"Very well; but take care of the little ones." "Oh, yes, we'll do that! But shall you not be dull?" "Oh dear, no. I have brought my knitting, and there is a book in the pony carriage if I want it." So they wished her good-bye, and left her. She watched their retreating forms down the green slope till they were lost in a turn of the road, and then her mind wandered over the events of the morning, over Nellie's conversation, and over the memories of her past life. What had her life done for her? It had been one long struggle with a large family, and small means—a struggle which had been unblessed by the comforting assurance of a Father's providing care. She had worked and thought and wearied for her husband and children because she must; because life, with its treadmill round of duties, had forced her. She had not known that there was sustaining strength to bear her on her way; nor had she the comfort of the highest motive for doing her labour cheerfully, even because it was meted out to her as her portion of her Father's will. Her burdens would have been the same perhaps; but the heart that was now such a heavy weight, would have been light. Alas! She knew not the way. She shut her eyes to the blessing that was so close to her, and went along in darkness, dragging weary feet. While Mrs. Elliot was thinking so sorrowfully, the young people were hurrying gaily down to the shore, full of life and merriment. They soon reached the edge of the waves, and at first were satisfied to sit down and watch the rolling breakers. Then the girls sang, "What are the wild waves saying?" which Nellie said "was never old, and sung by the sea was always thrilling." "Can't you sing us something?" asked little Mary, looking up in her face. "I did not know you could sing," said Hope, bluntly. "I do at home," said Nellie. "We sing a great deal." "Well, sing something now," said George; "I am tired of the girls' old songs." "Songs must get old; but relations ought never to get tired of them," said Nellie, smiling. "Well, sing away, Miss Arundel," he answered. Nellie paused. What should she sing to this assembly? Here was an opportunity which she might not have again. How she wished she could think that all of them knew what it was to be safe! So she began in rather a tremulous tone— "Late! late! so late! and dark the night, and chill! Late! late! so late! but we can enter still! Too late! too late! ye cannot enter now!" Before many words were sung, Nellie grew brave. She did not know if anyone there would sympathize with her, unless it were Wilmot, who she fancied thought differently from them all; but at any rate her Lord and Master was with her, and was she not trying to carry a message from Him? There was deep silence among the little party when she ceased. The painfully solemn words, the pathos of her voice, the murmur of the sea, blended together to make an impression on the thoughtless young hearts.