CHAPTER IV.

The little party were, of course, beset with questions concerning their morning's adventure.

While they were upon their journey home, the adventure on the sands still formed a principal subject of conversation, and Eliza, who happened to be seated next to Susan in the railway carriage, suddenly asked her how she meant to spend the shilling which she had so nearly lost in the sands. At mention of the shilling, Susan's face became radiant with joy, she nodded her head a great many times, then shaking it, declared, "that the way in which it was to be spent, was a profound secret.'

It soon spread abroad among the children, that Susan Harris had a secret, and while the children were sitting enjoying their tea in the school-room, the little girl was assailed with many questions, and much good humoured teasing; but, as she continued firin, she was left at last to the peaceful possession of her secret.

Owing to the kind exertions of the teachers, the tea passed off most merrily, and tears were to be seen on more than one little cheek, when the children rose up to sing a simple hymn, previous to dismissal to their separate homes.

The harvest moon was rising, round and red, and a few stars were already appearing in the sky, when Ellen and Susan wearily retraced the streets, which in the morning they had so gaily passed along; they were soon joined by Eliza, and Marianne and her brother, and it was then made evident that though their limbs were weary, their tongues most certainly were not, for they all talked fast and eagerly over the wonders of the day; the sea-the sands-the ships-formed the principal subject of their conversation, interspersed with occasional praise of the plum-cake which they had just been enjoying, and of the kindness of their teachers. When they turned up a particular street, however, their voices became suddenly hushed, and every eye was directed towards the windows of a house, at the door of which stood a pony-chaise. "The blinds are down," said Ellen in a whisper. "Oh that is nothing," replied

Marianne, "it's getting so late, you know. Oh! how I wish I could ask somebody how Master Percy is !"

At this moment the door opened, and a gentleman came out. He was descending the doorsteps, when he suddenly turned back to give a last direction to a lady who was standing in the hall.

"That's Dr. Jones; I thought it was his chaise," said Eliza, who knew every one, "and he's speaking to Mrs. Reynolds in the hall." "No, it's not Mrs. Reynolds, it's Miss Taylor, she hurried home you know, she was not with us at tea." "Come along, children, you mustn't stop and stare so," said Ellen, authoritatively. The little party moved on, all except Marianne, whose anxiety on Percy's account induced her to linger. The doctor was returning to his carriage, when Miss Taylor caught sight of Marianne's wistful face, and immediately beckoned to her. "Master Percy is better, Marianne," said she, "the doctor says he hopes he'll do nicely now; we are all so thankful." Oh, ma'am, thank you for telling me, I did so want to know."

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'I thought so; and Marianne, I wanted to tell you, Mrs. Reynolds wishes you to come for a few hours of a morning, to be in readiness to run on errands, and help the servants in this time of trouble; so ask your inother if she can spare you to earn a trifle for yourself. You are a good steady girl, I know, and can be trusted. But, what's the matter? Don't you like to come?"

"Yes, ma'am, very much- only-only Miss Stevenson said I was not to be trusted,- indeed, I'm very sorry. Poor Marianne quite broke down, but Miss Taylor said kindly, "Well, Marianne, you were wrong, I know, but, do you know, I can trust you all the better now; you are not so sure of your own strength; you are sorry for your little fault, and the pain you have suffered will, no doubt, make you do better another time; you are very candid too, and that I very much like, so, if your mother pleases, come at half-past nine to-morrow, unless, indeed," she added, smiling, "you are too much tired with your treat. Good night; see how your companions have outstripped you; you must hurry after them."

A happy girl was Marianne Graut that night; and happier yet, perhaps, was Susan, who still exulted in the safe possession of her secret. When they had left Marianne and Owen at their own door, Eliza caught hold of Susan's arm, and dragged her towards a shabby little confectioner's shop, which was situated at the corner of the narrow street in which the parents of both resided. "Come, Sukey, do buy something nice," said she, "think what a quantity of peppermint lozenges you might get for a shilling, or hard bake, or sugar sticks!"

Poor Susan, the shop was just lighting up, and the gaily painted, though too often poisonous, eatables, displayed in the windows, looked to her very tempting. She had almost made up her mind to spend just one penny upon a sugar pig, which particularly took her fancy, when the happy recollection came in time to check her. "Oh! Eliza," cried she, "don't you remember Mr. Reynolds said in his address, it was just like taking a little poison, to eat this common sweet stuff, because it's made up of such unwholesome things, and do you know, I thought he looked at me when he said so. Besides, I want my money for something else, something much nicer."

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Eliza called her mean, and stingy, and parted from her in anger. Susan ran gaily home, and threw herself in her mother's arms. Why, my dear child," cried the latter, "what has kept you? Ellen's been in these five minutes."

"Oh, Eliza kept me at the sweet shop, but I didn't buy any thing, and I'm so glad, but father,-where's father?"

Here, pussey," said her father, lifting her ou his knee, "what do you want with me, eh?"

"Oh! this is for you," said the breathless little girl, slipping her bright shilling into his hand, "to buy another jug, you know." So eager and excited, was she however, that her father could not at first comprehend how she had obtained the shilling, or to what purpose she intended to devote it. As soon, however, as he understood that it was meant to repair her carelessness in breaking the jug, he kissed her again and again,

and did not release her until her cheeks were red and smarting, from coming in contact with his rough bearded chin.

"You shall go with me to-morrow and choose a pretty jug, dear," said her mother, "leastways if you're not too tired." Susan declared she was not the least tired to-night, in proof of which she began to relate the adventures of the day. It was not long though, before her head drooped, her eyelids closed, and acknowledging she was rather sleepy now, she bade her parents good night," and went to bed, with a heart full of gratitude, simply expressed in her evening prayers, for all the happiness she had enjoyed that day.

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Long did their excursion to the sea-beach remain a pleasant recollection to the Sunday-scholars, and to none of them could such a day be unproductive of good, if it gave them a clearer insight into the works of Him, "who holdeth the waters in the hollow of His hand," and whose goodness is displayed, not only in the wonders and beauties of the world, but in the happy homes and loving hearts with which His creatures are surrounded.

TRAVELLING IN THE EAST.

THERE is perhaps no particular in which Eastern life more strikingly contrasts with that of modern Europe, than it does in all that relates to travelling. Compare the railway train, or even the stage-coach or French diligence, with a caravan of the desert, and there is

scarcely a single feature in common. In the one case you find a great amount of order, punctuality and speed; in the other the starting is often "a scene of indescribable confusion," "the loading of the camels never fails to produce a scene of wrangling,' our movements are rendered tardy by the length of the train," and "the pace seldom exceeds a walk." Such are the

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