and were brought up in the expectation that at her death, Thorley Grange would be Lucy's, while the remainder of her property would go to Alfred. Fortunately for Mrs. Hinxman's love of power, her wealthy husband had left all that he possessed entirely in her hands. "Good afternoon, Miss Lucy; are you looking out for the Thorley omnibus, too?"

The speaker was a merry-faced lad of about fourteen years old, and the "Miss Lucy" he addressed was a young lady on a pony, from which elevated position she was apparently gazing at the scene before her. From the slight eminence on which her pony stood so patiently, the Common, with gentle undulations and many a shady hollow, sloped far before her; in the valley at her feet was Thorley Road (which wound up the hill-side till it reached the "upper road" at the top), and beyond that the valley rose again, not broken to the eye with patches of yellow broom or wild luxuriant growth of gorse and heather, but fertile in rich corn-fields, which seemed to ripple like waves as the rising wind swept over them, and gave promise of a golden harvest; and beyond the fields, on the horizon, was the dark outline of Thorley Wood, which formed a fitting background to the scenery.

Lucy started as the boy spoke to her; her thoughts had been far

the fields, and then my thoughts wandered to other things. For a few minutes it all appeared so bright,” she added, speaking more to herself, "and now look there," and she pointed to the gathering clouds; "isn't it like one's life-a little sunshine, and then gloom?"

"It looks uncommonly like rain," said matter-of-fact Tom. "I wish the omnibus would make its appearance."

"Are you expecting any one?" asked Lucy.

"Yes, our Cousin Joan. There's no need for her to be taken into the village, so my father sent me down to ask the driver just to turn up our lane; it isn't a minute out of his way, you know. Havn't you heard she was coming?"

"No; how should I? I see so little of you now."

"That's true:" and Tom Haynes looked up laughingly. "Your aunt thinks Dissent is catching, I believe. I wonder what sort of a girl my cousin Joan is."

"Don't you know her?" said Lucy, surprised.

"Never saw her," answered Tom. "Her mother and mine were sisters, and I believe she's like my mother in face, but I expect she's dreadfully old-maidish and stuck-up-I do, indeed, Miss Lucy. Her mother died when she was very little. My uncle was a missionary in Jamaica then, and he has made a regular companion of her ever since, till he died three or four months ago. Why, in his last letter I remember he said Joan was beyond me in Euclid and Greek; fancy that for a girl now!"

"How old is she?" asked Lucy.
"Somewhere about sixteen."

"A year younger than I am, and so clever!" said Lucy, sighing. "I shall be quite afraid of your cousin, Tom."

"I hope not," said a pleasant voice

close behind, and Lucy looking round, saw Mr. Haynes. "I sent Tom to meet Joan, and then remembered that they had never seen each other, so I have followed him. Are you expecting any one by the omnibus? Here it comes; in five minutes it will be here. Were you waiting for it?"

"Oh no, papa," answered Tom for her, with a laugh, "Miss Lucy was only looking dismally at the clouds." "Look at the sunshine as well," said Mr. Haynes, as Lucy, with an attempt to frown at Tom, held out her hand to say good-bye; "and don't forget," he added in a lower tone, "that behind the clouds the sun is still shining. The troubles of life, like clouds, soon pass away, but the sunlight of a Father's love is for ever

more.'

Lucy's face thanked him for the kindly words, though she made him no reply; but, much to the satisfaction of her groom, who had been impatiently waiting all this time at a respectful distance, she gave "Rob a gentle hint to move, and slowly rode away.

The omnibus had nearly reached the summit of the slope, and Lucy knew that she must meet it as she went on to the Grange. Eagerly she scanned the faces of the passengers in the moment of passing it;-yes, that was Joan, the only young lady inside. It was little more than a glimpse that Lucy caught of her, but the bright earnest face was one to be remembered; the eyes were frank and loving in their expression, there were signs of power in the broad ample brow and well-formed mouth; Lucy intuitively felt that "Cousin Joan" was one whose heart would go out in loving sympathy to the sorrowful, whose soul would be in harmony with all that is noble and true.

"I like her face," said Lucy to

herself, as she rode on more rapidly; "I always fancied before that clever girls must be ugly. If I could but know her well; but there's little chance of that if she is a Dissenter, and Mr. Haynes' niece is certainly not likely to be a Churchwoman. It may be weeks before I even speak to her."

But Lucy was mistaken. The next morning she was on her way to Mr. Haynes's house, with her aunt's full knowledge and approval. The early post had brought a letter from Alfred's schoolmaster, in which Mrs. Hinxman was informed that three boys had been taken ill with scarlet fever, and as Alfred was very delicate, he suggested that he had better be sent for home without delay. This intelligence alarmed Mrs. Hinxman, and a servant was at once despatched to the school to fetch her nephew away. Owing to a long illness years ago, Alfred was much behind other boys of his age, and for the last three years, to make up for lost time, he had studied under the superintendence of Mr. Haynes during the holidays. It had not been without a struggle that Mrs. Hinxman had first made this arrangement. Could her purpose have been served in any other way, a nephew of hers would never have been pupil to a Baptist minister. But though she hated Dissent, her pride in "her boy" made her most anxious that he should be behind none of his age. Mr. Haynes, she knew, was a good classical scholar; and, in fact, she had no choice; Mr. Erskine, the vicar of Thorley Common, was a man of independent means, besides, he lived in Thorley, which was too far off for Alfred to go in all weathers. While he was young she did not fear that his religious opinions would be influenced by his temporary tutor, yet every holidays she declared that the going to Mr. Haynes should be

ended. If Alfred was too young to think, or to question, Lucy was not; and Mrs. Hinxman felt that while Mr. Haynes was willing to take Alfred as a pupil, she could not treat him otherwise than courteously -could not altogether debar Lucy from some slight acquaintance with his family. And Mr. Haynes, whose income was very small, was on his part well content with the liberal terms that Mrs. Hinxman offered, and was glad of the opportunity of influencing for good the orphan children, whose confidence in doubt or difficulty would, he feared, never be freely given to their kind but severe relative.

