the chancel step--the old woman
and the little boy. There they knelt and prayed--ay, prayed for the
mother and the daughter now dead and gone; "for all who are any way
afflicted or distressed in mind, body, or estate"; and for one so dear
to them suffering, after the example of his Saviour, punishment for a
crime he did not commit.

Ah, would to God we had more like these; would to God the evenings were
hallowed with more such visits to our city churches; would to God that
more hungry hearts were eager for such quiet communion with their
Heavenly Father in His own House! What a beautiful picture it made: The
setting sun shining through the western window falling on the gray hair
and wrinkled, upturned face of the old woman, and on the sweet young
head and innocent countenance of the little child so close to her side.
Ah, often has the Rector, standing in the shadow, gazed with love and
gratitude on this scene--a scene of heaven upon the earth, a picture
artists love to paint, a sermon without words, an evening incense, the
strong, prevailing prayer of Youth and Age.

CHAPTER III.

Seven bright summers have passed away since little Irish Ned first saw
the light of day. In his own estimation he is now quite a man. Granny
must put him in long pants, and then he will trot out to earn a living
for himself. Down to the newspaper office he goes with a friend who
tells his story. The "Circulation Manager" is very sympathetic, and Ned
gets his first bundle of papers. Oh, how proud he was. Not a prouder
boy or man in all Winnipeg. At six o'clock in the morning his little
feet would carry him across the overhead bridge to Portage Avenue, and
soon his voice would be heard crying "Free Press! Morning Free Press!"
along Portage Avenue, up Main Street and down Selkirk to his home. In
the afternoon the same shrill call would be heard heralding the evening
papers, "Press, 'Bune and Telegram." Of them all he preferred the Free
Press, but necessity knows no law, and it was, as he said, "to make his
pile and get rich quick," that he sold the "'Bune and Tely."

On Sunday he was always at morning service, sitting in the South
Transept near the Font. He loved the Sunday School, and right joyously
rang his sweet, childish treble in the chants and hymns; but when it
came to the hymn, "Just as I am, I come," then his whole soul seemed
afire, and the thrilling, rapturous music gushed from his little throat
and ascended Heavenwards--a