sweet, dreamless slumber, and Chrissie would have indulged in one of her favourite musing fits, had not her grandfather just then awoke and stirred.

'Nat,' he said; where's my Nat?' The blind man always loved to feel his little grandson, of whom he was passionately fond, within his reach.

'Nat's asleep, grandfather,' said Chrissie, under her breath, 'here, down on the floor; his head's on my knee.' 'Ah, well, let the lad rest, Chrissie,' he replied. 'Poor little Nat! he's had a hard, cold day of it. Pass me my pipe, lass. I feel a bit better now. I was nigh famished

when we came in.'

Chrissie took the old man's pipe from the mantelpiece, filled, and gave it him. Tobacco she would always find, even if bread must run short. With grave, thoughtful eyes, Chrissie watched the smoke-wreaths curl upwards, and the old man's face settle into a look of placid enjoyment, and judged that now, if at any time, she might venture to ask for her absent father. An instinctive shrinking from the subject had possessed her, after having received such faint encouragement in response to the few inquiries she had made; but to-night an intense desire to find out all there was to know overcame all scruples, and opened her lips.

'Grandfather,' she began, 'Nat and I have been talking to-night of mother, and of what she said to me about being good to father when he comes back.' Her voice dropped, and the words came slowly; she paused.

But

the blind man made no reply, only he took his pipe from his mouth, and his face changed. Nat doesn't remember them, of course,' she went on, but oh, I do, so well! and I want to know where father went, and why he doesn't come back to Nat and me. Will he never come?' She stopped again, and glanced searchingly at her grandfather's face.

Chrissie,' he answered bitterly, 'I wish you, like Nat, could not remember your father. Don't trouble about him, lass. No, he will never come back again. He deserted your mother and his helpless children, all through that cursed drink, and he needn't show his face here again. I'll never forgive him, setting himself up for being better than other folks, and then behaving a sight worse. Where he is I haven't any idea, and don't want to know. A good lad, too,' added the old man more gently, as though speaking to himself. 'Poor Martin ! a dark day 'twas when he went off. The light of my life he was once,-yes, the light of my life. I miss the sun, God knows, since my eyes were darkened, but 'twas a darker sunset when my boy left me. Chrissie,' he added, recollecting the child's presence, 'don't vex yourself about your father, lass; and mind, I've told you this much, but you're never to ask any more, or to mention your father's name at all. Forget him! I have,

almost.'

Chrissie made no reply beyond a scarcely audible assent to her grandfather's words, but a deep flush rose

B

to her brow, and spread itself over her face and neck, while her small frame quivered with the desperate effort she made to control the strong, conflicting feelings in her young heart. Wounded pride for her father's memory, disappointment, and just a shade of indignation at her grandfather's command, united to upset her calm demeanour, but they were vanquished. The blind man enjoyed his pipe in silence; the fire sank, crackled feebly, and finally went out; Tony whined, stretched, and curled himself up in his corner for the night; Nat slept on; but Chrissie gave no sign of the anxious pain that oppressed her. Old Donald guessed nothing, and thinking her question had been merely an idle inquiry, was glad he had silenced it, and that there would be no chance of renewing the subject, for he knew his grandchild would faithfully obey him.

But Chrissie lay down to sleep that night with a heavy heart. 'The light of his life,' she said to herself. 'Yes, that's what grandfather called my dear father; and the light went out, and now we don't know where father's gone, and it's all dark, like it is up in this dismal room when the sun doesn't shine, or the black fogs come for days together. Mother told me something about "the light of the world" once, but I can't remember,' mused the child,' it is so long ago. I suppose she meant the sun, but we seldom see it here in this dingy, smoky court, and Nat has not even seen his star for more than a week.'

In the midst of such perplexed, wistful wonderings, Chrissie fell asleep. About midnight the fierce storm abated, and pale stars twinkled faintly between the scudding drifts of gloomy clouds, and peered down between the chimneys, on the faces of the sleeping children. Living as they did in almost heathen darkness, in the very heart of a gospel-lighted Christian land, were they beyond the reach of the light of life,' or would He who is the Bright and Morning Star leave one of His little ones to perish?

T was a sad story of which her grandfather had given Chrissie a glimpse. His only son, a fine strong young man, always able to earn good wages, though somewhat irregular in his application to work, had cheerfully maintained him for years, and been,

indeed, as he expressed it, 'the light

of his life.' A skilful workman, Martin made ample provision for the wants of those dependent upon him, and would, moreover, often extend a helping hand to a brother in need. Unlike most of his fellow-workmen, he was a regular attendant at public worship, and among the little Methodist community with which he had become united, Martin met and married Chrissie's