At the little cottage, Ellen Darcy's fluttering heart was sinking. That morning, after Tom had gone, she found a dollar bill in the coffee-cup. She knew that he left it for her. She had been out and bought tea and sugar, and flour and butter, and a bit of tender steak; and all day long a ray of light had been dancing and glimmering before her,--a ray from the blessed light of other days. With prayer and hope she had set out the tea-table, and waited; but the sun went down and no Tom came. Eight o'clock--and almost nine. Hark! The old step! quick, strong, eager for home. Yes, it was Tom, with the old grime upon his hands, and the odor of oil upon his garments. "I have kept you waiting, Nellie." "Tom!" "I did not mean to, but the work hung on." "Tom! Tom! You have been to the old shop!" "Yes, and I'm bound to have the old place, and----" "Oh, Tom!" And she threw her arms around his neck, and pressed a kiss upon his lips. "Nellie, darling, wait a little, and you shall have the old Tom back again." "Oh, I have him now! God bless you, my husband!" It was a banquet, that supper--with the bright angels of peace, and love, and joy, spreading their wings over the board. On the following Monday morning, Tom resumed his place at the head of the great machine-shop, and those who thoroughly knew him had no fear of his going back into the slough of joylessness. A few days later, Tom met Peter Tindar on the street. "Eh, Tom, old boy, what's up?" "I am up, right side up." "Yes, I see; but I hope you haven't forsaken us, Tom." "I have forsaken only the evil you have in store, Peter. The fact is, I concluded that my wife and little ones had fed on husks long enough, and if there was a good kernel left in my heart, or in my manhood, they should have it." "Ah, you heard what I said to my wife that night." "Yes, Peter; and I shall be grateful to you for it as long as I live. My remembrance of you will always be relieved by that tinge of warmth and brightness." SONG OF THE RYE. I was made to be eaten, And not to be drank; To be thrashed in a barn, Not soaked in a tank. I come as a blessing When put through a mill, As a blight and a curse When run through a still. Make me up into loaves, And the children are fed; But if into drink, I'll starve them instead. In bread I'm a servant, The eater shall rule; In drink I am master, The drinker a fool. RUINED AT HOME. "It is at home that the ruin of a soul begins." "At home!" We hear the response in tones of pained surprise or indignant denial from many voices. "It is a hard saying and cruel." "It may hurt like a blow many sad hearts; but if it be true--what then?"