“‘He’ ought to be very good to me to be taking me from a place where I’ve been treated like as I’ve been here,” reflected Pollie when Mrs. Challoner had left the kitchen. “And here I’d have been for years, maybe—and maybe for ever—and certain never in no such hurry would I have jumped at any journeyman tailor, if it hadn’t been for that Mrs. Brand a-shaking of her head and saying I must be prepared for changes—and them soon too—she feared the master wasn’t for long, and it was a good thing the mistress had their house to turn to. And when a woman’s getting nigh thirty and changes begins to—to be talked about, it comes as a sort of Godsend when she’s asked to change her name! But how I’ll get along without Master Hugh, it beats me to know!” That night Lucy Challoner never closed her eyes. (_To be continued._) HER KINGDOM OF DREAMS. BY EDITH RUTLAR. She saw the storm sweep down the length of the street, And the year, growing old, dash his tears on the pane; She heard the dull patter of wet little feet ’Midst the pitiless gusts of the wind and the rain. An opaline light lit the clouds in the west, And a cruel grip tightened the teeth of the blast; The watcher’s stiff limbs sought a posture of rest As she slipped into dreams of the days of the past. Her toil-hardened fingers lay still on her knee, And the light of the moon at the full lit her face; The poor stricken seamstress of worthless degree In the Kingdom of Dreams had a home and a place. One hand raised itself, then fell weakly away; So the night came apace, and the clock ticked its round: Whilst the words the white withered lips would betray Died into the Silence no mortal can sound. A voice said, “She sleeps, and the work not begun”; But a kind hand had banished “the rule and the rod”: And another voice answered, “The work is done, For her Kingdom of Dreams is the Kingdom of God.” SHEILA. A STORY FOR GIRLS. BY EVELYN EVERETT-GREEN, Author of “Greyfriars,” “Half-a-dozen Sisters,” etc. CHAPTER I. BROTHER AND SISTER. “I call it cruel of them to separate us! They might at least have let us be together!” cried Sheila, with tears in her voice, if not in her eyes. “Well, but we shall not be very far apart. We can see each other most days, and you will have a nice home with Uncle and Aunt Cossart—more what you have been used to—a big country house. Uncle Tom lives in the town to be near the works; but he says it is an easy walk to get out to Cossart Place.” Sheila gave a rather scornful toss to her handsome head. “Cossart Place! I hate that pretentious way of calling one’s house by one’s own name! Oscar, aren’t these relations of ours rather vulgar, purse-proud people? Papa must have had some reason for keeping us away from them all these years.” Oscar was silent for a few moments, and then he said slowly—