were other respects in which a most material change could be marked within these walls. The family Bible, which had lain on the top of the chest of drawers more for ornament than use, was now regularly opened at morning and evening worship. Idle and foolish tales had previously formed the staple articles of their little library; but now, a number of volumes purchased from the Tract Society's colporteur might be seen in their place. Thomas and Mary now counted it an honour and privilege when Mr. Thomson proposed to make their residence a central point for collecting, on a week-day evening, the inmates of the neighbouring hamlets, and addressing to them a cottage exposition of God's word. The sabbath evening was no longer a weariness to those who now found a relish in the reading of God's word, and of books which open up its meaning and shed light on its sacred page; while at the close of the church service in the afternoon, among other new labourers in the Sunday school, might be seen Thomas Gibson, who realized in his blessed experience the happiness and honour of being a fellow-labourer with God. Often in after times, when telling his pupils of the varied ways in which God was able to draw souls from darkness to marvellous light, he failed not to mention the one which had been the means of his own awakening-a peep through a church window.

GRACE ATWOOD; OR, WHAT CAN HAVE DONE IT?

CHAPTER II.

"The word of old was true,

And its truth shall never cease;

The Lord shall fight for you,

And ye shall hold your peace."

THE next morning when Grace awoke from her restless slumbers, she was not so much astonished at finding Joe sitting by the side of the bed asleep, as at discovering that she was not undressed. Getting up, she wondered what could have come over her, she felt so strange and weak; but when she had crept to the little glass (having opened the window-shutter) and saw her poor disfigured face, the dreadful truth rushed into her mind, and sinking into a seat she could with difficulty stifle her sobs. lt was not the pain or mark she cared for, but the thought of

how she could screen Joe and yet speak the truth. All the neighbours would be asking how she had got such a wound; and what answer could she give them? And then what should she say, if Mr. White missed her from church, and came to see after her; for she could never go with such a face. Poor Grace felt this new trial was a very hard one, but she struggled bravely against her rising temper, which prompted her to give Joe some rough words; and lifting her heart in prayer to God for strength to say and do what was right in his sight, she bathed her forehead, and binding up the wound as well as she could, set about lighting the fire and getting Joe's breakfast for him to take to work with him.

Joe was regularly overcome with shame when he awoke, and remembered the blow of the past night; and as he watched Grace walking about with her head tied up, bearing the trouble so quietly, and talking as if nothing were the matter, he renewed in his mind his solemn determination, to lead a better life for the future. He did not know that he prayed, when the silent "God help me went up from his heart; but He who seeth in secret heard that petition; for it was the first breathing of a soul entering upon a new existence, the first yearning after holier, better things. With a humbled, broken spirit he betook himself to his work, unlike what he had ever done before. He had often and often made up his mind that he would give up the drink, and turn over a new leaf in the chapter of life; but hitherto he had signally failed. A thrill of gratitude shot through Joe's heart as he passed up the court in which he lived; when he remembered how very nearly he had escaped from being taken up it by a policeman, charged with the crime of murder. "If that boot had struck Grace on the temple, 'twould have killed her," he thought, "and I, what should I have been ?" and al shudder ran through his frame at the idea. Again, a sense of unbounded gratitude rushed over him, and "God be thanked!" escaped his lips. It was the irrepressible language of an overflowing heart-it was Joe's first hymn of praise. Thus is it ever so-heart prayer ever re-echoes heart praise. Joe had frequently used the "God help me!" and "God be thanked!" before, but never with the same feeling: alas! too often, it is to be feared, in painful profanation. But that morning they were wrung from him by his great sense of need in the time to come, and

the remembrance of his wondrous deliverance from a horrible crime. The little spark of Divine love was kindling in his heart unknown to himself, unseen by all but Him, who quenches not the smoking flax.

Grace set about her household matters with a weary body and fearful heart. It was her usual washing day, but she put it off, feeling she could not bear to expose herself to the remarks her neighbours might make as she passed to and fro, fetching water from the pump. She tried to work, but her head and eyes ached so badly, that she was obliged to lay it aside. Read she could not, for Grace had been a servant, in one capacity or other, from the time she first had strength to lug about a baby, and had never had a chance of learning. True, Mr. White had lately brought her an easy spelling-book, and she had been trying to teach herself, with a little of Joe's help. But Joe was so seldom at home of an evening, and she found it such hard puzzling work by herself, that she made no encouraging progress, and very often shut up the book in despair. How the morning dragged on Grace scarcely knew; the blow had seriously shaken her, and she felt ill all over. She tried to pray, but found she could not fix her mind stedfastly upon any point; the texts treasured up in her retentive memory seemed to blend one in the other, and just when she thought she could remember and repeat one accurately, it was entirely gone from her mind. It was a dark day with Grace Atwood, physically and mentally. Could she but have known what was passing in Joe's heart, what a ray of hope would have illumined her spirit as she laid her aching limbs and throbbing head upon her bed and lifted up her soul in the words of the Syrophenician of old, "Have mercy on me, O Lord, thou Son of David!" The day wore on, and Grace having dropped off to sleep, awoke a little before tea-time, somewhat refreshed in mind and body. Having prepared her own scanty meal, she went into widow Morgan to see what she could do for her. Her heart misgave her when she tapped at the door, for she remembered her bound-up forehead, and feared what the widow would say when she saw her. "Oh Grace, is that you?" said Mrs. Morgan, as she entered the room; "I was afraid you weren't coming, 'tis so late. Got a bad headache?"

