long or hard they gazed, they grew none the wiser. There they

were the wall, the door, the waterbutt, and the chimney, peeping out from their niche at the foot of the hill, and that was all you could make of it. If you went a few yards forward along the road, the trimmed yew at the gate and the laburnum-tree behind it intercepted your view. If you went a few yards the other way, and tried to look from that direction, the other yew and the thick lilac-bushes stood before you, and all you could see was the chimney. The best point of view was from the gate, right up the gravelled path, and if you stood there, the house was a greater mystery than ever.

It was only when you went up the path and walked right round the cottage that you found out the puzzle. The windows-there were only two of them, and they were the tiniest windows I have ever seen-were at the back of the small dwelling, looking up the hill-side. One

of them was the kitchen window; the other, which looked much prouder, because of its white lace curtains, belonged to the bed-room. As for the roof, it sloped down from the front wall of the house right to the tops of these windows at the back, so that you could not see it from the gate. The side-walls were hidden by the tall lilac-bushes that grew all round.

But what of the rain-pipe that fed the waterbutt? Well, there was no rain-pipe at all. There was simply a little spout leading from the trough that ran round the cottage, and in wet weather you might have seen a stream flowing from this spout into the waterbutt, in one long thin line, which swayed this way and that, as the wind blew, and sometimes swung right over the edge of the butt, splashing the square piece of stone that lay before the door.

So that is why, when you looked at Aaron's cottage from the front gate, you could only see a wall, a door, a waterbutt, and a chimney. Frank used to glance at it with scorn as he passed, and say

"Why, it is no better than a hut!"

People who were wiser than Frank used to exclaim"Why, what a delightfully quaint little spot!"

Lila used to say, "Oh, you dear old place!" whenever she went there. Going up the gravelled path she saw beauties which Frank never dreamt of. She saw the neatly-trimmed box stretching away on the side paths. She saw the glorious profusion of flowers-roses red and white, geraniums of all kinds, fuchsias glimmering like ruby pendants from every nook and corner. She saw the delightful little arbour where, on Sundays, in the summer, Aaron read the Bible to his wife, having first helped her with his strong arm to a seat on the rustic bench.

I don't think Lila ever forgot those pleasant hallholidays which she spent among the woods and fields ar in the low-beamed kitchen of Aaron's cottage. It think she had ever looked so well as she did that summer. The kisses of the country breeze had made her checks rosy-red, her eyes bright, her spirits buoyant. Her father said she had become quite a tease to everyone, but he looked at her fondly as he said it, and took her in his arms. The truth of the matter was, Aaron had taught her so many wise and wonderful things about the fields and woods that it was quite a pleasure to go forth into the open air and study them for herself. Her only trouble was that Frank would not join her. He was still disagreeable towards Aaron, still proud and foolish and dissatisfied. He would go out alone, or sit at home sullen and discontented, and his father often looked at him sadly, and wished he were more like Lila. It did not make Frank any the pleasanter that he was secretly jealous of the knowledge which Lila had gathered from Aaron. It made him feel so small to be corrected by a girl. His false pride would not brook such a thing. When he said to Lila, as they walked out in the evening, "Oh, look at that funny bird!" and Lila replied, "Why, Frank, it is a bat!" he would bite his lips with annoyance, and say sharply, "How do you know?" Lila would answer, “I know by the way it flies. Aaron taught me the difference." And then she would tell him many curious things about bats; how they slept all the winter, hanging head downwards, in some old barn or disused building; how they climbed walls in the same funny position, dragging themselves upwards by their hind claws; how their cries, as

they flew about, were so sharp and shrill that one could hardly hear them; while Frank listened sullenly.

But that was only one out of the many things that Aaron taught her during that beautiful summer-time. He knew so many things. He could tell you what kind of wood a log was, simply by smelling it. He could tell what kind of bird it was, even in the distance, by the way it flew. He knew every bush and copse and dell in the woods. He could show you the nests of the tom-tits in the loose wall at the edge of the cornfield. He could

take you to the hedge where you would oftenest find the bright-coloured chattering jays looking for some small bird for their next meal.

66

Ah, Mr. Jay," he would say, "you're a sly naughty thing, you are. Anything'll do for your dinner. You don't object to a little wren. A sparrow don't go amiss with you. You'll pick up a weak young pheasant whenever the chance comes. But there, it's your nature, and we mustn't find fault with you. Everything is as God made it."

