was
unpaid, to her, who had not a single penny. This was a severe
disappointment.

"John Hays, I cannot take in the letter."

"Why not, Ma'am, I'm sure 'tis directed to you."

"Yes, but I have no money: I cannot pay the post."

"'Tis only a shilling."

"It might as well be a pound, John. You must take it back."

"No, Ma'am, that's just what John Hays won't do. I arn't over rich
myself, but I will trust you with the shilling, and take my chance. That
letter may bring you news of a forten."

Mrs. Grant read the letter; honest John, leaning against the open door,
eyed her all the while. At length she clasped her hands together, and
burst into tears.

"Oh lauk! oh lauk!" he cried, shaking his head; "there's no luck arter
all."

Mrs. Grant shook him heartily by the hand. "Your money is safe, John;
the letter does contain good news--news most unexpected and surprising.
Thanks be to God! no one ever trusted Him in vain."

The letter which gave such relief to her mind was from the lawyer
employed by Mrs. Cotton in arranging her husband's affairs. It apprised
Mrs. Grant of the sum of money found after his death in Noah Cotton's
bureau, to which she was the lawful heir, and requesting her for the
necessary documents, that would enable him to transfer it to her.

This unhoped-for piece of good fortune enabled Mrs. Grant to emigrate
with her children to Lower Canada, where a brother of Mr. Grant's had
been settled for some years. She opened a school in one of the principal
towns, and became a rich and prosperous woman.

Her eldest son is now a surgeon in good practice; her youngest a pious
minister; her daughter the wife of a respectable merchant. In the hour
of adversity, let us cling close to the Great Father, and he will not
leave us without daily bread.

CHAPTER XXIV.

FISHING ON THE BANKS.

Flora finished her story, but she wanted courage to read it to her
husband, who was very fastidious about his wife's literary performances.
And many long years passed away, and they had known great sorrows and
trials in the Canadian wilderness, before she again brought the
time-worn manuscript to light, and submitted it to his critical eye.

And because it pleased him, she, with the vanity natural to the sex, to
say nothing of the vanity so common to the author, thought that it might
find favour with the public.

They had just reached the banks of Newfoundland, when she commenced
writing Noah Cotton, and the