us drink to the health of Mr.
Gray, but not of the boys--ha! ha!"

"No, no, not of the boys? No, not of the boys. Thank you, Sir--thank you.
That is a pleasant liquor, Mr. Burt. H'm, ha! a very pleasant liquor.
Good-afternoon, Mr. Burt; a very good day, Sir. H'm, ha!"

As Hope left her grandfather, Mrs. Simcoe was sitting at her window,
which looked over the lawn in front of the house upon which Hope
presently appeared. It was already toward sunset, and the tender golden
light streamed upon the landscape like a visible benediction. A few rosy
clouds lay in long, tranquil lines across the west, and the great trees
bathed in the sweet air with conscious pleasure.

As Hope stood with folded hands looking toward the sunset, she began
unconsciously to repeat some of the lines that always lay in her mind
like invisible writing, waiting only for the warmth of a strong emotion
to bring them legibly out:

"Though the rock of my last hope is shivered,
And its fragments are sunk in the wave;
Though I feel that my soul is delivered
To pain, it shall not be its slave.
There is many a pang to pursue me;
They may crush, but they shall not contemn;
They may torture, but shall not subdue me;
'Tis of thee that I think, not of them."

At the same moment Mrs. Simcoe was closing her window high over Hope's
head. Her face was turned toward the sunset with the usual calm impassive
look, and as she gazed at the darkening landscape she was singing, in her
murmuring way,

"I rest upon thy word;
Thy promise is for me:
My succor and salvation, Lord,
Shall surely come from thee.
But let me still abide,
Nor from my hope remove,
Till thou my patient spirit guide
Into thy perfect love."

CHAPTER III.

AVE MARIA!

Mr. Gray's boys sat in several pews, which he could command with his
eye from his own seat in the broad aisle. Every Sunday morning at the
first stroke of the bell the boys began to stroll toward the church.
But after they were seated, and the congregation had assembled, and Dr.
Peewee had gone up into the pulpit, the wheels of a carriage were heard
outside--steps were let down--there was an opening of doors, a slight
scuffing and treading, and old Christopher Burt entered. His head was
powdered, and he wore a queue. His coat collar was slightly whitened
with-powder, and he carried a gold-headed cane.

The boys looked in admiration upon so much respectability, powder, age,
and gold cane united in o