his."

Will, unseen by Emily, wiped away with his thumb one big tear after
another out of the corner of his eye.

"She is a good sister, anyhow, and I am a mean fellow ever to get mad
with her, and say rude things to her," he said to himself, as Emily
darned, and chatted, and bade him be of good cheer.

"My stockings, too, sister. There's a great green grass stain on both
of them, and grandmamma expects us to be _so_ nice."

Will coughed to choke down a sob.

"Perhaps you may have time to change them, Will. I will help you. But
we must get the pantaloons all nicely done first."

So this kind sister stitched, and taught unconsciously as she
stitched, lessons of love and patience, lessons of cheerful
helpfulness and sweet unselfishness, which Will never forgot.

More than once, in after life, when, in heedless pursuit of life's
roses, he had been wounded by its thorns, he remembered that sweet
face of consolation, those dear hands held out to aid him, and all the
sunshine and the song of that sweet summer afternoon, and fresh peace
and hope came to him with the remembrance.

"It's all finished now, the very last stitch; and now for the
stockings. Let me see the spots."

Will put his two heels firmly together, turned out his toes, pulled up
his puffy pantaloons, and stooped his head and strained his eyes to
look for them.

They were but little ones, after all, and a brisk rubbing with the
handkerchief, and a judicious pulling down of the trouser bindings,
almost concealed them. They were just in time with their repairs; for
grandmamma's yellow-wheeled carriage was coming up the avenue.

E. G. C.

OUR DAILY BREAD.

A little girl knelt down to pray
One morn. The mother said,
"My love, why do we ever say,
Give us our daily bread?
Why not ask for a week or more?"
The baby bent her head
In thoughtful mood towards the floor:
"We want it fresh," she said.

[Illustration: LITTLE WILLIE.]

WILLIE'S PRAYER.

One sweet morning little Willie,
Springing from his trundle-bed,
Bounded to the vine-wreathed window
And put out his sunny head.

It was in the joyous spring-time,
When the sky was soft and fair,
And the blue-bird and the robin
Warbled sweetly everywhere.

In the field the lambs were playing,
Where the babbling brook ran clear;
To and fro,