TO-MORROW.—To-morrow is the fool’s seed-time. HIS GREAT REWARD. CHAPTER II. Sunday came, and with it a fine dry day, causing Mrs. Duncan to congratulate herself upon her good fortune. She was a martyr to rheumatism in damp weather, and obliged consequently to be very careful. To-day, however, she would be able to go to church, and at the thought her heart bounded with pleasure. For, unlike a great many—indeed, I fear I might almost say the majority of people—Margaret Duncan really loved to go to God’s house. To her the services were never long, nor the familiar prayers and collects wearisome. On the contrary, she realised, as few do, the beauty of the concise language in which they are written, and frequently caught herself wondering how much could be expressed in so few words. This morning, although alone, both husband and son having been called away to see sick people, the service seemed especially sweet, and the sermon to bring more comfort than usual to her heart. It was perhaps by design that Mr. Mellis preached from the text “That which thou sowest is not quickened, except it die,” dwelling upon the necessity for the death of the body, that the soul might rise again, and particularly on the hope—nay, certainty—of a blessed reunion above with those who had “gone before.” Listening to the comforting words, and looking on the face of the dear old Rector, which fairly shone, as he spoke, with intense conviction, it was little wonder that Mrs. Duncan felt happier than she had done for a long time. Her child was not lost, only safe in Christ’s keeping, till she, too, should go to join her. How the strong faith of one individual helps the feeble faith of others! In such a manner did Mr. Mellis help his friend and parishioner to-day. Not that Mrs. Duncan really doubted God’s wisdom in taking away from her her child, but just as we crave a fresh protestation of love from one dear to us, drawing pleasure from it, so did she find comfort and consolation in the renewed assurances of divine love, spoken by the Rector this morning. To her husband, Margaret Duncan never mentioned such topics. Years before she had made the discovery that, although the doctor was careful to keep all the ordinary religious observances, being a regular attendant at church, yet he was not imbued with that _living_ faith which delights in dwelling upon a future life when this one shall be ended. A loving husband and tender father, Dr. Duncan had felt the death of his little daughter keenly at the time, but though his wife had hoped for some permanent spiritual awakening and an expression of it, nothing was said which could lead her to suppose it had taken place. Belief does not come to all with equal facility, and knowing this, Mrs. Duncan never even in thought blamed her husband, but was content to wait.