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To-night, with anxiety pressing hard upon him, and the discomfort and weariness of his life more than usually apparent to him, he was very irritable with his boys, the two oldest of whom had been with him all day, and the whole party had come on shore in a very unenviable frame of mind.

"What are you leaving that sail there for, Sam?" he said, as his sons turned toward home, leaving the sail in the boat.

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sentence, the father moved forward with a look and gesture which warned Sam that it was safer to obey.

With a mutter of discontent he lifted the sail, rudely ordering his younger brother to assist him; and, bearing the burden between them, they walked away.

John Allen followed them, carrying a basket of fish. As he passed along he noticed a hut, apparently in the vicinity of his own home, from the windows of which there fell across the sands the ruddy glow of a blazing fire, suggesting thoughts of rest and comfort, which made him wish, with a sigh, that such a welcome awaited him. As he drew nearer his steps quickened. Surely that light came from his own hut!-was it a-fire? Startled by the thought he hastily ran on, but when he reached his home he stood still in surprise. Looking through the window he saw a clean, bright room, in one corner of which, upon a smoothly-spread bed, lay his wife; while before the fire there sat a little girl rocking his sleeping boy upon her lap. He entered quietly, and stood with the door open in his hand, too much surprised to speak.

"It's only me, uncle-only Nettie. Please shut the door; it blows too cold on Aunt Susan."

"It blows too cold on Aunt Susan!" he repeated, obeying her request. "There was a time when you would

have been glad to see her cold in her grave. But what brought you here, child?"

"Mr. Thorn told me aunt was sick, and I came to tend her."

"Did he bid you to come?"

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No; but he said that she had no one to take care of her so I will stay until she is better."

"After all her hard blows and worse words?" said John Allen, looking at her as if she were something hard to be understood. "Why, what has come to you, child?"

"Jesus has come," said Nettie, softly. "He has come and taken those naughty, wicked feelings out of my heart, and has made me more kind and gentle. That is what has come to me, Uncle John."

He did not answer, but, as he lifted Jack from her lap, Nettie saw a great tear drop upon the child's sleeping face.

When the boys came in they were as much surprised as their father had been to find Nettie re-established in her old place. They took but little notice of her, however, their time being wholly occupied in quarrelling among themselves; and even when they sat down to the supper which she had prepared for them, no one thanked her for the trouble which she had taken. But as they were leaving her for the night Ben came back to say,—

"Good-night, Nettie. If you want anything you can holler for me."

The thought of offering to watch with his mother did not seem to enter his mind, and yet Nettie rejoiced to hear him say even those few words, for she knew that six months before he would not have made that offer, nor have bidden her good-night, and she thanked him as warmly as if the debt of gratitude had been all on her side. Her uncle had insisted upon sitting up while she went to bed; but he looked so utterly wearied out that Nettie was afraid that he might fall asleep at his post, and she dared not leave

him to watch alone. It was not long before her fears were realized; the tired man's head fell back against his chair, and he soon sank into a heavy slumber.

During the early part of the night Mrs. Allen lay, as she had done all day, muttering incoherently, but comparatively quiet; but as the hours passed on her fever grew higher, and she became more and more restless, until, frightened by her loud exclamations and violent gestures, Nettie roused her uncle, whose deep sleep had been undisturbed by his wife's outcries. The remainder of the night was terrible to Nettie, wholly unaccustomed as she was to a sick-bed. The elder boys had to be called up to aid their father in holding their mother down in the bed; and when, toward morning, the child crept into the little inner room to lie down beside Jack, she was too much excited, and too weary, to sleep.

The loft which the younger boys occupied was above her, and she could hear their voices as they talked, for they too had been wakened by the noise and confusion.

66 I say, Ben," said Martin, "what do you guess put it into Nettie's head to come and look after mother? She used to hate her; and a good right she had, too."

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Yes, I know she did. I asked father what she was up to, and he said she told him that God had made her love mother, or something like that. That's a big story,

aint it?"

"Yes but something 's made a big change in her, and no mistake. Don't you remember one time when Jim was sick, and mother wanted her to sit up with him? She declared she'd die first, and she wished he'd die, and all that. Don't you remember how she went on, and how mother punished her?"

"It's queer," said Martin. "But, anyway, I wish she'd stay if she's goin' to keep things so decent. I wonder if she got all these new notions from the minister?"

"No, not from the minister," thought Nettie, as the

boys ceased talking, and she tried to compose herself to sleep. "Not from the minister." He who had put all these new feelings into her heart was close beside her now; not far away, as Mr. Thorn was. His strong arm was about her, His loving hand beneath her head, His gentle voice whispering in her ear, "Come unto me and I will give you rest." The tired head sank back, the heavy eyelids closed, and those tender words, " So He giveth His beloved sleep," were fulfilled to His little one.

CHAPTER IX.

WATCHING AND WAITING.

THE breakfast next morning was quite a peaceable meal. Even Sam, the wildest of all the boys, had been awed and sobered by the scene of the past night, and there was an unusual tranquillity in the house.

Nettie had hoped that her uncle might remain at home to help her in the care of his wife; but as soon as he had eaten his breakfast he put on a pea-jacket. and, taking up his hat, told her that it was time for him

to go.

"I'll run up to the village first, and send the doctor down," he said. "It's lonesome for you here I know, child; but it's a good day for fishing, and I've had such poor luck this season that I must do all I can now, else I'd stay with you. I'd bid one of the boys bide at home if I thought it would do any good; but they'd be off the minute my back was turned."

"Never mind," said Nettie, who knew by experience what the result of such an order would be. "Aunt is

pretty quiet in the daytime."

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'Yes; she's mostly so wild at night. I'll ask some of

the neighbour-women to look in on you once in a while. Good-by."

"Good-by, Uncle John," and Nettie turned back into the house.

The four boys were still standing around the table, where she had left them, the two eldest preparing to go out with their father, and Ben and Martin talking over some plan of amusement. Nettie looked wistfully at Ben; he caught the look, and guessed its meaning instantly. Nothing could have made him confess that the strange and unaccountable change in Nettie had touched and softened him, nor that he pitied and wanted to help her; but, nevertheless, he began at once to try to think of some reason for giving up the excursion which he had planned to take.

"I say, Martin," he exclaimed, as if a thought had suddenly struck him, "I can't go to-day, after all. Father told me to mend that net yesterday; and I forgot it. I shall have to do it to-day."

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on."

Oh, no. Leave the old thing alone, and come

Nettie listened eagerly for Ben's answer.

"No, I can't. If he comes home to-night and finds it not mended, he'll cane me, I know."

After a little more discussion the excursion was postponed; and, to Nettie's great relief, Ben went up into the loft for the broken net.

When the house was put in order she sat down on the door-sill, in the sunshine, with her work; for there she could both watch her aunt and look up and down the sands, from time to time, to catch the first glimpse of the face she longed to see. Ben was within call; but he had gone down to the water lest Martin might suspect that he had remained at home for Nettie's sake; and as he had taken Jack with him, she was very lonely. The doctor had come, had shaken his head and looked very grave

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