ittle brother of two years old were christened
in the afternoon, and Flora invited the parents to drink tea in the
kitchen, and visit Lucy, while Ethel and Mary each carried a baby
upstairs to exhibit to Margaret.

Richard, in the meantime, had a conversation with John Taylor, and
learned a good deal about the district, and the number of the people. At
tea, he began to rehearse his information, and the doctor listened with
interest, which put Ethel in happy agitation, believing that the moment
was come, and Richard seemed to be only waiting for the conclusion of a
long tirade against those who ought to do something for the place, when
behold! Blanche was climbing on her father's knee, begging for one of
his Sunday stories.

Etheldred was cruelly disappointed, and could not at first rejoice to
see her father able again to occupy himself with his little girl. The
narration, in his low tones, roused her from her mood of vexation.
It was the story of David, which he told in language scriptural and
poetical, so pretty and tender in its simplicity, that she could not
choose but attend. Ever and anon there was a glance towards Harry, as
if he were secretly likening his own "yellow-haired laddie" to the
"shepherd boy, ruddy, and of a fair countenance."

"So Tom and Blanche," he concluded, "can you tell me how we may be like
the shepherd-boy, David?"

"There aren't giants now," said Tom.

"Wrong is a giant," said his little sister.

"Right, my white May-flower, and what then?"

"We are to fight," said Tom.

"Yes, and mind, the giant with all his armour may be some great thing we
have to do: but what did David begin with when he was younger?"

"The lion and the bear."

"Ay, and minding his sheep. Perhaps little things, now you are little
children, may be like the lion and the bear--so kill them off--get rid
of them--cure yourself of whining or dawdling, or whatever it be,
and mind your sheep well," said he, smiling sweetly in answer to the
children's earnest looks as they caught his meaning, "and if you do,
you will not find it near so hard to deal with your great giant struggle
when it comes."

Ah! thought Ethel, it suits me as well as the children. I have a great
giant on Cocksmoor, and here I am, not allowed to attack him, because,
perhaps, I am not minding my sheep, and letting my lion and my bear run
loose about the house.

She was less impatient this week, partly from the sense of being on
probation, and par