And after reading that he went forward, wondering how it happened that he should be leading a band of travellers into the King's city, and his heart swelled with joy and thankfulness.

Into the great square swept the processions; and as they drew near each other and formed into line, Eric heard his name, and saw the riders on the white horses; but they were so manly, so bright and strong, that he could scarcely believe that they were Paul and Godfrey.

'We are all bidden to a great festival here,' they said. All who have done any

thing for the King are to be presented to Him, and to give an account of their work, and then He will give us something more to do.'

'Ah! He will not be pleased with me,' said Eric. 'I have done nothing for any one yet.'

But you want to do something, and they say the King is very kind,' said Paul; and Godfrey cried, 'Do you see Hugo and Bertram at the head of those soldiers? How glad I am! And that is Mark, I am sure, just coming into the square; that one with the jewel in his cap. O, what a fine time we shall have !'

Yes-all were there except Ronald and Ralph and Guy, and all had done something in His service which they could report to the King. All of them? What had Eric done? Eric, to his great joy, heard one pilgrim saying to another :

I should never have got through those dreadful gorges in the mountains if I had not seen the lad Eric always in front, toiling on. I thought if he could get through I could; and then when we stood on the edge of the lake, he was the first to cross it.' So Eric had done something for others, after all.

And when they all passed before the King, Eric had his share of notice and reward. He was appointed to go into the mountains with Louis and Hugo and break up a gang of robbers there who had been a terror to travellers for many years.

Each of the others had some fresh task given him, and set forth gladly to do it, knowing that the city of the great King would be their home and meeting-place for

evermore.

FAULT.

'No, indeed; we should have him ill again if he went out to-day. Maggie, you had better not go yourself.'

Maggie hesitated. She did not in the least want to go to school, but she had a habit of concealing her real feelings and thoughts. This bad habit was growing upon her and though she would have been

shocked at the idea, was gradually but surely preparing her for acts of real deceit.

At last she said, 'I could put on my waterproof and thick boots, mother.'

'Very well, dear, do as you like,' said Mrs. Hastings; and after this conversation her mother was naturally much surprised when Maggie walked into the kitchen halfan-hour after the time when she generally reached her school.

'Why, Maggie, haven't you gone?'

'No, mother; I thought perhaps Harry would be troublesome by himself, and so I can help to amuse him.'

'Well, Maggie, when I said "Do as you like," I did not intend that to be your excuse for staying at home. And where have you been for the last half-hour? Why did you not come at once if you wanted to help me?'

Maggie looked ashamed; for she had been standing idly at the door watching the rain, and wondering what good-sounding excuse she could make for staying at home.

'You must help me now you are at home,' continued Mrs. Hastings; 'I should. think you can dust the sitting-room if you are very careful with the ornaments.'

Maggie had planned to play with her little brother, of whom she was extremely fond, but she could not refuse to do as she was asked, so she answered, 'Yes, mother, and I will take Harry with me.'

'Harry will dust,' said the little fellow, as he trotted after her.

'So you shall, darling,' said Maggie, and she showed him how to rub the legs of the chairs and the table, and the little boy worked away with all his might.

'When will father come home?' he asked at last, pausing for an answer.

'I'm not sure; to-morrow, I think, Harry.'

'O, won't it be nice! I wonder what he'll bring. O, Maggie, let me help you!'

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Harry's lips quivered. Maggie did not often speak so to him; and then, interested. in his sister's movements, he got up and went to her. 'What are you doing?'

'I'm only trying to get this paper out. Some one has rolled it up, and it went in easily enough, and now I can't get it out.'

What is it?' asked Harry, curiously trying to reach up to a level with Maggie's hands.

'A paper; I don't know what is on it, but it might be something of mine. Harry, put your fingers in, they are smaller than mine.' But Harry could not reach it; and at last Maggie turned the vase upside down, and tapped it gently on the table, trying in this way to move the paper. Her taps got harder and harder, for Maggie in her impatience forgot what a delicate thing she was handling, and in less time than it takes to tell, a harder knock than ever smashed the neck of the vase into several pieces, and the paper was free. Maggie gave one frightened look, and then, without giving herself time to think, she rushed off, leaving Harry to himself, and finding her mother, exclaimed breathlessly, 'O, mother, Harry has broken that brown vase, trying to get a paper out!'

Maggie, you are very naughty. Why did you let Harry touch it?' said Mrs. Hastings, turning round, looking quite distressed.

'O, mother,' said Maggie, 'I'm so sorry! Don't scold poor little Harry.'

'No, indeed, Maggie; you you deserve scolding, not Harry. There, dear, don't cry,' added her mother, more gently. 'I will forgive you, only I'm afraid your father will be very vexed.'

And then Harry came in. Harry, why did you touch the vase?' said his mother.

'I only wanted to get the paper out,' replied Harry, penitently, never dreaming that his dear sister had told a lie about him.

Maggie tried to feel happy that she had escaped so easily, but do what she would she felt miserable all the rest of that day; and at night, when she went to bed, she hardly dared to kneel down and ask God's blessing, feeling how unworthy she was. Then she forgot her unhappiness in sleep; but when she woke in the morning she felt a weight of misery underneath the thought that father was coming to-day.