That was the key-note of Aaron's character. How different he was from those people who are dissatisfied with everything that life may bring! They always look miserable and worried and cross, and are as unhappy themselves as they make everyone around them. Aaron's face was in itself enough to raise your spirits. It was always ready with a smile, always contented, always peaceful. Why was it, do you think? "Everything is as God made it." That was the secret. Aaron did not trouble himself to inquire" Why cannot I have this or that?" or "Why is it not with me as it is with So-and-so?" It was enough for him to live his simple life, doing his duty day by day, and rendering thanks for the mercies which God granted him.

The summer sped away as happy summers will. The autumn came, with its peace and stillness, and the trees of the wood put on their many-coloured dresses of gold and yellowish green and russet-brown. The autumn changed to winter, and the land round about stood bare and chill against the gray sky. Lila was unable to see as much of Aaron as she had done in the summer-time; but occasionally, to her great delight, she would be allowed to go out, well wrapped up, to accompany him on his walks of inspection through the wood. For Aaron was half a gamekeeper, as well as a woodman. He would take her to watch the woodcutters at work

among the great beech trees. Or he would go through the fern-plots, and show her the hares sitting here and there, half dazed with the cold. In his thick corduroy

coat, in his badger waistcoat, in his warm woollen comforter, he looked such a round bundle that Lila used to laugh and call him "Mr. Muffled-up." And Aaron would laugh in return, as though it were the best joke he had ever heard.

It was on a dark December day that Frank learned a lesson which he never forgot, and which caused his whole nature to change for the better. He was very cross and wretched that morning as he stood at the drawing-room window after lessons were over.

"This is a stupid place," he said. "I wish I were back at school."

"Oh, Frank, don't talk like that!" said Lila. "It was very kind of father to give us such a long holiday." Frank did not reply. He simply walked to the

fireplace and kicked the fender, and then strode back to the window.

"I am going up the mountain to the Topstone Rock," he said. "It is better than sticking here, doing nothing."

"You are surely not going all that way on a day like this!" exclaimed Lila. "Look how dark and threatening it is."

Frank laughed scornfully. As if he cared for the weather! Lila tried hard to dissuade him. Then, finding her efforts of no avail, she ran to Miss Morten, her governess; for her father was away on business.

"Certainly he must not go," said Miss Morton. "Mr. Melville would be very angry if Frank went so far on such a day as this."

But when Miss Morton entered the drawing-room she found that Frank had already gone. He was nowhere to be found in the grounds. The gardener searched for him in every nook and corner; the coachman went out into the meadow and shouted his name. But Frank had disappeared. All Mr. Melville's servants had been brought from London, and not one of them knew the way to the Topstone Rock.

'I'll go and see Aaron,” said Lila. “He'll tell us what to do."

She ran across the meadow to Aaron's cottage. But Aaron was not there. He had gone to look after the hedge-carpenters.

"But why are you out on such a day, little missie?" asked Aaron's wife. "Come to the fire and sit down. Aaron will most likely be back in an hour.”

"No, I must go and look for him at once," said Liia, too frightened and too hurried to say another word

The snow was already falling in big flakes as the rat towards the wood, and the rising wind was moaring in the north.

Above the wood that runs up the hill-side, behind the Manor House, there is a great sweep of bare rugged mountain-land rising gradually towards the bleak crags known as the Topstone Rocks. It is a lonely desolatelooking stretch of several miles in extent, with nothing but gorse and heather and short grass growing on its surface, save that here and there you may see a small fir-plantation enclosed by a low wall. Several narrow, winding sheep-paths run upwards from the wood to the crags, occasionally branching off into mere tracks among the stones and bushes. Nothing is to be heard the livelong day on this barren spot except the cries of the quails or partridges, the singing of the birds in the woods below, the tinkling of the sheep-bells, and the barking of the shepherds' dogs.

Frank had already reached the stile which led from the wood to the mountain when the first flakes of snow began to fall. He sat for a few minutes and looked at the sky, uncertain as to what he should do. And thes his foolish pride prevailed. He was not going to let the suppose that he was afraid of a few snow-flakes! So he went along the narrow path.

