"Was it long since? How did it happen?" asked Charlie, full of sympathy, and wondering almost that Harry could be thankful for anything under such circumstances. "It was about three years ago, when I was eleven years old. I was out riding; something startled the pony, and he threw me. You see my leg is not deformed," holding it out as he spoke, "but I walk lame; the doctor says I must rest well now, and not overtax my strength, or I shall never be any better. It pains me a good deal even now sometimes." "Did you always feel as--as quiet about it as you do now?" asked Charlie, rather at a loss for the right word. "No," said Harry; "for a whole year all sorts of wicked, bitter thoughts were in my heart. I thought God was behaving hardly and unkindly to me. I wanted to die, rather than live to be a cripple. I almost hated people who were well and strong. When mamma had visitors I kept out of the way. Sometimes I stayed in my own room for weeks together. I couldn't bear any one to see me. It was a great trouble to mamma." Harry was carried away by the recollections of that sad time, and had spoken in a low rapid tone, more to himself than to Charlie. The boys turned over the contents of a portfolio in silence for a few moments. Harry placed before Charlie a beautiful engraving of our Saviour on the cross. "He bore all that for me, and I am trying to bear my pain willingly and patiently for His sake, because I love Him; and I know He loves me, and helps me to bear my pain, and would not let me suffer it at all if it was not for my own good in the end," said Harry. I have let you listen to this little bit of quiet talk between Charlie and Harry that you may determine, as Charlie did, to try to follow Harry's example, not to be discontented and impatient in sickness, or trial of any kind; to be often thinking of, and feeling thankful for, the blessings God has granted you; to love the Lord Jesus, and trust Him. You must not suppose that the evening at Mrs. Greenwell's was passed in talking only. After tea, which was thoroughly enjoyed by the boys, they looked at pictures, books, shells, and other things. Mrs. Greenwell had so many little histories to tell about them, and talked so pleasantly, that the boys enjoyed it very much; but the great wonder and attraction was a microscope, or "magnifying glass," as Charlie called it. Many of the boys had never seen or even heard of one before, and it puzzled them very much to be told that what looked to them very like a small lobster's claw was the foot of a fly. "What beautiful little feathers!" exclaimed one boy. "You know the sort of dust that sticks to your fingers if you touch the wings of a moth or a butterfly, don't you?" asked Harry. "Yes, sir,"' answered the boy. "Then that is some of it, magnified; the wings are covered with those beautiful little feathers, although we cannot distinguish them without the microscope."