Tim sat down again and sobbed as he had never sobbed before; so hard that he did not hear a step beside him until a voice said: "Well, what's all this?" He sprang up in great alarm. It was his father, who always slept late in the morning, and was very seldom awake so early as this. [Illustration] "Who broke my jug?" he asked. "I did," said Tim, catching his breath half in terror and half between his sobs. "Why did you?" Tim looked up. The voice did not sound quite so terrible as he had expected. The truth was his father had been touched at sight of the forlorn figure, so very small and so sorrowful, which had bent over the broken jug. "Why," he said, "I was looking for a pair of new shoes. I want a pair of shoes awful bad to wear at the picnic. All the other chaps wear shoes." "How came you to think you'd find shoes in a jug?" "Why Mama said so. I asked her for some new shoes and she said they had gone into the black jug, and that lots of other things had gone into it, too--coats and hats, and bread and meat and things--and I thought if I broke it I'd find them all, and there ain't a thing in it--and Mama never said what wasn't so before--and I thought 'twould be so--sure." And Tim, hardly able to sob out the words, feeling how keenly his trust in mother's word had added to his great disappointment, sat down again, and cried harder than ever. His father seated himself on a box in the disorderly yard and remained quiet for so long a time that Tim at last looked timidly up. "I am real sorry I broke your jug, Father. I'll never do it again." "No, I guess you won't," he said, laying a hand on the rough little head as he went away leaving Tim overcome with astonishment that his father had not been angry with him. Two days after, on the very evening before the picnic, he handed Tim a parcel, telling him to open it. "New shoes! new shoes!" he shouted. "Oh, Father, did you get a new jug and were they in it?" "No, my boy, there isn't going to be a new jug. Your mother was right all the time--the things all went into the jug; but you see getting them out is no easy matter so I am going to keep them out after this." --_New York Observer_ LITTLE JENNIE'S SICKNESS AND DEATH Little Jennie was eight years old, March 30, 1886. The April following she was taken very sick, and from that time until June 4, she seemed a little suffering angel. Then Jesus, who had so blessedly sustained her during all her sufferings took her to Himself. She would say, when able to talk: "Mama, I do not care what I suffer, God knows best." When she was very low, we would often see her dear lips moving, and listening, hear her praying. She would finish her prayer and after saying "Amen" having noticed that we were listening to her, would look up into our faces to see if we wanted anything.