"Was't a handsome prince who came and waked you up?" Alice demanded, patting Leila on either cheek with her fair little hands.

Leila was saved a reply by the entrance of Philbert, who grasped her by the hand with a clasp that spoke volumes of welcome, while his honest eyes filled with

tears.

"Is there anybody for me to deal justice te?" he asked. And, doubling his fists as he spoke, he looked as if he would deal it not over gently.

"I do not think we should many of us care for justice always," Leila answered. "Would not justice demand me to leave this house, justice to the love that gives me shelter in it ?"

"Surely, Leila, you do not mean-" And Philbert grew grave from gay, and drew away from her.

"Nothing, Philbert, but that our engagement is ended, and because I wished it, knowing my love was insufficient in return for that which was given me."

Philbert looked dreary.

"You will never get a better love than the one you are so recklessly throwing away."

"I never shall deserve a better," Leila answered.

Philbert looked perplexed.

It could not be that Leila had lost her heart to Lascours! Philbert scorned the idea. What then? There was Fred, and Philbert had heard all the strange reports concerning him and Leila, but he had not believed them, and blamed Mr. Sterne as their originator.

"One thing, Leil, you seem to forget," he said; "although your disappearance has been kept as quiet as possible, many people know of it, and your good name requires that you should accept Mr. Malcolin's generous kindness and marry him."

"Philbert, you are getting worldly," Leila answered. "Believe me, I am acting for the best, and help me to go away from here, my more than brother!"

"Wait a little while," said Philbert; "you will think differently a fortnight hence."

"You would make me out a greater changeling than I am," said Leila. And Alice and Anna again advancing their claims for attention, the conversation ceased.

"FAITH," said Bobbie, "it's the finest kite I ever laid me two eyes on! It takes the shine all off of Tim Raynor's boughten one!" And he fairly danced with delight on his heavy crutches, his poor little pale face quite radiant.

"Well now, Bob," said Jack, "you mustn't be teasing mother by staying out too much in the cold to fly it. The wind goes right through yer ye know, poor little misfortunate, and mother's worrying the life out of her, for fear ye'll get yer death o' cold in this blusthering spring weather. For my part I'm afraid the wind'll take yez up like a dandelion-ball and drift yer off to nowhere!"

"No," said Bobbie, "I wont worrit the mother, she do be so good to me, and you, too, Jackie, and I'm no good to anybody— only just a throuble."

"Nonsense!" said Jack, "you're niver a throuble, Bob, you're the light of mother's eyes, and as for doing no good-why, yer

[TO BE CONTINUED.]

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do a heap o' good to both of us. proud of yer, lad. Didn't the praste say you were a famous-genius—he meant, and that some day ye'd be a fine artist if ye had yer health and got the iddication? And Bob I mane yer shall have the iddication. Ye can't guess what I'm going to do-where I'm going?"

Bobbie hadn't the least idea.

"Well, promise not to cry," said Jack, "and I'll tell yer. It's good news, only I'm afraid yer wont think so, at first. I'm going to sea, Bob-I didn't tell yer before, because I thought 'twould make yer feel bad, but I meant the kite as a parting gift. Captain Hardy has made me a firsthrate offer, and I shall bring home such a heap o' money to mother and yer and baby!"

"O Jacky!" was all poor Bobbie could utter, and in spite of himself, a teardrop large and round fell on to the tip of his little peaked nose.

"We wont be living on this dirty marsh

by-and-by," continued Jack, "and mother shan't be working the life out of her over the washtub. Yer shall have teachers, and learn to paint with the best of thim, and the baby-swate little Kathleen, she shall go to school, and grow up like a lady-that she shall!"'

But Bobbie was in no mood to listen to this. What would the finest house in the world be to him without Jack? What would money and teachers be, and Jack away, nobody knew where-perhaps suffering in some dreadful storm at sea, perhaps dying in some faraway country! How could he sleep in his own little bed at night, and Jack at sea? Would not the waves and winds be always moaning in his ears, even on the calmnest nights? and O, how long the days would be without the prospect of Jack's honest freckled face to peep in at the end! He ran into the house, and throwing himself at full length on the floor, gave vent to his grief in such a vehement fashion, that the baby was frightened and joined in the uproar with all her might. The new kite was left forgotten on the grass, and at that moment there wasn't a bright spot in the whole world to poor little crippled Bobbie.

