nd to her, and one who had the
interests of herself and her children at heart.

As Mr. Wharton rose to go she said, laughingly:

"I thank you for your kind advice with regard to Lewie, Mr. Wharton, but
in spite of it, I do not think I shall put him in a straight-jacket
before he is out of his frocks."

"No straight-jacket is needed, Harriet; you have often written in your
copy-book at school, I suppose, 'Just as the twig is bent the tree's
inclined.' You remember that strange apple-tree in my orchard, which the
children use for a seat, it rises about a foot from the ground, and then
turns and runs along for several feet horizontally, and then shoots up
again to the sky. When that was a twig, your thumb and finger could have
bent it straight; but now, what force could do it. If sufficient
strength could be applied it might be _broken_, but never bent again.
Excuse my plain speaking, Harriet, but I see before you so much
trouble, unless that little boy's strong will is controlled, that my
conscience would not let me rest, unless I spoke honestly to you what is
in my mind."

"I must say you are not a prophesier of '_smooth things_'" said Mrs.
Elwyn, "but still, I hope the dismal things you have hinted at may not
come to pass."

"I hope not too, Harriet," said Mr. Wharton, "but God has now mercifully
spared your little boy's life, and it rests with you whether he shall be
trained for His service or not."

Then calling for Agnes and Lewie, Mr. Wharton kissed them for good-bye,
telling Agnes that he would bring Emily over the next day.

Mrs. Elwyn looked infinitely relieved when Mr. Wharton drove off, and
returned to her novel with as much interest as ever, and in the very
exciting scene into which her heroine was now introduced, she soon
forgot the unpleasant nature of Mr. Wharton's "lecture," as she called
it.

Agnes was contriving in her mind all the morning, how she should
present the needle-case to her mother, and wondering how it would be
received. It was such a great affair to her, and had cost her so much
time and labor, that she was quite sure it must be an acceptable gift,
and yet natural timidity in approaching her mother, made her shrink from
presenting it, and every time she thought of it her heart beat in her
very throat.

At length the novel was finished and thrown aside, and Mrs. Elwyn sat
with her feet on the low fender gazing abstractedly into the fire. Now
was the time Agnes thought, and approac