Grace could with all truthfulness reply "yes" to this fortunate question; for her poor head still ached.

"I don't wonder at it a bit," rejoined the old woman;

"and your Joe keeps such late hours. I wonder how in the world you put up with him so. Got wet rag on your head, I suppose?"

"Yes," was the concise answer from Grace.

Well, I never found cold water do my head any good; but then my headaches weren't like most people's-they were a deal worse. I never could get about when I had one." but

Grace felt that she was scarcely able to get about; wisely forbore expressing her opinion on the matter, and set about sweeping the hearth, and doing sundry other little affairs that needed to be done in the widow's apartment.

"Jane Dobson came in just now," remarked Mrs. Morgan; "but she's gone off in a huff, because I told her she did not know how to do nothing. So she said I'd better look out for somebody who knowed how to do better than she did. And off she went in a tantrum."

"Oh, Mrs. Morgan! that was a pity," observed Grace. "No, 'tweren't! I thought as how you would soon be coming; and I didn't want her then."

Grace thought, neither did she; for she knew Jenny would have rightly divined the real cause of her headache, and commented freely upon it. Having given Mrs. Morgan her tea, and made her as comfortable as she could, Grace returned to her own room to thank God for having saved her from unkind remarks from the widow; who either did not, or would not know the true reason of her boundup forehead. But to-morrow! suggested the tempter to despondency-to-morrow your head will be plastered, or tied up still: what will you do then? For an instant a shade of gloom dimmed her thankful spirit; but it was but momentary, for the verse of one of her favourite hymns rushed into her mind: it was

60

And what may be to-morrow's cross

I will not seek to find:

My Saviour saith, Leave that to me,
And keep a quiet mind."

"And I will, dear Lord! I will leave it to thee!" murmured Grace. "Give me a quiet mind

'Tis enough that Thou should'st care;
Why should I the burden bear ?' ''

Grace had scarcely sat down to her own tea, which she had prepared before going in to widow Morgan, when she heard a man's step coming up the stairs. She glanced at the clock; it was a quarter after six, for she was late

that evening. "Surely," she thought, "it can't be Joe already!"

But it was Joe, and no mistake, very dusty and tired, but perfectly sober.

"Joe!" she exclaimed with delight, "is that you?
1?"

Yes, it's me, old woman: let's have a cup of tea."

In her joy at having her Joe come home to tea with her, she poured out the one good cup in the pot for him, and put her last bit of tea in to replenish the teapot, forgetting that it was her last bit, and that she had but twopence halfpenny left in her pocket.

"Art glad to see me, Grace ?" asked Joe.

Grace brought her hands together with a thankful clasp, and replied, "Oh, so glad! my own dear Joe!"

Joe was touched, and had half a mind to tell her that he was going to turn over a new leaf; but when he remembered how often he had promised her to do so, and how often he had broken his promise, he decided that he would not then. Something seemed to whisper to him, "The One that has helped Grace to get over her temper, will help you to master the dreadful drink, if you ask him ;" and something within seemed to assure him that he would succeed this time, if he tried.

"Grace," said he, as she bent over the fire toasting a piece of bread for him, "is your head very bad?"

He had not spoken of it, or the past night, before; he had gone to work without alluding to it, and now he blurted it out, in an odd strange way, as if ashamed to ask, and afraid to hear the answer.

A bright smile lit up the face of Grace, and her dark eyes glistened, as she replied:

"It pains sometimes; but it doesn't matter, Joe."

"But it does matter," answered Joe, who, now that the ice was broken, could talk freely. "You must go to the doctor."

But Grace shook her head, merely saying,

"You must get me a bit of sticking-plaster-that is, if you've got-"

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Got what, Grace ?"

"Some pence, to pay for it."

Joe fumbled in his pocket; but, alas! with sorrow and confusion, had to acknowledge he had none.

"Never mind," observed Grace, quietly; "it doesn't matter, Joe; I shall do very well without it, no doubt."