"This note will explain about Alfred," said her aunt to Lucy; "and if it would suit Mr. Haynes to have him to-morrow I shall be glad; I can't have an idle boy hanging about in my house. And as you return, just go round by Mrs. Store's cottage, and ask her for the pillow lace she promised me last week."

Lucy gladly started on her errand; there seemed a possibility of her getting to know Joan now.

"Mrs. Haynes is out," said the minister, after reading the note, "but Joan and Tom are in the garden; suppose I introduce you, and leave you to talk together while I write

an answer."

The introduction was soon accomplished, but the "talking" did not follow so readily. Lucy thought of the Euclid and Greek, and was shy and silent. Joan fancied the "heiress of the Grange" (for Tom had spoken of her) was proud, so she, too, was disposed to silence; Tom alone was ready to speak. He was delighted that Alfred was coming to his father again, "though I wonder," he added, in his free-and-easy way, "that Mrs. Hinxman isn't afraid."

"Afraid of what?" said Joan.

"Of our turning him into a Dissenter; you don't know what a fierce Churchwoman she is. I beg your pardon, Miss Hinxman, but really it's true. Why, I once heard her say that some one had been murdered by Dissent, and if that's not being rabid, I don't know what is." "O Tom," interrupted Joan, “don't talk such nonsense.

"Tom is right in saying that my aunt made that remark," observed Lucy, gravely; she was speaking of my mother, I believe; she has told me the same thing earnestly, as a warning against Dissent; but what she means I do not know. And, after all, Tom, my aunt has a perfect right to her own opinion.'

"To be sure she has," answered Tom, condescendingly. I would have no objection to it if she were not so fierce, but church people are such bigots; she's as bad as our precentor, who picks out all the droniest tunes he can find, for fear he should set the same tune in the chapel that they sing in the church yonder."

"Which proves that church people are not the only bigots, and that you had better not talk on the subject till you know more about it," said Joan, quietly.

This view of the matter disconcerted Tom. He had been "showing off," for his cousin's edification; and seeing that his efforts had been quite thrown away, he put his hands in his pockets and sauntered off. But the talk had lessened the reserve between the two girls; and by the time that Mr. Haynes had written his reply to Mrs. Hinxman, the mutual shyness had disappeared.

"I fear I must bid you good-bye, Miss Forster," said Lucy, "unless you would go with me to see Mrs. Store's lace-making; I have to call there."

Joan was well pleased to accom

pany her, and they walked together into the village.

“I have been so accustomed to see women toiling at such unfit labour, that it will be very pleasant to see one working at some feminine occupation," observed Joan; "and I have often wanted to see lace made."

But Joan's wish was not to be gratified that morning. Mrs. Store was at home, but in sad distress. A woman-a stranger-who had come by the Thorley omnibus the previous day, had learnt in the village that Mrs. Store had a bed-room to let, and had taken it. The new lodger had gone out that morning, had been knocked down by a runaway horse, and was now lying apparently senseless.

"Her name is Mrs. Elliot, and she paid me a week in advance-that's all I know about her," said Mrs. Store, crying. "You see, Miss Hinxman, she looked so respectable-like I didn't care to ask questions; and if she dies, what shall I do? The doctor's been in just now, and says he'll be back again presently."

"She looks very bad; I fear she is much injured," said Lucy, as Joan and she approached the bed on which the sufferer was lying.

As she spoke, Mrs. Elliot unclosed her eyes; a startled, wild expression came into them as she caught sight of the face that was bending over her. She strove to raise herself. "Miss Maud," she gasped, "Miss Maud," and then sank back on the bed quite unconscious.

This is not good for you," said Joan to her companion, in a decided tone; "let us come away, we can be of no service to her at present."

"It was her strange look that frightened me," said Lucy, with a shudder, when they were outside; "a look as though she knew me, and I never saw her before."

"And your name is not Maud?"

"No; I was called Lucy after my aunt. I forgot to ask about the lace, but it will not matter; I wish we had not gone there."

66

You are not so accustomed to see suffering as I have been," answered Joan. "When my father came home from Jamaica three years ago, we went to live up in the north, in a mining district, and I have seen many accidents."

"Do the women work in the mines?" asked Lucy, glad to talk of anything so as to forget the startled look of recognition in Mrs. Elliot's eyes.

"Yes; and one of the saddest sights in those parts is to see women dressed like men, working, smoking, drinking, and swearing; all their womanhood seemingly lost."

"It must be a terrible life for men and women too," said Lucy. "I often think of it when I'm enjoying a blazing fire. It seems so hard, so unjust, that some people are to have all the sunshine of life and others none. You must often have felt it to be so when you saw them at their unpleasant, dangerous work.”

"I did at one time," answered Joan, "when I first went to the mines-before I was a Christian."

The words were spoken very simply, yet Lucy started.

"Were not you always a Christian?" asked she. "I beg your pardon, I know Dissenters do things different; but surely every one is a Christian in England."

"Would that they were!" exclaimed Joan, earnestly; but oh, Miss Hinxman, you know to the contrary."

"Of course I know that there are bad people; but almost every one is christened, and so

"And so that makes them Christians, you would say," added Joan, as Lucy paused.

"It says so in our Catechism,"