When Jack came home to tea that night, he didn't meet his usual merry welcome. They were merry people, though they were so poor, and Jack and his mother were os often weary. Two years before, and a few weeks before the baby was born, the father had died, but he had been sick for a long time, poor soul, and wanted to go to heaven. His death cast a cloud over the little dwelling for a time, but they were good trustful folks, and knew that if it had not been for the best God would not have taken him, and why should they be grieving for him while he was happy? Baby was a jolly little thing, with a dimple tucked into every spare corner of her pretty Irish face; the mother was willing to work, and found plenty of work to do; Jack was brave, and hearty, and honest, and though only fifteen years of age, did almost the work of a man, when he could find employment; but it was a country town where they lived, and the kind of work that he could do was scarce, especially in the summer. Bobbie, as Jack had said, was a genius; he had been crippled by a fall when he was a wee baby, and had always been delicate in health. Instead of playing out of doors with the other

children, ever since his fingers were large enough to hold a pencil, he had been amusing himself by drawing picturesclumsy things they were of course-in imitation of the objects around him in the cabin, and the trees, and birds, and hills, he could see from the window. And lately he had taken to making portraits in charcoal. First he drew one of the baby, that was the baby, exactly, they all said, so like her that they wanted to kiss it. There was the funny little nose, that jist looked up a thrifle, as Bob expressed it, and the round wideawake eyes with the laugh in them, like life. Then inspired to greater ambition by the praise bestowed upon this, he made a picture of the priest himself as he looked before the altar of a Sunday morning. The priest was a handsome man, with a noble head, and fine clearcut features, and Bobbie's artist eye recognized his beauty, and it was no mean representation of it that he exhibited on the little square piece of pasteboard after much careful labor.

The proud mother carried it to the priest, Bobbie hobbling along beside her, and the priest was well pleased, and said Bobbie was a real genius, and would be a great man some day, if he could only be educated. He took the picture and gave the little boy a sum of money which amazed, as well as delighted both his mother and himself. He really seemed to be very much interested in the little artist at the time, but afterwards he forgot all about him, for he was a selfish man, and had the care of a large and poverty-stricken parish.

As I said before, Jack missed the usual merry greeting from his mother and Bobbie, when he went home that night. They both tried to smile and look as if nothing had happened, but it was of no use. The sight of the bye, as his mother said, brought tears into her eyes. Bobbie bent over the picture he was making of him, to hide his own tears, and even the baby, rosy little Kathleen, shook her curly pate mournfully at Zack, as she called him, because he was going away to leave her.

"Come, Bob!" said Jack, as soon as their silent meal was over, "let's go out and see how the kite will go, just for a few minutes before dark. You'll have plenty of time to do that wonderful picture of meself after I'm gone, and who knows when we'll fly the kite together again? I guess you can do it without looking at me face, can't yer?

Bobbie rather thought he could. Didn't he know just precisely where every freckle was located on that dear face? didn't he know by heart every expression the honest blue eyes could wear?

"Can't I spake me own thoughts widout seeing the inside o' meself?" said he, earnestly, rubbing his little white fist into his eyes.

So the two went out into the cheery April wind, and sent the kite flying like a great white bird over the desolate marshes, Kathy clapping her hands delightedly from her post at the window, and the mother looking on with a sad smile. Bob's great passion was a kite, though his ragged little neighbors did assure him that kites was all out o' fashion long ago, and in spite of this, his new kite soon collected an eager-faced little crowd, and there was a great deal of betting about how high it would go, predictions that it would get entangled in the tall willows, and petitions to be allowed to hold the string. Bob almost forgot Jack was going away, for a little while, and that was what Jack intended he should do, for more than all the world beside, he loved this feeble little brother who looked up to him with a sort of worship.

Before either Bob or the baby was awake the next morning, Jack was away. He thought it would be well to spare them the pain of parting, but tucked a little package of candy under the pillow of each. Poor Bob! that candy was less sweet than ever he had eaten before, and all that day, though he tried to be very brave, and comfort, instead of distressing his mother, he could hardly keep the tears out of his eyes for one moment. They blinded him so that he could not finish Jack's picture.

"Don't fret that way, Bobbie;" said his mother." Jack's gone to earn money, so you can have teachers and learn to draw as fine as anything."

"But I didn't want Jack to work for me," said Bobbie, gulping down a sob.

"O, yer can pay him some day! yer can make a gintleman of him-fine folk it do all, Jack says so. Jist kape thrying, me bye, and don't fret yerself sick. And ye must write to Jack, yer know, yer poor mother doesn't know how." So Bobbie took courage, and did kape thrying, and every day his little sketches grew to look more fine and artistic. In about two months they heard from Jack; he was well and happy,

and he sent them more money than they had ever seen at a time, before in all their lives. He liked a sailor's life very well, only he wanted to see them all so much that he could hardly wait for the time to come when he should be on his way home. Then they heard from him again when he was in Liverpool, and the ship was preparing for her homeward voyage.

