stairs and place him on his own bed. This done he just found time to whisper to his sister,

'Do the best you can while I'm gone, Lizzie, and don't fret. I'm in hopes that we've news of Peter, and I'm going straight off to fetch the dear little lad home.'

Then, without waiting for an answer, he hurried off with eager haste towards Tollards. He never paused to consider whether Luke

had spoken an untruth, or was wandering in his mind, but, like a drowning man, he was ready to catch at a straw. Never before had the road seemed to him so long; never had his steps seemed so slow and weary as now, when every moment was so precious. In truth, he was worn and exhausted with all that he had undergone during the last twenty-four hours; but hope and success are wonderful tonics. for the weary body, and the young man kept up with undaunted courage until he had almost reached the old barn. Then his heart

misgave him, as he pictured to himself the terrible effect which those long hours of solitary confinement might have had upon the blind boy's sensitive temperament. Fearful stories of sudden madness, of hopeless idiotcy thus produced, rose before his mind, and he scarcely dared to advance another step, lest his worst fears should become a certainty.

On nearer view, he soon saw that the old door of the barn had been tightly closed with wedges, and then a heavy iron trough had been placed against it, so that it would have required considerable strength to open it from the inside.

Alas! it had not needed more than this to carry out the cruel thought of imprisoning the poor child. For a moment Amos listened, but he could hear nothing. Then he gently called his brother by name, but still there was no answer.

The suspense had now become intolerable, and he forced open the door, but still as quietly as possible for fear of giving any fresh alarm. At first he could distinguish nothing in the dim light; there seemed to be a mist before his eyes, and his courage almost failed him for further search.

But what was that in the distant corner, lying there motionless on the straw?

Amos sprang forwards with a stifled cry. Could it be that he had come too late? Had the blind boy only fainted with terror in his lonely prison, or was it possible that life had fled from that still form?

No! no! thank Heaven! At that moment a gleam of sunshine pierced the darkness, and showed the peaceful face of little Peter, calmly sleeping, as though he had been safe in his own home; while his brother knelt down by his side, overcome with joy and thankfulness too deep for words, and which could only find expression in silent prayer.

It was only by slow degrees that the whole story of the child's wanderings and adventures that night were told, for none of his friends could ever bear to hear of them without a shudder.

As Amos had supposed, the boy woke up in the night, and discovering his absence, at first thought it was morning, and had risen to go in search of him, as he had often done before.

Then, after a long weary walk to all his usual haunts, he had unfortunately fallen in with the gang of rioters, who, having before then suspected him of listening to their plots, at once took him for a spy upon them. It seemed that some of them had used very violent language, and it might have fared ill indeed with the helpless lad if Luke Barnett had not persuaded them simply to shut him up out of harm's way.

'Weren't thee very frightened, Peter?' asked his brother as he was carrying him home.

'Yes, at first I sat down and cried a bit, but then I called to mind the words of that psalm thee learnt me, "Though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death I will fear no evil, for Thou art with me." Do you know, Amos,' he added, in a low, reverent tone, it do seem to me at times, that being blind makes me keep nearer to God, and feel Him always close beside me?'

Thus it was that the little fellow's perfect faith in his heavenly Father had been his protection in a time of trial, which might well have made stouter hearts tremble.

Perhaps one of the most lasting results of little Peter's adventure was the touching devotion of his sister Lizzie, who, in after days, could never forget her narrow escape of losing him. Hitherto, her real love for him might have been marred at times by jealous impulses or a hasty temper, but henceforth no such accusation could be brought against her.

Poor Lizzie! She had the making of a noble character in her, but, from the very strength of her affections and her will, there would be many a struggle in store for her, where weaker natures might find all things smooth and easy.

As for Lake Barnett, he soon recovered from his wound, and before the time came for him to be tried at the Mere Assizes he had become a sadder and a wiser man.

But now our time is brief, and we must return to follow the fortunes of Amos and Dinah. After a while, the young girl gradually regained her health and strength, and Amos was once more a welcome guest at her father's home, where his generous courage was not likely to be soon forgotten. But notwithstanding this, a cloud seemed to rest upon him, and his friends wondered why he still looked so sad and careworn.

