a whip of
scorpions."

The step of time had fallen so lightly on the flowery path of those
to whom contentment was a higher boon than wealth, that few
footmarks were visible. Yet there had been changes in the old
homestead. As the smiling years went by, each, as it looked in at
the cottage-window, saw the home circle widening, or new beauty
crowning the angel brows of happy children. No thorn in his side had
Robert's gentle wife proved. As time passed on, closer and closer
was she drawn to his bosom; yet never a point had pierced him. Their
home was a type of paradise.

It is near the close of a summer day. The evening meal is spread,
and they are about gathering around the table, when a stranger
enters. His words are vague and brief, his manner singular, his air
slightly mysterious. Furtive, yet eager glances go from face to
face.

"Are these all your children?" he asks, surprise and admiration
mingling in his tones.

"All ours. And, thank God! the little flock is yet unbroken."

The stranger averts his face. He is disturbed by emotions that it is
impossible to conceal.

"Contentment is better than wealth," he murmurs. "Oh that I had
earlier comprehended this truth!"

The words were not meant for others; but the utterance had been too
distinct. They have reached the ears of Robert, who instantly
recognises in the stranger his long wandering, long mourned brother.

"William!"

The stranger is on his feet. A moment or two the brothers stand
gazing at each other, then tenderly embrace.

"William!"

How the stranger starts and trembles! He had not seen, in the quiet
maiden, moving among and ministering to the children so
unobtrusively, the one he had parted from years before--the one to
whom he had been so false. But her voice has startled his ears with
the familiar tones of yesterday.

"Ellen!" Here is an instant oblivion of all the intervening years.
He has leaped back over the gloomy gulf, and stands now as he stood
ere ambition and lust for gold lured him away from the side of his
first and only love. It is well both for him and the faithful maiden
that he can so forget the past as to take her in his arms and clasp
her almost wildly to his heart. But for this, conscious shame would
have betrayed his deeply repented perfidy.

And here we leave them, reader. "Contentment is better than wealth."
So the wordling proved, after a bitter experience--which may you
be spared! It is far better to realize a tr