\"now, i\"ll not hāve my wench preached to. she\"s bad enough as it is,with her dreams and her methodee fancies, and her visions of cities withgoulden gates and precious stones. but if it amuses her i let it abe, buti\"m none going to hāve more stuff poured into her.\"

\"but surely,\" said margaret, facing round, \"you believe in what i said,that god gāve her life, and ordered what kind of life it was to be?\"

\"i believe what i see, and no more. that\"s what i believe, young woman.

i don\"t believe all i hear--no! not by a big deal. i did hear a young lassmake an ado about knowing where we lived, and ing to see us. andmy wench here thought a deal about it, and flushed up many a time,when hoo little knew as i was looking at her, at the sound of a strangestep. but hoo\"s e at last,--and hoo\"s wele, as long as hoo\"ll keepfrom preaching on what hoo knows nought about.\"

bessy had been watching margaret\"s face; she half sate up to speaknow, laying her hand on margaret\"s arm with a gesture of entreaty.

\"don\"t be vexed wi\" him--there\"s many a one thinks like him; many andmany a one here. if yo\" could hear them speak, yo\"d not be shocked athim; he\"s a rare good man, is father--but oh!\" said she, falling back indespair, \"what he says at times makes me long to die more than ever, fori want to know so many things, and am so tossed about wi\" wonder.\"

\"poor wench--poor old wench,--i\"m loth to vex thee, i am; but a manmun speak out for the truth, and when i see the world going all wrong atthis time o\" day, bothering itself wi\" things it knows nought about, andleāving undone all the things that lie in disorder close at its hand--why,i say, leāve a\" this talk about religion alone, and set to work on what yo\"

see and know. that\"s my creed. it\"s simple, and not far to fetch, nor hardto work.\"

but the girl only pleaded the more with margaret.

\"don\"t think hardly on him--he\"s a good man, he is. i sometimes think ishall be moped wi\" sorrow even in the city of god, if father is notthere.\" the feverish colour came into her cheek, and the feverish flameinto her eye. \"but you will be there, father! you shall! oh! my heart!\"

she put her hand to it, and became ghastly pale.

margaret held her in her arms, and put the weary head to rest upon herbosom. she lifted the thin soft hair from off the temples, and bathedthem with water. nicholas understood all her signs for different articleswith the quickness of love, and even the round-eyed sister moved withlaborious gentleness at margaret\"s \"hush!\" presently the spasm thatforeshadowed death had passed away, and bessy roused herself andsaid,-\"

i\"ll go to bed,--it\"s best place; but,\" catching at margaret\"s gown, \"yo\"lle again,--i know yo\" will--but just say it!\"

\"i will e to-morrow, said margaret.

bessy leant back against her father, who prepared to carry her upstairs;but as margaret rose to go, he struggled to say something: \"i could wishthere were a god, if it were only to ask him to bless thee.\"

margaret went away very sad and thoughtful.

she was late for tea at home. at helstone unpunctuality at meal-timeswas a great fault in her mother\"s eyes; but now this, as well as manyother little irregularities, seemed to hāve lost their power of irritation,and margaret almost longed for the old plainings.

\"hāve you met with a servant, dear?\"

\"no, mamma; that anne buckley would never hāve done.\"