Rhoda. "But that means the world may come to an end."

"Yes. The sooner the better," replied the old lady.

"But you don't _want_ the world to end, Mrs Dolly?"

"I do, my clear. I want the new heavens and the new earth, wherein
dwelleth righteousness."

"Oh dear!" cried Rhoda again. "Why, Mrs Dolly, I can't bear to think
of it. It would be an end of everything I care about."

"My dear," said the old lady, gravely and yet tenderly, "if the Lord's
coming will put an end to everything you care about, that must be
because you don't care much for Him."

"I don't know anything about Him, except what we hear in church,"
answered Rhoda uneasily.

"And don't care for that?" softly responded her old friend.

Rhoda fidgeted for a moment, and then let the truth out.

"Well, no, Mrs Dolly, I _don't_. I know it sounds very wicked and
shocking; but how can I, when 'tis all so far off? It doesn't feel
real, as you do, and Madam, and all the other people I know. I can't
tell how you make it real."

"_He_ makes it real, my child. 'Tis faith which sees God. How can you
see Him without it? But I am not shocked, my dear. You have only told
me what I knew before."

"I don't see how you knew," said Rhoda uncomfortably; "and I don't know
how people get faith."

"By asking the Lord for it," said Mrs Dolly. "Phoebe, my child, is it
a sorrowful thing to thee to think on Christ and His coming again?"

"Oh no!" was Phoebe's warm answer. "You see, Madam, I haven't anything
else."

"Dear child, thank God for it!" replied Mrs Dorothy softly. "`Ton sort
n'est pas a plaindre.'"

"I declare, if 'tis not four o'clock!" cried Rhoda, springing up, and
perhaps not sorry for the diversion. "There, now! I meant you to
finish your story, and we haven't time left. Come along, Phoebe! We
are going to look in a minute on Mrs Marcella, and then we must hurry
home."

CHAPTER FIVE.

GATTY'S TROUBLES.

"And I come down no more to chilling praise,
To sneers, to wearing out of empty days,
But rest, rejoicing in the power I've won,
To go on learning, though my crying's done."

_Isabella Fyvie Mayo_.

As the two girls turned into the little garden of Number Three, the
latch of the door was lifted, and Mrs Jane came out.

"Good evening!" said she. "Come to see my sister, are you? I and my
Deb are doing for her to-day, for her Nell has got a holiday--gone to
see her mother--lazy slut!"

"Which is the lazy sl