"Well," said Mr. Munroe, speaking at length, "if this is not the strangest ending to a story that I ever came across!"

"It's as good as a novel," said Miss Munroe. "I declare it would make a capital tale."

"And your father is satisfied that I am honest now?" said Benny, going towards Eva.

"Yes; but I don't think that he ever really believed you were dishonest."

"And you never doubted my honesty?" "No, never."

That was all that passed between them.

When he had gone Mr. Munroe remarked, "A wonderful young man that; I never in my life met with a more remarkable case. How the young fellow has managed to bear up and fight the world as he has is beyond my comprehension."

"And he has the bearing of a gentleman too," remarked Miss Munroe. "I expected we were going to be highly amused at his behaviour and his dialect, and so on; but really he speaks quite correctly."

"He always was a well-behaved boy," remarked Eva; "and during the time he was in pa's office he told one of the clerks that he was very anxious to speak correctly."

"He must have worked very hard, however," said Mr. Munroe ; "and a lad with such application, pluck, and determination is sure to get on. I confess I shall watch his future career with great interest."

"But what surprises me most," said Mrs. Munroe, “is the sterling honesty that seems always to have characterized him. As a rule, those street Arabs have the crudest notions of right and wrong."

"He told me once," said Eva, "that he could just remember his mother, who told him to be honest, and truthful, and good; but his little sister Nelly, who died just before I met him, seems to have been his safeguard, and but for her he said he felt certain he should have been a thief."

Meanwhile the subject of this conversation was making his way along the silent lanes that lay between Brooklands and Scout Farm like one in a dream. Could it be really true, he mused, that he had seen his angel face to face, that he had listened again while she sang "Love at Home,' and that he heard from her own lips how the lost banknote had been found, and how that now no stain rested upon his name? What a wonderful day it had been! Could it be possible that his long-buried hopes might be realized at last?

In a lonely part of the road he paused and listened, but no sound broke the stillness. Above him twinkled the silent stars; around him all nature lay hushed and still.

God is here," he said; and lifting up his face to the sky, and clasping his hands together, he poured out his heart in thanksgiving.

"O God!" he said, "I thank Thee for all things; for the sorrow, and pain, and loss, for the darkness through

which I have wandered, and for the burdens I have had to bear. Thou hast never forsaken me. Thou hast always been good. I thank Thee for bringing me here, and for the discipline of toil. And now that Thou hast lifted off the cloud that so long has darkened my life, help me to praise Thee, and love Thee more and more. I want to be good, and noble, and true. Help me, O Father, for Thy

mercy's sake."

Benny slept but little that night. In the long silent hours he lived all his life over again, and wondered at the mercy of God.

CHAPTER XXIII.

THE QUESTION SETTLED.

Life's withered leaves grow green again and fresh with childhood's spring,
As I am welcomed back once more within its rainbow ring;

The past, with all its gathered charms, beckons me back in joy,
And loving hearts and open arms re-clasp me as a boy.

MASSEY.

NEXT morning Benny was unusually quiet, so much so that Mrs. Fisher thought he was not well; but he insisted that nothing was the matter with him, and she did not like to question him further. But when Mr. Fisher came in to breakfast he began to rally Benny at once, and to ask him how he got on with the grand folks on the previous evening.

"Very well, I think," Benny answered, simply; "they all seemed very grateful for the little service I had been able to render them."

"And did you find the ladies lions, Benny?" inquired Mrs. Fisher.

"Indeed no," said Benny, colouring; "they all of them made me think more of angels than of lions."

"Indeed?" said Mrs. Fisher, in a questioning tone.

"Yes, they treated me with the utmost kindness, every one of them; but, now I think of it, the ladies always have done so," said Benny, with a laugh.

"I should think so," interposed Mr. Fisher; "but Mr. Munroe spoke to me about helping you in some way: did he say anything to you about it?"

"Yes; that was what he wanted to see me at his house for principally."

"Well, lad, out with it: did he make you an offer of some sort?"

"Yes, he made me a very kind offer indeed."

'Well, Ben, what was it like? You are precious slow this morning."

"Am I?"

"You are, indeed. He hasn't proposed suicide to you,

has he?"

"Not quite. But I had better tell you all that passed between us."

"Of course you accepted his offer?" said Mr. Fisher, when he had done.

"No, I did not."

"You didn't?"

"No; I said I would like to talk to you about it before coming to a decision."

"You needn't fear, lad," said Mr. Fisher, with a little shake in his voice, "that I will put a straw in your way. I shall be very sorry to lose you, I confess, for you have been a great help to me, especially as neither Harry nor George would take to farming, and I know you have been a great comfort to the missus."

"That he has," said Mrs. Fisher, as if speaking to herself.