ull
of gratitude; Claude and Bee brought safely home by old Drake, have
fallen asleep at last in their rooms, while she steals from chamber to
chamber to look first at one tired young face and then at the other. But
the tears hang on Claude's lashes as he sleeps; and more than once Bee
moves restlessly on her pillow and murmurs Tim's name.

The wind, that has been blowing hard all through the night, subsides
soon after sunrise. Clouds clear away from the east, and the golden
morning shines upon the creamy cliffs of White Cove. Just at the foot of
one of the low rocks lies Tim; his brown face turned up to the sky, and
his curly hair matted with sea-weed. His life-work is done.

Only Tim;--yes, Master Claude; but what would the world be without such
souls as Tim's? Fine manners, fine speech, and fine clothes, of these he
had none, but he had what glorifies the earth's greatest sons, he had
what the angels rank highly and what God loves, a brave, true, unselfish
heart.

SMITH'S SISTER.

_A STORY BY A BOY ABOUT A GIRL._

BY ROBERT OVERTON.

Before I tell you the story about Smith's sister in particular (said
Stanislaus Yarrow), I wish to make a few remarks about sisters in
general.

Sisters are of two kinds--your own and other fellows'. There are
boys--especially older ones--who consider their own sisters worse than
other fellows' sisters.

("Hear, hear," cried Martin Abbott, who was strongly suspected of having
fallen in love with Dr. Audlem's maiden aunt, who was not much more than
forty).

But the general opinion amongst boys is that all sisters--all girls, in
fact--are muffs and nuisances.

("So they are," agreed a number of voices cordially).

I thought so myself once. But Smith's sister taught me to take a higher
view of girls. I admit that they have defects--they can't help 'em.
There are times when I doubt if even boys are perfect. I freely admit
that there is a certain amount of idiocy in the ways and manners of
girls in general. Far be it from me to deny that they squeak and squeal
when there is no occasion for squeaking and squealing. There is no use
in denying that they are afraid of mice. Even Smith's sister visibly
shuddered when I offered to give her my biggest piebald rat, to be her
very own for ever. But we ought to be charitable and try to overlook
these things, for, as I said just now, they can't help 'em.

What I insist upon is that there's real grit in girls all the same.
This i