"And if," pursued the elder boy, "there had been nothing but rain and storm and sorrow and pain, my little bush would have got mildewed and spoilt, and so no fruit would have come either." "I like sunshine best!" said Tommy. "But—what sort of things do you mean would have scorched up your bush?" He hesitated, for though several years younger than his companion, he had a thoughtful little heart, and he began to guess. "Being captain of our football team, perhaps; and first in all the running games; and top of my Form—" "But those weren't harm?" said Tommy. "No—o—oh no! But it was so pleasant; and I never thought it could be different, and I did not need God then, and so I brought no fruit to Him. That's what I call sunshine that scorches—" The child put his hand on the brown big one, caressingly. "So then in love—yes, Tommy—in love, my Father sent the rain and the storm. He saw there would be no fruit on my little bush, and He knew I should be sorry; and so He—" Frank paused and looked down at the crutch, which said all there was to say. It needed no explanation. Tommy knew all about the long, painful illness which had resulted in the loss of Frank's right leg. Everybody knew how patiently their school-fellow bore his deprivation. "Your bush has lots of 'fruit' on it now, I think!" said Tommy, affectionately. "Tommy!" said Frank, getting himself upright again to start for home. "There are sunshine and storms in your life as well as mine! We don't all of us have the same lot. You've got no mother, and—heaps of things that are hard—but every time you are brave and patient 'for Jesus' sake,' you are 'bearing fruit.' Think of that, Tommy! Doesn't it kind of feel nice?" CHAPTER XIII. THE STOPPED WATCH. "THE sun's set, Jim," called Nellie, as she raked up the last bit of hay, "and we shall have a fine day to-morrow to finish it, by the looks of the sky." "Yes," he answered, turning towards the ferry boat, "we've done for to-day, let's take a rest in the twilight till father's ready to go home." Nellie was nothing loth. She and her favourite brother were a great deal together, and worked on the same farm on which their father had lived all his life. As she got into the boat, she said, "What time is it, should you say?" He took out his rather clumsy watch, and looked at it. "It's gone wrong again!" he said, "I set it all right this morning, and I thought I'd done it this time. I doubt I must have it seen to. The man in the village isn't no hand at it, no more than I am myself. I've tinkered it, and I've altered it, and I've shaken it—" Nellie laughed a little, and he laughed with her. "It strikes me I must take it to the man as made it," he remarked gravely, and Nellie looked up at his tone. "Do you know who did?" she asked. "Yes, a man in Windsor. But, funny enough, Nell, when I was shaking it this morning, thinks I to myself, 'Here's a help for you, Jim, in Heavenly things!'"