it. Poor Christie was
very full of sorrow, for he "feared as he entered into the cloud." But
Treffy's words came back to his mind, and he said, with a full heart,--

"Lord Jesus, do help me to give my life to Thee. Oh! please help me to
spare old Treffy. Amen."

Then, rather comforted, he went to bed.

The next morning he looked anxiously at old Treffy. He seemed weaker
than usual, and Christie did not like to leave him. But they had very
little money left, and Treffy seemed to wish him to go; so Christie went
on his rounds with a heavy heart. He determined to go to the suburban
road, that he might tell little Mabel and her mother how much worse his
dear old master was. It is such a comfort to speak of our sorrow to
those who will care to hear.

Thus Christie stopped before the house with the pretty garden in front
of it. The snowdrops were over now, but the primroses had taken their
place, and the garden looked very gay and cheerful. But Christie had no
heart to look at it; he was gazing up anxiously at the nursery window
for little Mabel's face. But she was not to be seen, so he turned the
handle of his organ and played "Home, sweet Home," her favorite tune, to
attract her attention. A minute after he began to play he saw little
Mabel coming quickly out of the house and running towards him. She did
not smile at him as usual, and she looked as if she had been crying,
Christie thought.

"Oh, organ-boy," she said, "don't play to-day. Mamma is ill in bed, and
it makes her head ache."

Christie stopped at once; he was just in the midst of the chorus of
"Home, sweet Home," and the organ gave a melancholy wail as he suddenly
brought it to a conclusion.

"I am so sorry, missie," he said.

Mabel stood before him in silence for a minute or two, and Christie
looked down upon her very pitifully and tenderly.

"Is she very bad, missie?" he said.

"Yes," said little Mabel, "I think she must be, papa looks so grave, and
nurse won't let us play; and I heard her tell cook mother would never be
any better," she added, with a little sob, which came from the bottom of
her tiny heart.

"Poor little missie!" said Christie, sorrowfully; "poor little missie,
don't fret so; oh, don't fret so!"

And as Christie stood looking down on the little girl a great tear
rolled down his cheek and fell on her little white arm.

Mabel looked up suddenly.

"Christie," she said, "I think mother must be going to 'Home, sweet
Home,' and I w