Thank God!' he exclaimed, when Mr. Grey's story was ended, thank God I have found them at last! But my little boy,' he went on,-you do not mention him?'

Mr. Grey did not reply readily, and Martin feared the worst as he caught the look of pain on his friend's face, but he only added quietly, 'Tell me all you know.'

'Your little lad,' rejoined Mr. Grey, 'is with his mother in heaven. Your father was heart-broken at Nat's death, but yearns for his dear son now, and you will return just in time to cheer and comfort his last days; and your little girl has love and welcomes unbounded awaiting you.'

'My child my child!' murmured Martin, with his face bowed on his hands. Strangely mingled feelings of joy and sorrow were filling his heart, and moving him at once both to mourning and rejoicing.

It was only with great difficulty that Mr. Grey dissuaded him from starting for Lamb Court that very night, which, after his recent illness, and through the now steady downpour of rain, would have been scarcely wise. So Martin was content to wait till the morning, and listen, meanwhile, to some further news of those so dear to him.

Mr. Grey told of old Donald's blindness, of little Nat's accident and death, of Chrissie's flower-selling, and of their deep poverty.

The kindly landlady, noticing the long stay her lodger's visitor was making, sent him in a cup of tea, and the two chatted for another hour.

As Mr. Grey rose to take his leave, and gave his hand in farewell to his new friend, Martin said:

'I cannot tell you how grateful I feel, sir, for your goodness to my dear ones. My blind father's feet have been led by you into the path of light, and so his heart is now filled with a loving welcome for his wandering son. The terrible dread that I might find that heart closed against me is now taken away, and I shall claim my rightful place as "bread-winner," and end the long, sad years of poverty and hardship, the result of my sin.'

And before they parted, the glad father and the patient Christian worker knelt together for a for a few minutes in prayer, which was nearly all thanksgiving.

Then Mr. Grey gave Martin exact directions to enable him to find Lamb Court the next day, and at last started for home.

The evening meal was long over, and his continued absence was just awakening a little uneasiness in the home circle. But the young missionary did not grudge the weariness and delay, for had not his Divine Master honoured his willing service by sending him on the very mission He claims as specially

His own; not only to preach good tidings,' butto

bind up the broken-hearted;' and 'to comfort all that mourn?'

When left alone, Martin sat down to write to Mr. Gordon, that, thus busied, he might control an almost irresistible desire to seek out Lamb Court, in spite of his friend's advice, that very night. He had sent several letters to his master during the past five months, and Mr. Gordon had more than once written to his trusted servant, of whose return to his service he still had some faint hopes. Indeed, in his last letter, he had reminded Martin of his promise, and, though not exactly dissuading him from his search, expressed his readiness to receive him back gladly, should he give it up as hopeless. Martin wrote:

‘DEAR MASTER,—I have found my father and my little girl at last. In my last letter, I think I told you that I could discover nothing at Dipford but my wife's grave, and ever since then I have been searching for my children. To-night the city missionary called to see me, and I told him my story. Strangely enough, he knew both my. father and little Christine! They are living, in great poverty, not very far from here, and to-morrow I am going to seek them out. My dear little boy is dead, but, while his loss is a bitter sorrow to me, I cannot be thankful enough to have found the other dear ones. When I have made plans for a comfortable home for us all, I will write

again. Meanwhile, thanking you for all past kindness, I remain your obedient servant,

'MARTIN CAMERON.'

When Martin's landlady brought in the supper, she noticed how much brighter her lodger looked, and offered some remark, hoping he would eat his supper better than he had done lately. Martin was touched by the good woman's sympathy, and appeased her curiosity to some extent by telling a little of his history.

'Bless my heart!' said she, with one arm akimbo, and the cover of her lodger's nice little hot supper in the other hand. Well, now, I'm real glad, sir, I am, that you've found them at last. To think o' you're bein' a-'unting for 'em all these months. And you'll take care on 'em now, I'll be bound. Deary me! And I'll just lose the most quiet-like, reg'lar first-front lodger I've had for many a day.'

'Yes,' said Martin; I shall not stay very much. longer; but I am not going just at once, and I shall be very pleased, Mrs. Day, to acknowledge, by a little extra rent, the many additions you have made to my comfort.'

Bless you, sir, I ain't done nothink extra, I'm sure; but when I see'd as how you didn't eat but next to nothink, of course I made it a bit tasty for you. And here am I, talking away, and your supper a-getting

cold. You'll eat it all to-night, I guess; and I wish you a good night's rest, and myself the luck to see your likes agen.'

And with that the buxom dame departed, to relate to her somewhat stolid 'goodman,' over their repast of tripe and onions, the wonderful history of their first floor front.'

And Martin fulfilled Mrs. Day's predictions about his supper, and her good wishes for his night's rest.