"I am sure I am much obliged to Mr. Flint, then," said David, warmly; "and I am sorry I have had hard thoughts about him. I never thought that he would have done me this kind

"Ah, but you do not understand me quite. The man had no intention of giving you a good character, but he blundered it out in spite of himself. And then, though you did not see me, I saw something of you on that day."

"Did you, sir?"

"Yes. By the way, you are a Methodist, are you not ?"

"People call me so, sir," said David.

"Well, I am not," said Mr. Strange; "but if a man is sober, honest, and quiet, and industrious as well, which I take for granted you are, he is welcome to be religious into the bargain; so I think it is all settled between us now."

David Ferrie returned home still wondering, but yet more grateful and glad than bewildered. He could not understand it all; but he could understand that the God in whom he trusted, and to whom he had looked up for help in time of need, had appeared for his deliverance. And when, after some time, he learned from his employer the precise way in which that gentleman had become acquainted with his circumstances, and obtained an insight into his character, he thought none the less that it was the Lord who had done great things for him, whereof he was glad. For David Ferrie's

faith was as strong as it was simple, and as scriptural as it was strong.

There is little more to tell. Never after that time was David behind-hand with his rent, for he always had constant employment, and his hands were sufficient for him. His employer valued him for his sterling worth, and thought well of "Methodism," for David's sake. We should add, that he very soon removed his family from their old dwelling to the vacant cottage at "The Hills,” and that either change of air, or more generous food, or other comforts which Mr. Strange was kind enough to supply, or being relieved of a burden of care and anxiety, soon produced beneficial effects on the health and strength of David's ailing wife and daughter.

57

A MISTAKE; AND HOW IT WAS RECTIFIED.

"If I were not seeing it with my own eyes I should not believe it; no, not if anybody were to have told me anybody." This said Joseph Cartwright, the tailor, to himself, as he sat on his board, and, pausing in his work, looked intently and with a fixed gaze down the street. "No," he repeated, ejecting his words slowly as he spoke, "I would not have believed it; but seeing is believing.'

"What would you not have believed, Mr. Cartwright ?" asked my grandfather, who, unnoticed by the tailor, had that moment stepped into the shop.

"Oh, sir, I beg your pardon," said Mr. Cartwright, turning sharply round upon his customer; "I did not know you were here, sir. But, as to what I would not have believed, will you please to step this way, and you can see for yourself." My grandfather complied.

The tailor's window was a very convenient window. For one thing, it admitted plenty of light, which was desirable for Joseph Cartwright's

work. For another thing, being a bow-window, it projected beyond the line of houses on either side, and gave an uninterrupted view of the whole street in its entire length. Looking one could see up

way, the tailor, as he sat at work, the street as far as the church, which bounded that end of it; and looking the other way, he could see down the street in beautiful perspective, to the fields beyond, which bounded the other end of it. Perhaps I am wrong, however, in calling this a convenience, because of the temptation which it presented to Mr. Cartwright to lift his eyes from his work oftener than was needful; and to which temptation, I fear, he sometimes yielded.

Well, my grandfather stepped to the window, and, following Joseph's gaze, looked down the street. "What do you see there, sir ?" asked the tailor. "Well, my friend, my eyes are not very good; they are older than yours, you know; but I do see a light cart and a gray horse at the door of the

Eight Bells.' The horse is standing quiet enough, which I am glad to see; for there is a child in the cart, a mere child, who could not possibly have any command over the animal if it were to take it into its head to run away."

"But that is not all, sir: wait a minute; they are gone into the public-house again. There, sir, there they come. What do you see now, sir ?"

"I see what seems to me to be a painful sight, if I see aright, Mr. Cartwright," replied my grandfather again, and giving in to the tailor's

mood; "I see two men on the pavement; they have just come out of the Eight Bells.'"

"Yes, sir; they have been in and out three times in the last ten minutes. But that is not all you can see, sir."

"No, I am sorry to see that they appear to be intoxicated, respectably dressed as they are; one of them, at least, is so overcome with drink, or seems to be, that he cannot stand. He is down on the pavement now, and the other is nearly down too. He has just saved himself; and now he is endeavouring to help his companion on his legs. Ah! I see, they were arm-in-arm together. There, he has succeeded at last; and now they are attempting to get into the cart. That's well, at least, landlord, to come out and hold the horse's head, though you ought to be ashamed of yourself," continued my grandfather, apostrophising him of the "Eight Bells,'-"you ought really to be ashamed of yourself for encouraging drunkenness."

"So he ought, sir; but it is his business to sell liquor, you see.

"A poor excuse that, friend Cartwright," rejoined my grandfather; "and if it is his business to sell liquor, it is equally his business to see that his customers do not make beasts of themselves." "That's true, sir," said the tailor; "and that's what those men have done."

While they were saying this, the more drunken man of the two, after many unsuccessful attempts, and two or three bad falls, had been assisted into