Bobbie was going to school, and was as happy as could be with Jack away; the baby was growing to be a great girl, and was so merry and cunning, and Mrs. Flynn the mother toiled on as contentedly and cheerfully as ever; putting aside what she could of the money Jack had sent, for Bob's education must be seen to in spite of everything. But their affairs did not prosper so bravely for a long time. Just as they were beginning to look for Jack home, a sad calamity overtook the little household.. Poor Mrs. Flynn fell and broke her arm and was not able to use it again for months. Bobbie was a brave little nurse, and there was money enough in the house to pay the rent for two or three months, and there was the prospect of Jack's coming before then, so they got along comparatively well at first, for the poor woman forgot her pain while hearing Jack's old letters read over and thinking of Bob's future. They had not heard from Jack for some time, to be sure, but then was not that a sure sign that he was on his way home? and so Bob went without his supper to save a penny with which to buy the evening paper, and keep posted on the shipnews. But the days and weeks went by; the closet was as bare as Mother Hubbard's; there was no coal left in the bin; Jack Frost was at the height of his reign, and still he did not come; still they heard no more news from him, there was no mention of the Heron, on the shiplist. Mrs. Flynn's arm was not strong. enough to use yet, and to keep them all from starving Bob took a basket and went begging from door to door. Poor little Bob! he was delicate and unused to such exposure, and it was weary work travelling about on those heavy crutches of his, and the result of his labor was a lung fever. For long weeks he tossed on his little bed,. raving about Jack in his delirium, and during that time, almost every article of furni-ture the little cabin contained was sold to provide the family with the necessaries of life. Then as soon as Bob was able to be

moved, they were all obliged to go to the poorhouse-a sore trial to Mrs. Flynn and Bob, who had a proud independent spirit, if they were poor Irish people; but little Kathleen was as merry over it as if it were the most desirable abode imaginable. They were treated kindly enough there, and Bob and Kathy were great pets with the other inmates of the house. There was one old man there, who used to be a sailor, who told such wonderful stories that one was hardly able to wink while he was telling them, and his account of his own experience gave Mrs. Flynn and Bob great hope that they should one day see Jack again, though everybody seemed to believe the Heron was lost.

"Lor' sakes' said he, "catch a boy of his age to be drownded! he'll be home fore long, take my word for it-a bit o' seaweed to cling to 's enough to save a boy. I've been saved miraclous more'n once myself. What if the ship was lost, the boy wasn't!"'

And Bob went to sleep every night dreaming of Jack and the diamond valley, and cases full of yellow tinkling coins which the old man was sure Jack had stumbled upon, and which was keeping him away so long, though it was evident that the poor old fellow had never met with such fortune himself.

But the year went by, and still never a word from Jack, and almost broken-hearted Mrs. Flynn took her little family away from the poorhouse to the city, where she had procured work in a laundry. She was as strong as ever now, and could not bear to live on charity any longer.

It was a miserable place where they lived, just on the outskirts of the city, on a marsh more filthy and unwholesome than the one on which they lived when Jack left them. Hope was beginning to desert them, now; the very mention of Jack's name brought tears to their eyes. Bob had no heart to work at his drawing, and grew more and more feeble every day. Even Kathy was losing her round rosy cheeks and merry ways, and sometimes during the cold winter weather the cupboard was bare again, and the fire got very low in spite of all the mother could do.

hung on the wall placed in a rude frame which Bob himself had manufactured.

"Do you mind, Kathy, how we flew the kite the night before he went away? How splindidly it did go up over the houses and everything! I don't s'pose you do, for you were a bit tiny then, and Jack could toss you right over his shoulder!"

"I never saw it flied," said Kathy, shaking her bright auburn curls. "O Bobbie, fly it now, that's a good boy, there's an illigant breeze! You could fly it right out of the windy you see.”

"No," said Bob, rubbing his little white fists into his eyes, "I couldn't bear it, deed I couldn't!'

"Couldn't bear what, Bobbie ?" said Kathy, wonderingly. "I could hold the string if you arn't strong enough, only jist you show me how!''

66

Faith, 'tisn't that!" said Bobbie, "I'm strong enough still to hold a kite string, but I couldn't bear to see it a sailing away so pert and happy-looking, and him that made it dead."

Kathy looked very sorrowful, and touched the kite with a sort of awe.

"Wait a bit," said Bob, taking a second thought, "I will fly it for you, Kathy darlint. Jack would like me to, I know. It's well to kape up cheer if we can!"

So slowly untwisting the string, he let the old kite soar up from the window, guiding it carefully with his little thin hand, and following its movements with his hollow wistful eyes. The kite did bravely, and as Kathy had said, there was an illigant breeze. It shook out its long tail with a graceful flutter. It did not hurry, but went slowly, softly sailing toward the blue, the red letters of Bob's name showing bravely on its breast. Kathy fairly screamed with delight, and out of the miserable houses around trooped the children great and small, to see the pretty sight. The little girls clapped their hands, the babies cooed and lifted their wee dimpled arms toward it, and the little boys agreed, though they were half inclined to be envious, that it was the finest kite ever seen.

Suddenly Bob's hand commenced to tremble. A stranger was coming across the

"Jacky will have been gone two years come next Monday," said Bob, mournfully, looking up at his brother's picture which

who looked strangely familiar.

"Don't jerk the string so, Bob, only jist see how high the kite will go!" said Kathy, impatiently.