on of
the ruined house.

His father and mother had taken the house soon after they were married.
He, Gilbert, was born there; so was his younger brother Archie. Three
years after the birth of Archie, God visited upon them a great
misfortune by calling to Himself Mr. Wyndham. Gilbert had by this time
started on his school career, for he was several years older than his
brother. The second misfortune occurred while he was away at school,
three years after the death of his father.

Little Archie was the idol of his mother, and a great pet with old
Martha, the housekeeper, who had been in the household ever since the
marriage of Mr. and Mrs. Wyndham. Early one morning Mrs. Wyndham awoke
with a feeling of suffocation. On looking, half dazed, around the
bedroom, she found it full of smoke. Her first thought was of Archie.
She made her way to his bed. It was empty! She went to the landing; that
was full of smoke also. She called for her boy. No answer came. The
bewildered mother imagined that he must have escaped from the burning
house while she slept.

By God's providence she got out. She found that the two servants had
managed to escape from the burning house; but there were no signs of
little Archie! The distracted mother would have entered the burning
house again to search for him, but she was held back. It was a merciful
thing that she became unconscious, and did not see the end of the
homestead where she had spent so many happy, peaceful hours. It was
burnt almost to the ground, and amongst the ruins in the kitchen were
found the charred remains of Archie.

The little fellow was fond of watching old Martha when she lit the
fires. It was believed, therefore, that he had stolen out of bed that
fatal morning and tried to light the fire in the kitchen on his own
account. The lighted match set fire to his bedgown, the bedgown to some
curtains, and so the fire had spread. Archie joined his father in
heaven.

"I was away at school at the time," said Wyndham, when he had finished
his painful story. "You can judge what a homecoming that was for me!"

"It must indeed have been sad," said Paul feelingly.

"My mother was ill for a long time, but at length she got well again. I
was the only one left to her. After that we lived in a house about a
mile from here. The ruins of the old house still remain, as you have
seen. Some day my mother may build again, but she hasn't the heart for
it at present."

The story of little Arc