arms; and Janet withdrew to give Sarah a scolding for not taking up the water, or going to attend to Miss Laura.

"My dear child," said her father, when he and Laura were alone, "what made you go to your poor mamma's room?" "I wanted to see her again, papa."

"But did you not know that God had taken her to heaven?" "No, papa, nurse said I should see mamma by and bye; and she was so long coming that I could not wait; and I thought she was asleep just now, and covered over, and I wanted her to wake and speak to me."

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Laura, my darling, did mamma ever teach you not to be selfish?"

"Oh yes, papa, often."

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'Well, then, don't you think it is selfish to wish mamma to come back to suffer pain and sorrow because her little girl wants her, especially now that she is so happy among the holy angels in heaven, and with God!"

"Oh, papa," said the little girl, "I will try not to want mamma back; but it is so bad to feel that I shall never see her any more, nor kiss her, nor hear her talk to me."

“Yes, darling, so it is; but don't you think it makes me feel bad too?"

"Yes, papa, dear; oh! I forgot how unhappy you must be." "We can't help being unhappy, Laura; but when God takes our friends away we must not think of our own selfish loss, but of their happiness."

"Yes, papa, I remember those verses dear mamma made me learn once about charity; and there's one she said meant that charity made people unselfish, it was, 'Charity seeketh not her own."

"Well then, my child, you can show your love to your mother by remembering her teachings, and acting as you know she would wish you to do to please God."

But these memories were too painful for the bereaved

husband; he dismissed his child, and then sent for Janet and told her to prepare for a little journey into the country with Laura, as he wished her to have change of scene, and to be away for a time till the funeral was over.

Janet was not sorry to hasten such an arrangement; she had seen her little charge as she obeyed her master's summons sitting alone in the window-darkened school-room, reading the "Peep of Day," and she knew how injurious it would be to a sensitive child to remain in such a house of gloom and mourning.

In a few hours they were safe with Mr. Carleton's maiden sister, whose fear that her brother was wrong in trying to make his little daughter forget her mother soon vanished. Laura was not likely to forget the mother whose teachings had been so pure and holy.

Mr. Carleton himself fetched his child home in less than a month; she was now his only comfort and consolation.

CHAPTER II.

GOVERNESS AND PUPIL.

HAT is the matter, nurse? your eyes look quite red.
Has anything happened to papa?"

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'No, darling, nothing, at least to hurt him."

'Nothing to hurt him! who will it hurt then?" "Never mind, Miss Laura, you'll hear in time; and now make haste and dress, Miss Wilson is nearly ready for breakfast."

“Has Miss Wilson had a letter from papa?" asked Laura. "Yes, miss; and he is quite well, and coming home tomorrow."

"Oh joy, joy!" and the girl of eleven, scarcely less a child than when we last saw her in her sorrow two years ago, danced out of the room into the school-room, and not finding Miss Wilson there, opened the piano and commenced playing a merry tune.

But a recollection of nurse's deep sigh, and her red eyes came back to the sensitive child; she rose from the piano and reflected on nurse's words. "Nothing to hurt papa," she said to herself. "I know that means harm to somebody; perhaps it's to me, and that made nurse cry. Ah! well, it's better to happen to me than to papa;" yet there was pain even in this thought till another arose. "Whatever happens to me I shall

have dear papa to love me, and take care of me; and even if he didn't, then I can pray to our Father in heaven, as mamma taught me, and I know He will take care of me."

With these thoughts happiness returned to the child's heart, and she met her governess at breakfast without a cloud on her brow.

Miss Wilson said nothing of the letter she had received, containing as it did a commission which gave her the deepest anxiety; but she showed no sign of this to her little pupil.

Miss Wilson had been Laura's governess from the commencement of Mrs. Carleton's illness, and her death occurred during the absence of that lady at Christmas. She was a superior woman, rather passed early youth, and one quite suited to carry on the gentle teaching of Laura's mother to her little pupil.

She made almost a companion of the sensitive child, who loved her governess dearly, and improved in her studies under the instructions of the accomplished lady, to her father's great satisfaction.

The morning lessons were over at twelve o'clock, and in a very few minutes after the books had been put away, and the room made neat, governess and pupil left the house for their morning walk.

Oakfield House was a large, handsome, modern building, standing in the midst of gardens, lawns, shrubberies, and orchards, not of great extent, but beautifully kept.

Mr. Carleton was the head of a large and wealthy firm in the city. He also had private property; but the house and grounds were entailed, and as he had no son, they would pass to a distant relative. Still, in addition to her mother's pro perty, which Laura inherited, Mr. Carleton's daughter would, at her father's death, be the possessor of great riches.

Janet, in her foolish pride in her master's daughter, had once or twice told her of this wealth; but the mother's early

teachings had not lost their power: Charity seeketh not her own" were the words which rung in her ears when a feeling of selfish pride arose at Janet's words.

On this sweet spring morning, when Miss Wilson and her pupil stood on the steps, hesitating where to go, a lovely scene lay stretched before them.

The horsechestnuts were in full bloom; the lawn, round which ran a carriage drive, looked gay in its bright green; while the wallflowers, lilac, and other spring blossoms, filled the air with fragrance. The lark above their heads, the birds chirping around them, and the rooks cawing in the distance, told the tale that spring had really come.

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'May we walk to the heath?" said Laura; "it is so quiet there, and we are sure to hear the cuckoo."

Miss Wilson readily agreed, but she sighed as she spoke. The sigh stopped Laura's skipping step; she drew closer to her governess: "Oh dear! everybody is sighing this morning," she said, "and nurse's eyes were quite red: I am sure she had been crying; and she sighed so often, just as you did, Miss Wilson."

"Did I, my dear?" and she smiled now; "well, we ought to be very happy, you know, for your papa is coming home to-morrow, and he is going to bring someone with him."

"Is he? Oh, who can it be—do you know, Miss Wilson?"

"No, I think not—and three little ladies are coming too." "Little girls like me?"

"Yes-two older and one younger."

"Oh how nice! will they stay long?"

"Yes, always, and the elder lady also."

Always!" A sudden recollection flashed upon the mind