The winter months passed away and left him with his secret load of care.

At length one evening, in the early spring, Amos came in from his work and found his father's easy chair drawn up to the table, on which some letters were spread out before him.

'I've been waiting for thee, lad,' said the old man. Sit thee down, and we'll have a bit of quiet talk.'

There was an air of unusual briskness and importance about his father which at once arrested the young man's attention, and he sat down in silence inwardly wondering what was going to happen.

He was not kept long in suspense, for Eliab Ridley had been considering during many lonely hours how he should announce his plans to his son.

'Amos,' he began, 'hast thee never thought of bringing a wife home one o' these days? Folk do say now that little Dinah Yeat

man

'I never thought you'd take heed to village gossip, father,' interrupted Amos, starting up impatiently from his seat.

'Then it bean't true?' asked the old man, with mild surprise. 'Why our Liz told me only t'other day that thee'd set thy heart on Dinah all these years!'

'Oh, yes, it's true enough!' cried the poor fellow, covering his face with his hands. But where's the good of torturing me? I can't ask a girl to marry me and leave such a place as Holt Farm, when I've ne'er a home of my own to offer her. But don't 'ee think I'm complaining, father,' he added, with the sudden compunction of an unselfish nature. 'I be thankful to work for thee and Lizzie and our little Peter, only- we won't talk any more about it.'

He rose to go, for he felt that his emotion was almost beyond his

control; but before he reached the door his father's hand was laid on his shoulder.

'There never was a better lad than thee hast been to us all,—but have patience, and sit down a bit, and hearken to me. Amos,' he continued in hurried, eager tones, 'I've been a saving man all these years, and I've put by a tidy lot o' money, and bought a house here and a bit o' land there, in a quiet sort of way. And now they tell me there be a cottage o' mine empty with a slip of garden, close agen to Mere. I've a mind to go and live there,' he added more slowly; it’ud be cheerful for Lizzie, and nigh a doctor for me, and handy for Peter to learn the music he be so set on.'

His son had listened to this revelation with dumb surprise. His first impulse had been to cry out bitterly against the injustice of concealing this secret hoard from him, and coldly accepting the sacrifice of his life.

But before he could speak, his thoughts were quickly turned into a happier channel by his father's next words,

Well, lad, I'll tell thee what I be minded to do. I'll leave the old house to thee, and the business, and a matter o' five hundred pound in the bank. Now go and talk to Dinah, and see what she'll say to thee.'

Thus it came about that Amos told his tale, and Dinah listened with no unwilling ears, and all things went smoothly; and the grandmother looked up from her knitting in the chimney-corner with a happy smile on her face at thus seeing her dearest hopes realised.

So our story ends with wedding-bells, and good wishes, and bright hopes that, as in the old fairy tales, 'they may live very happily ever after.'

THE EMPEROR AND THE BISHOP.

From the French.

6

HEN Constantinople was still a Christian city, the Emperor Arcadius, enraged against St. John Chrysostom, exclaimed one day in a fit of fury, 'O that I could revenge myself upon this priest!' Four or five courtiers dared to suggest to their master the means of vengeance. 'Exile him,' said the first. 'Confiscate his goods,' said the second. Throw him into prison, and load him with chains,' said the third. 'Are you not all-powerful? is not his life at your mercy?' said a fourth. Order that he shall immediately be put to death." A fifth courtier, more penetrating than the rest, said boldly, without fearing the displeasure of the Emperor: 'You are all wrong. If you exile him, what will you gain? The whole world is his country. Confiscate his goods? It is the poor you will cause to suffer, not him. Throw him into prison? He will bless his chains, and esteem himself happy to suffer. Condemn him to death? That is to open to him the gates of Heaven. Prince, would you know the only way of revenging yourself on him? Force him to commit a crime. I know this man well he fears neither exile, nor poverty, nor chains, nor torture; he fears nothing but sin.' So there was but one thing that was beyond the Emperor's power, and that was to force St. John Chrysostom to commit a crime. E. H. C.

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BY SHELDON CHADWICK.