Year: 1869

ing back. We must get home now as fast
as ever we can"


An still holding little Davies hand, she
took step or two forward, till all at once
she thought with great start, Which 70
the way homer" and then stood suddenly
still. Was it this way through the tall fir
trees? or down there where there seemed
to be a kind of pathway through the
brushwood? She did not know. She
looked up to the sky, but the sky was COW
cred with leaden clouds; there was no sun
there to guide her. / think l will 60
through the brushwood," she said to her
self at last, with a great fear beginning to
come over her; and then she went on,
while the children followed her, and little
Davie chartered to her in his piping
voice, beginning to forget his fright and
sorrow.


For few minutes they all walked on
then Lizzy suddenly said, 81 don't think
this was the way we came"


"Was it not?" Barbara asked, quickly,
and. looking round with her anxious face,
stood still again.


Till now she had not told her sister that
she had lost the way, but now, all at once,
when she stood still, Lizzy pressed up to
her.


"Sister, don't you know how to gos"
she said, with great eyes lifted up to
Barbara's face. And then, when Barbara
did not answer, the little one began to cry:


Hush, dear! it will all come right. I'll
find the way presently. I've only lost it
for-for little while" poor Barbara said
and she took a hand of Lizzy too, and
went on again, trying to follow the feebly
traced pathway that was her only guide;
but that was leading her-she did not
know where.


The cold and dreary November after
noon grew colder and drearier still. AL
day there had been q biting northeast
wind, and it came whistling now through
the leaf1ess branches, piercing through the
children's little coats till their teeth
chattered, and they shivered with cold.


80, want to get homei" Davie began
to sob. az so tired, l want to get home !"
And he stopped at last, and threw his
arms around Barbara's waist, and leaned
his weary little head against her side.


Then she took him up and carried him.
He was heavy boy of four, and she was
only nine, but she patiently carried him,
and hushed him on her bosom as she went
on. She had no longer even that faint
trace of pathway to lead her now; 1t
had ceased, or she had lost it, and in all
that great wilderness of trees there was no
sign left to guide them. She wandered on,
backwards and forwards, not knowing any
more how she went, the great sick fear
in her heart growing greater and bitterer
with every step she took. All the way
she kept crying piteously to herself
was she to do, o what was she to do, If
Cd l~ot h.


Little Lizzy kept moaning and sobbing
at her side. Davie fell, presently, half
asleep in her tired arms. Once or twice,
almost exhausted, she sat down for little
while upon the ground; but, weary as she
was, she did not dare to rest for more than
q few moments. How could she rest when
the night was so near? After each little
pause she rose up hurriedly, and toiled
on again. Perhaps throughout these mis-
erable hours the hardest thought she had
to bear was the thought that the children
had been given to her charge, and that she
had left them. All other pain was less
than that pain-the thought that they
trusted them alone.


The day wore on, and the dim light be-
gan to grow DINNER When the twilight
udU aIilOSt hSuI hdhCo VI ohoW OO-
gan to fall like soft white feathers through
the trees Then Lizzy burst out into loud
er CRYING, and Barbara sank down upon
the ground and took both the little ones
into her arms. The child-such q mere
child she was still in years, and yet in heart
so womanly and tender-pressed the other
little faces on her breast and held them
there. 1t was all that she could do. She
herself sat blankly looking at the snow as
it came down, flake after flake, soft and
white and silent, till hope left her, and in
those moments, perhaps, at last the little
heart broke. 40, mother! motherp was
the only thing she said.


Once more, after a few moments, she
tried to make Lizzy rise up, that they
might 90 on again, but the child, when she
reused her, burst into weary, passionate
sobs.


az can't I m so tired! I can't go on !"
she said and then Davie awoke and be-
gan to moan too.


40, 1 want to get homel When shall
we get home? I'm 50 cold !" he sobbed.


She had a little brown cloak on,
and she took it off and wrapped it
round the child. Twice more, as 1t
got darker,-with a last forlorn effort
she rose up again and carried the children
on little further, the snow falling still
over them, but yet falling gently, seeming
to touch them almost as tenderly as If 1t
was SORRY for the little wanderers; then at
last the end of the weary struggle came.
She could do no more. She sat down with
them at the foot of great tree. "Per-
haps somebody will come in the morning,
and find us, and take us home" she said.


rTyl 1oo y, nd
and she gathered them together as we'll as
she could in the darkness, and made the
children lie down upon them, side by side.
They were moaning and crying with hun
ger and cold She rubbed their little limbs
till they were warm, and took off their shoes
and stockings, and warmed their feet upon
her breast. She had already taken OH her
cloak for Davie; now, as they still went
on crying, one by one she stripped herself
of her other clothes, and wrapped the lit
tie ones up in them, Then she lay down
beside them, and took them both as she
best could in her arms.


The boy was frightened and restless.
"sTry to go to sleep, Davie," she said to
him. "If mother was here she would like
she remembered little hymn that he was
fond of, and sang it to him.


That was the last thing that either Of
the little ones heard her do. Warmed by
the clothes that she had robbed herself of
to give them, and by each others arms
and hers, they fell asleep while she was
still singing.


Children, my story has halfsad end
ing, but 1 think you guess it already, and
l need hardly tell you. Think there were
angels looking down on Barbara as she
sang that hymn, and that their arms were
very near her when in the cold night the
beating of her little heart grew faint.
When morning came, those who had been
looking for the children found them, and
David and Lizzy woke up-still warm and
breathing-from their sleep; but in the
cottage on the hillside there is one empty
seat now, and one little pair of feet the
fewer is on the floor, and the mother has
lost something that she will never find
again on earth. Good by to little Bar
bara! Think of her tenderly, but do not
pity her; those who live to do what
Barbara did, want no pity from any of us.
Our Young Folks.


Tit for Tat.


Mr.. SHIRLEY BROOKS tellsthe illustrated
London Nesos rather singular story Of .
bit of meanness and the appropriate re-
yenpe which followed it. When the Prince