Poor Frank! He had to learn, like the rest of us, that false pride always has a fall, and a big fall it generally

is. Before he had gone half-way up the bare track the snowstorm was upon him. Oh, how furiously it beat and whirled and blew! The wind came with it, rushing with a yell and a roar from the scowling north. The dark clouds spread themselves over the whole sky, and frowned angrily right across to the horizon. The snow swept down so thick and fast and fiercely that it darkened the whole air, and blurred everything from view save the bushes close at hand. It dazed and bewildered poor Frank as he turned back and attempted to retrace his steps. It stung his eyes and confused his steps and half blinded him. He was obliged to lean forward, as he went, to make headway against the buffeting wind. The whirling flakes fell about him in dense clouds. The icy wind, ever sweeping round him with a seething hiss, chilled him to the very bones. He stumbled on, with teeth chattering, and head down, and eyes half-closed against the blinding gusts, seeing nothing but the track at his feet. His legs began to grow weak and to tremble beneath him. His feet seemed to be clogged with lead. He struggled on for full half-an-hour, growing more exhausted at each step. He had become thoroughly frightened now, and his face was white as he plodded wearily on. Suddenly the path rose upward, and his feet struck a stone, and then another, and yet another. He looked around him in consternation, but the wind only howled the louder, and whirled the snow about with tenfold fury. His pride all gave way when he realised the truth; and half stumbling, half falling on one of the rough stones at his feet, he burst into tears. He had lost his way, and had not the slightest idea as to his whereabouts.

He will never forget that terrible moment on the desolate mountain-top. He looked around him again, and as quickly hid his face in his hands. For he could see nothing except the thick-falling snow, and hear nothing save the whistling wind. A strange faintness came upon him. He tried to rise, but a sharp twinge shot

"He's comin' to now, ay, I think he's comin' to now, thank the Lord!" said Aaron, bending over Frank and gently chafing his hands.

Frank slowly opened his eyes and looked round him vacantly. It was some minutes before he could collect his senses. What strange place was this? He seemed to be lying in a small hut made of turf. A big log fire was burning before him, shedding its grateful warmth upon his numbed body, while behind him the rough door was rattling with the force of the storm, and outside the wind was moaning and rumbling. He looked up, and met the gaze of two kindly blue eyes. He realised it all now. Aaron had saved him—Aaron, whom he had always treated so scornfully. He burst into tears again, and throwing his arms round Aaron's neck, sobbed on his shoulder.

"There, there," said Aaron tenderly. "You'll be right again in a few minutes. Put your feet to the fire a bit more. There-that's right. How did I find you? It was by the Lord's guidance, nothin' more nor less. You missed the path to the wood and had got more than a mile out of your way. I was walkin' about a long time before I came upon you. And then I carried you to this here shed. This is what I calls my house in the wilderness, you see. I always keeps dry wood here, so that if rough weather comes on me or the other men, we can always have a warm place of shelter to take our meals in. There, there, young master, don't thank me. It was the Lord's mercy as did it. Let us thank Him together!"

What passed between them as they sat there in the midst of the storm on that wild day is not for other ears than their own; but this I may tell you. There were no closer friends in after days than Aaron and Lila and Frank.

HARRY DAVIES.

IT

"QUIET

T was coming home from Capstan Bay that it happened; but perhaps I had better begin at the beginning, like a real story. We went down to the seaside rather late in the summer, for mamma didn't want to go without papa, and papa was so busy he never could get away. We were longing to get away, it was so hot in town, and there were no children left to play with in the square garden. The streets, too, just choked you with dust.

I said to mamma I couldn't see why she should mind leaving papa; he couldn't come to any harm, for there would be cook and the other servants to look after him— as we should only take nurse and Jane; and that very evening when papa came home, he said a fresh batch of papers had come in, and that he should be kept in town at least another month. We must just go without him. That of course really settled our going, but I think what I said to mamma had something to do with it too. In a few days we went off. "We 99 means us children, mamma, nurse and Jane; and "us children" means me,

KATIE."

the eldest of the family, Katie, Dorothy, baby and the two little boys. Katie comes next to me, she is two years younger; but she is so very quiet and has got such long legs, that people very often take her for the eldest. I don't like it when they do, for of course it is rather an important thing to be the eldest of a large family; one sits next mamma in church, and gets helped first at dinner; and by-and-by I shall write notes for mamma, and do things for her; as it is, I always snap her bracelets on, when they are going out to dinner and papa hasn't time. After Katie come the boys. They don't count for much, except for teazing, and we generally make them play by themselves. After them Dorothy; then baby. Baby is a great duck; we are all very fond of her, she is so pretty and so funny. She is always picking up things she hears other people say, and comes out with them when one doesn't expect it. The last thing she has got hold of is, “I done unnerstand." Where she got it from I don't know, but she came out with it one night when she was on