a court, keep her, too, safe from harm, and unspotted by the world? Can he not, will he not, grant her the aid of his Spirit, to keep her back from sin, and to enable her to withstand temptation, in one place as well as in another? I have, it is true, guided her hitherto, but I have been but the instrument in his hand; why should I grieve that she is to be taken from me? How can I tell but that it may be for some wise and good end, which I am not yet permitted to see? I will pray for greater faith, and strive to leave her unmurmuringly in his hands to do what seemeth him good."

CHAPTER II.

Six months had passed away, and now Margaret had been folded in the arms of her long absent parents, had received the first kiss of her beautiful sister Ada, and had heard endless accounts of the new home to which she was soon to go. Mrs. Shirley was busy making preparations for her departure; as for Margaret, she did not know, as she herself said, whether she felt happy or unhappy, glad In the short interview she had had with them, her papa and mamma seemed very kind and good; and Ada-yes, she liked Ada very much, and she should like to go and live with them all, because it was right that she should live with them; but then she did not like leaving her aunt Ellen and the Thatched Cottage; she could not like that if she tried ever so much. Her papa had

or sorry.

taken a beautiful house near London, and Ada said that they were to have everything in the world that they wanted; that would certainly be very nice, but then aunt Ellen, -well, aunt Ellen would of course come very often to see them, and they should, of course, go to see her; this was a bright thought, and with it Margaret at length tried to comfort herself as well as she could.

The last day on which she could call the thatched cottage her home, came. The next morning her papa would be there to take her away. Margaret had spent the afternoon in going with her aunt to say good-bye to a few friends in the neighbourhood, as well as to the old women in the almshouses, with whom she was a great favourite, and in paying a last visit to the infant school, to distribute among the children a few little pinafores, which she had saved up her money to buy, and which she had been busily employed in making for the last fortnight.

"After tea, aunt Ellen," said she, as they walked home, "I shall have to pack up my

work-box, and then I shall have done everything."

"And I shall finish knitting your muffatees," replied her aunt, "and then I shall have done everything."

Tea had not been long over before Margaret's work-box was brought out. She arranged and re-arranged the contents many times, before she could place them entirely to her satisfaction; at length she declared that she should not take them out any more. "Look, aunt Ellen," she said, turning round to her aunt at whose side she was sitting, "do you not think this will do?"

Mrs. Shirley had not spoken for some time, and as Margaret uttered the words she saw three or four bright tears fall down on the muffatee which she was just completing. She jumped off her seat, and throwing her arms

round her aunt's neck exclaimed

"Aunt Ellen, dear aunty, don't cry, I wish I was not going away, I wish I might stay with you; but I will ask papa to bring me to see you very often, I will indeed; and I shall never forget you; I will think of you

every day, and I will love you too, oh! so very much!"

"You are a dear child," said Mrs. Shirley, fondly pressing her to her bosom; "I know you will love me, Margaret, and remember me; and will you try to remember all I have taught you as well?"

"Yes, indeed I will, aunt Ellen; I will remember everything, I will never do any thing that I think you would not like."

"That is, if you can help it, my dear child. But remember that you must not trust to your own strength to do what is right."

"No," said Margaret, "I must ask God to help me; I will remember that too."

"And you will try to please God, Margaret. It is right of you to try to please me, and to please your papa and mamma, but first of all you must try to please God; for sometimes, you know, the things which please him do not please others who are very dear to us.

Margaret looked up, as if she did not at all understand what her aunt meant. "Don't they?" she said.