It was touching to see the mute grief of some of the little ones; one elder sister could with difficulty be restrained from kissing the dead. She was a fine girl in spite of her surroundings, and in her grief, in a moment of confidence, said her uncle had murdered a man down South, and it preyed on her mind; but she was afraid to tell the authorities, for the uncle had threatened to kill her if she told. This confession was made to the woman she was working for; and though I did not think it unlikely, I treated it as gossip. But with the facts related in the former part of this chapter before me, I have no doubt that she spoke the truth. One murderer has gone to meet the Judge of all the earth; the other is in State prison for life. The cockle and chess are gone; but the wheat (the children) are left,--bright, young, pliant, strong,--what shall we do with them? Let them grow more cockle instead of wheat, and chess instead of barley? Or shall they be of the wheat to be gathered into the Master's garner? If you desire the latter, pray ye the Lord of the harvest that he will send more laborers into the harvest. I once saw an old farmer in Canada who offered ten dollars for every thistle that could be found on his hundred acres. I have seen him climb a fence to uproot thistles in his neighbor's field. When asked why he did that extra work, he said, because the seeds would fly over to _his_ farm. Was he not a wise man? Perhaps no greater danger threatens our Republic to-day than the neglect of the children--millions of school age that are not in school, and in the great cities thousands who cannot find room. Is it any wonder that we have thirty millions of our people not in touch with the church? XIV. CHIPS FROM OTHER LOGS. In the Rev. Harvey Hyde's "Reminiscences of Early Days," occurs the following interesting notes:-- "In the spring of 1842 I made a horseback journey across the State (Michigan), from Allegan to Saginaw, up the Grand River Valley, past where now Lansing boasts its glories, but where then in the dense forests not a human dwelling was to be seen for many miles, on to Fentonville. Coming on Saturday night to a lonely Massachusetts tavern-keeper, I found a hearty welcome to baked beans and brown bread, and preached on the Sabbath in his barroom to his assembled neighbors--the first minister ever heard in the neighborhood. Arriving at Saginaw, after a ride for miles through swamps, with from six to ten inches of water, sometimes covered with ice, at the close of a March day I found myself on the east side of the broad river, with not a human being or dwelling in sight, darkness already fallen, and only twinkling lights on the other side. It seemed a cold welcome; but after much shouting and waiting, kind friends appeared. Man and horse were cared for, and two pleasant years were spent there.