save. He had done it before; He could do it again; and He would do it.

“I’ve been a sight deeper down in this pit than ever you’ve been yet. But, down or up, it’s all the same to Him that’s got the pulling of you out. There’s no up nor down, nor far nor near, to Him. ‘O ye of little faith, wherefore do ye doubt?’ He’s a-saying this to you now; and He’s a-saying, too, ‘This kind goeth not out but by prayer and fasting.’ But He drove that kind out by a word, just as He drove all the rest. Hang onto His own word, John. He’s said, time and again, that He’ll save the man that trusts in Him; and don’t you let go of that. You’ve been trying to be sober, and to get back your good name, for the wife’s sake and the babies. You would give all the world to know again how it feels to be a free man. Just you give all that up. Seek to be the Lord’s. His grace is all-sufficient. His strength will be made perfect in your weakness. If you’re His, He’ll keep you, and no mistake. Give all the rest up, and hang on to the Lord in simple faith. You can never do this thing of yourself; but the Lord’ll give you the help of His grace, if you ask Him. I know, because I’ve tried Him.”

Whatever was said, it always ended thus: “You can do nothing of yourself; but with the Lord’s help you can do all things. Hold fast to Him. Let your cry be, ‘Lord Jesus, save, or I perish.’”

Poor Morely listened, and tried to hope. If ever he was saved from the power of his foe, the Lord must surely do it, he felt, for he could do nothing; and, in a blind, weak way, he did strive to put his trust in God.

When the time came that he was well enough to go away, Stephen would fain have gone with him, to encourage him and stand by him till he could get something to do. But this could not be. They lived by his daily labour, and his business had been neglected of late, through his care for his friend; and he could only write to a friend of his, praying him to interest himself in Morely’s behalf.

His letter, written out word for word, just as he sent it, would very likely excite laughter. But it answered the end for which it was sent. It awoke in another true heart sympathy for the poor desponding Morely; it strengthened another kind hand to labour in his behalf. So he did not find himself homeless and friendless in the streets of a great city, as he had been before. In Montreal a welcome awaited him, and a home; and something like hope once more sprang up in Morely’s heart, as he heard his new friend’s cheerful words and responded to the warm grasp of his hand.

Stephen and his wife saw hard times after Morely went away. And yet not so very hard, either, seeing they were endured for a friend. They never said to each other that the times were hard.

There were no more suppers or breakfasts of thin gruel at the little log-house on the hill. In a few days after his first memorable visit, Stephen Grattan was there again, and again Farmer Jackson’s oxen called forth the wonder and admiration of the little Morelys. For Stephen, as he took great pains to explain to Mrs Morely, had taken advantage of the opportunity afforded by the return of the farmer’s empty sled, to bring up the barrel of flour and the bag of meal that ought to have been sent up the very night her husband went away. There were fish, too, and meat, and some other things, and a piece of spare-rib, which, Stephen acknowledged, his Dolly had been saving for some good purpose all through the winter.

And Stephen brought something for which Mrs Morely was more grateful than even for the spare-rib. He brought an offer of needle-work from a lady in the town who had many little children. The lady, it seemed, had a strange prejudice against sewing-machines, and in favour of skilful fingers, for the doing of fine white work. This did much to restore the mother’s health and peace of mind; and a letter that came from her husband about this time did more. Not that it was a very hopeful letter. He said little, except that he had got work, and that he hoped soon to be able to send much more than the trifle he enclosed. But, though he did not say in words that he had withstood all temptation, yet at the very end he said, “Pray for me, Alice, that I may be strong to stand.” And her heart leaped with joy, as she said to herself, “He did not need to ask me to do that.” And yet she was really more glad to be asked that than for all the letter and the enclosure besides.