"Who made that glorious sky, Nettie ?

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I don't know. I thought it had always been there."
No, it was made.”

"Oh, it must have been a big, strong man that made it!" exclaimed Nettie, so astonished by this new idea, that for the moment she forgot her timidity.

"It was no man that formed the sky. It was the great and mighty God. He made the heavens and the earth; He made the moon and the stars and the great sun, the thunders and the lightnings, the stormy winds and the grand and terrible sea."

The child shuddered and drew back; Mr. Thorn's solemn tone startled her.

"I don't like the sea," she said, falteringly. "It makes me afraid."

"It need never make you afraid. The God who formed it is your Father, and He will not suffer the things which He has made to harm His child. But you must remember, my little girl, that although God is your Father, He is also the mighty God of heaven; and you must go to Him to thank Him for His love, not lightly, but feeling that you are coming before a great King. Not that I would have you feel afraid of this holy God; for you have no need to fear Him. His large heart is so full of love for you, that it grieved Him to see the sore trouble you were in, and so He gave you to us that we might comfort you. And He has done far more than this for you. The Lord Jesus Christ, God's only Son, left His home and came down to the earth to die on the cross, that you and I might

go to that bright heaven of which I told you. want to thank the great King for all this?"

Do you

not

"I don't know how," said Nettie, in a trembling voice. “Shall I thank Him for you?"

She nodded her head, and Mr. Thorn, kneeling beside the chair on which he had been sitting, drew her down beside him. And then the deep voice, so solemn and

earnest, yet so full of tenderness, gave the child into the care and keeping of God. That prayer taught Nettie something as she knelt, awed and still, at his side. The evening before, she had stood on the water's edge, crushed with the weight of her grief and pain, looking up to the sky in search of the new Friend of whom she had just heard. She did not know how to tell Him all that was in her lonely, desolate heart, and all that she could do was to cry out piteously," O Father! Father! And on this first evening in her new home, when she had been made to understand that it was God who had sent the blessings which had been given her, although she was ready to thank Him, it was to her only like thanking Mr. Thorn. Her friendless heart had gone out toward this Father; but while she loved His name, she did not hallow it.

Now, as she listened to Mr. Thorn, as he thanked God for His boundless love and mercy to all men, but especially to this lost lamb whom He had found and brought into a safe fold, and then besought Him to bless and defend her, a new feeling crept into her heart.

When Mr. Thorn rose from his knees, she slipped her hand confidingly into his and whispered,

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Why do you speak so soft, and yet so strong?"

Because, my child, I was talking to God. We must speak to Him as we do to no living man. We must use His name as we use no other; never speaking it lightly or irreverently, but very solemnly. When God's Son was here upon the earth, He taught us to ask God to hallow His name, to keep it holy. We must never utter it carelessly. We must remember that it is indeed God's holy name."

"Yes," said Nettie, very thoughtfully; and then she stood looking silently down upon the floor.

By-and-by she lifted her head again.

"I don't want to thank Him here," she said. “I'd like to go upstairs. And please, may Margaret stay behind? I want to be all by myself."

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'Yes; if you know your way, you may go alone." Nettie went up to her room, and entering it, closed the door behind her. It was a very cosey little room, and the bed looked soft and inviting as her tired eyes fell on it; but she did not pause there. She walked to the window which looked out upon the garden, which only the stars were watching now, and, kneeling there, rested her arms upon the window-ledge, and laid her head down upon them.

It was a serious but very peaceful face that looked up to the shining sky. The path her childish feet had travelled had been a hard path. She had found this earth a weary land, but she had also found the shadow of a great rock.

CHAPTER IV.

A VISIT TO A STRANGER.

"ARE you Mrs. Thorn's little girl?"

Nettie was standing on the porch of the vine-covered cottage, which had now been her home for more than three weeks. She had been sent out to play; but play, with her, was something different from that which most children understand by the word. The greatest enjoyment of her cheerless childhood had been to creep away to some lonely spot, where no harsh voice nor heavy hand could reach her and even now, when all her hours were spent in quiet happiness, she passed her play-time in sauntering through the pleasant garden, or in standing on the porch watching the sky.

"Are you Mrs. Thorn's little girl?" repeated the musical voice; for Nettie had not answered. She had been thinking, with delight, that she was "Mrs. Thorn's little girl;" for the minister had told her last night, in answer to a timid question as to whether her aunt would ever take her away, that John Allen and his wife had no

further control over her, having signed papers which gave her entirely into his guardianship.

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Yes," she said, when the stranger spoke the second time. And she went down the steps toward the child, who stood on the gravel-walk below.

"Well, I'm Margery Bray; and I live up there in that white house on the hill, with my aunt." "Oh, poor little thing!" said Nettie.

Margery opened her eyes very wide.

Why did you say that?" she asked.

"Didn't you say you lived with your aunt?

"Yes; but that don't make me a poor little thing." "Aint you afraid of her?

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No, indeed I aint," said Margery, with a merry "She's the best auntie that ever was.

She's

laugh. taken care of me ever since I was a baby. My mother died when I was very small," she added, more gravely. "So did mine."

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Oh, did she? I'm so sorry!" and, coming nearer to Nettie, Margery put her arm around her neck.

The child looked at her wonderingly.

"Are you?" said she. " Nobody ever was before, except Mr. and Mrs. Thorn. What makes you sorry?"

"Because I know you want your mother; for I want mine so bad sometimes. But we mustn't fret for them, when they're so happy in heaven."

Nettie did not reply; and, after a moment, Margery said,— "I almost forgot what I came for. My aunt told me I'd better come over here and ask you to go and play with me at my house. Will you go?"

"If Mrs. Thorn will let me," said Nettie, quite won over by this pleasant little maiden. "Come and ask her." Ah, Miss Margery, is this you?" said Mrs. Thorn, as the children entered her room. 66 Have you come to pay

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Nettie a visit?"

"No, ma'am. I came to take her home with me, if she

may go," said Margery, leaning against the lady's chair with the freedom of an old acquaintance. "Will you let me take her?"

"Yes, if she wishes to go. How is it, Nettie ?"

“I would like it,” said Nettie.

"How old are you?" asked Margery, linking her arm in that of her companion, as they started off together. She had taken this new friend into the very recesses of her warm little heart; and they were walking along, side by side, as closely united as if they had known each other for years.

“I'm ten years old."

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Are you

?

of my age, too.

You are older than I. I'm pretty small Father says I'm a tiny mite; but I'm trying to grow big as fast as I can, so as to take care of the house for him;" and Margery drew her slight figure up to its utmost height. "Aunt Annie is to be married, and to go away to England to live, and father says I shall keep house for him when his sister leaves him; so you see that makes me in a hurry to get big."

"I'm so glad," she went on, after skipping along for a while by the side of her silent companion, "I'm so glad that we've both got a mother up in the sky. It ought to make us the realest friends; don't you think so? It's so nice to think about them, and to know that they are looking down and watching their little girls. I wonder, Nettie, if they won't come and open the gates for us when Jesus calls us up to heaven. Oh, won't it be beautiful to have them take us right up in their arms, and kiss us with their bright angel lips? The dear, sweet mothers!"

"There's my Aunt Annie!" she cried out suddenly. "Let's run and meet her!" and, seizing Nettie's hand in hers, she ran fleetly up the hill toward a woman who was spreading clothes on the grass to bleach.

When she heard the patter of the children's feet gravel, she turned toward them with a smile.

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upon the

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