Through the day Mrs. Hastings noticed her wretched looks, and kindly told her not to fret, for she would take care her father was not much vexed. But of course this could not make Maggie happy; and when evening came it was with a very solemn face she welcomed her father.

Tea was spread in the sitting-room, and there was a bright fire burning. Everything and everybody looked cheerful but the little girl. Even the new doll which her father had brought could not bring a smile to Maggie's face.

Harry, sitting on his father's knees, his

face beaming with smiles, was telling his father all that had happened during his week's absence.

Maggie just came up as Harry was pointing with his fat hand and saying excitedly, 'Isn't it a pity, father, that Maggie broke the vase?'

'You broke it, Harry, love,' said his mother, in a surprised tone.

Harry burst into tears.

'There, darling, don't cry-it was an accident; and then, glancing at her little. girl, Mrs. Hastings stopped, and her father turned too and looked. Never was there a more guilty face. It was Maggie's first real lie, and she could keep her secret no longer.

'Mother, I did do it,' she said; and then stood trembling and pale, not daring to look up. Her parents could not help feeling sorry, but Maggie was glad that their attention was taken by Harry, whose sobs continued more pitifully than ever.

It was a dreary coming home for Mr. Hastings, and all the pleasant tea-welcome was spoiled. Maggie was sent to bed almost directly after tea; and then she had a conversation with her mother which made her feel more deeply what a sin she had been guilty of. Mrs. Hastings tried to show her little daughter that she had been gradually preparing herself for this great sin by giving way for a long time to little deceptions and a want of straightforward honesty.

As Maggie listened to her mother, she made a resolution, which I hope she will keep,-to ask God to help her never to give way to the least sin of deception, but to walk honestly as in the day.

First

Next,

BEECHHOLME.

carefully folded within the blade, there came the ear, not hard and yellow as it is now, but soft and of the palest green. Who gave to the delicate ear such a beautiful hiding-place, where the heat of the sun might reach and warm, but not scorch and destroy the feeble life that needed such protection? The same loving Father Who has given to you in

your helpless infancy, and in your first opening years of childhood and youth, the sweet, certain refuge that you call 'home?'

Thus sheltered and cared for, the ear grew strong, and lost a little of its softness, and put on a darker green, and presently ventured to peep from out its shelter. Soon it grew altogether independent of the blade, which fell aside, being no longer necessary. Then the hot, blazing rays of the sun, and the cool night dews and gentle showers finished the work; and now there waves all over the country, ready for the reaper's sharp scythe, field after field of golden grain.

I wonder how many of the children who will read this, know what the 'joy of harvest' is! How I wish you all could have one long, happy day amongst the reapers; and, like Ruth of old, go gleaning after them; that is, picking up the stray ears they leave whilst binding up the corn into sheaves, ready to be taken away. The man in the Picture has worked well through the hot morning hours; and now, when he is beginning to feel tired out, his trusty little messenger has brought his dinner, which must be very welcome after his hard work, although he really seems more pleased to see his bonny boy, whom he left fast asleep in the early morning, than the plentiful meal his wife has so nicely cooked for him and sent off, bidding Willie to be sure to carry it safely to father. I think he has done so, don't you?

Then after a little nap under the leafy shelter of some overhanging tree, he will work again till the cool evening hours, and then join in the crowning gladness, when the sheaves are put into wagons and taken home in the mellow light of the golden moon, whilst merry harvest songs are breaking the stillness of the night air! What makes harvest-time such a season of rejoicing? It is the successful reaping in its due season of that which was sown in the dark, gloomy days of winter; it is the fulfilment of early promise made in the first spring-days; it is the bright ending

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to months of waiting and watching and

suspense.

But I want to talk to you about other fields, where a different kind of sowing goes on; upon which another sun shines, other dews and rains fall; and where other harvests than ripened grain are ingathered. Can you guess what I am thinking of?

Your hearts, dear girls and boys, are these fields, and upon them, so early in life that you cannot remember, the sowing was commenced. Two different kinds of seeds were scattered upon the tender ground. Seed lovingly, prayerfully sown by tender hands; 'good seed of the kingdom,' 'the Word of God,' quickly springing up into bright promise under the warmth from the rays of the Sun of Righteousness, and the gentle dews and refreshing showers of the Holy Spirit's grace; promise that showed itself in earnest desires to be like Jesus, and in effort to do what you knew to be His will. Side by side with this, other seed was sown in your hearts, cast by the great enemy seed of evil thoughts, evil words, evil deeds, ready, ah! so ready, to spring up and choke the good seed.

Do you say you cannot help this seed springing up? You can help it; for your hearts are not like the earthly soil that must receive all seed, whether good or bad, that will be fruitful and multiply whatever is cast upon its surface, because it has no power to choose or reject. It is just this power that you have, dear children, that makes you different from God's animal creation. You can refuse the evil and choose the good seed, or you can choose the evil and refuse the good. Yet although

naturally weak and sinful, and ever ready to prefer what is wrong, with the power of Jesus in your hearts, and trusting to that alone, you can so learn to watch and pray as to give no opportunity to him who is ever ready, in heedless moments, to drop into your hearts seed that will sadly hinder the growth of all that is good and holy in your lives.

And do not forget that though it may seem a long way off, there will be a harvest

[Continued on page 138.