sure it was wrong to go in that room.

But now she was in! and what did she see there? Why, she saw the stand quite full of all sorts of nice sweet things. There were sponge cakes, and plum cakes, and queen cakes; there were two turn-outs, and whips and creams of all sorts; and there was a cake hid in red jam, with small thin white things put all up and down it, which stuck out. What could this be? She was sure it was jam, and yet she was sure jam was too soft to stand up in that way: she would just touch it. She did touch it, and she felt there was some hard thing in it: that could not be jam! It was strange! She would just like to know what it was: she must taste a small bit of the top—that could not spoil it, and she did so much want to know. She did taste—it was jam, spread on a sponge cake.

"A sponge cake! well, this is odd," thought Ruth. "I will just taste a bit: the jam will hide where I take it from."

She then tore a bit from the cake: it was more than she meant to take; but it was done, and she could not help it now. In vain did she try to hide the place—she could not do it; for if she took jam from this place, the cake was left bare on that. And the shape of the cake was not the same as it had been. She thought she would try to make that side of the cake on which the jam still was, like the side on which it was not; so off she took a piece from that side too. The cake was now in such a state that she could not hope to hide what she had done; and she was in such a state that she did not seem to care at all.

She next took up a spoon, and took a large piece from one of the turn-outs. She then went to the plum cake, and to the grapes, and to all the fruit. In short, she went from dish to dish, till there was not one in which she had not put her spoon.

Then she stood still—she stood to see the wreck she had made. Long she did not stand: a rush of thought gave wings to her feet, and she fled to hide in some place where she could not, she thought, be found. She fled to a tool-house in the yard; but she had not been half an hour there when she heard the voice of Mrs. Grey; she heard her step, too, come near and more near, till at length it came close to the door of the tool-house.

"Ruth, my dear," said Mrs. Grey, "why did you come out here? But I am glad to have found you, for I want you to come with me and take a plant to the green-house room."

"Oh, no, no! not in there—do not go in there!" cried Ruth, with a face quite pale.

Mrs. Grey could not think what Ruth meant, so she set off at once to the green-house room, and told Ruth that she must come too. But when Mrs. Grey had got to the door, no Ruth was to be seen. She then went in the room, and what she saw there told her more than words could tell.

"Ruth!" said she, "can you have done this?"

It was grief to think that a child of hers could have done this; but, much as she felt hurt, it was not for the loss of these things. Mrs. Grey sat down, and for a long time she did not move; at length she got up with the air of one who had made up her mind what it would be best for her to do.

And Ruth—where was she? What did she think, what did she feel, what did she do all the time Mrs. Grey was in the green-house room?

What she felt was a kind of grief, such as she had not felt till that time: it was a sense of deep shame. So much did she dread to see Mrs. Grey, that she hid her face in her hands, as though Mrs. Grey were near her. Then all at once she thought that Mrs. Grey would come back to speak to her.

At this thought she sprang up, ran to her own room, shut the door, and fell down on the bed. Here she lay for a long time, with her face hid in the bed-clothes: her tears fell fast, and her sobs were loud. In this sad state she lay for a long time, till at last she went to sleep.

How long she had slept she could not tell, but when she rose up in the bed it was quite dark. At first she could not think how she came to be there, but all at once the green-house scene came back to her mind. Once more she fell down on the bed to hide her face, though no one was there to see it.

Soon there came a stream of light through a chink in the door: it grew more strong, till at length it came in the room in a full blaze. Ruth gave a quick glance, and saw that it was not Mrs. Grey, but Mrs. Grey's maid.

"Miss Ruth," said the maid, "I am sent to bid you go down stairs: the first course is come out of the room, and Mrs. Grey bids me tell you to go down to see the sweet things. You are to go at once."

Poor Ruth! what did she feel then? She took hold of the maid's hand, and said,

"Oh, do not, do not let me go! pray do not let me go!"

"You must go, and go at once too, Miss Ruth," said the maid, as she drew her near the door. "You must come, miss. And see, here is James sent to take you down."

There was no help for it: down stairs she went, and soon she found that she was in the room. There she stood! full of shame and deep grief! And there was spread out each dish of sweets, just as she had left it—each dish spread out with as much care as if it had been right. The eyes of all were on Ruth—in vain did she try to shrink from their gaze.

There was a pause; then Mrs. Grey said, "Ruth, come here, and stand where all my friends can see you."

She came with slow step, her head bent down, and her eyes cast on the ground.

"I grieve to tell you, my friends," said Mrs. Grey, "that it is Ruth—that it is this child whom I love so much—that it is she who has made all this wreck."

There was a pause once more; and there stood Ruth! All had their eyes on her. At length Mrs. Grey said,

"Now leave the room, Ruth."

Ruth did not stay, she was too glad to be gone at once.

The next day, nor the next, did Mrs. Grey speak of the past, and all things went on as they were wont to do. But on the third day, when the first course was gone, a dish that had been in the green-house room was put near her. It was just in the same state in which Ruth had left it. Ruth could not bear the sight of it, so she got up and ran out of the room.

"Poor Ruth!" said Mr. Grey to his wife, "she feels this so much! and to a child like her, who can feel, I think that your plan seems the best way to cure her."

It was the best way. Ruth felt all this much more than she would have felt the stroke of a whip: she felt it in her mind.

For a long time, for months and for years, she could not bear to see a jam cake or a turn-out, nor one of the things like those that had been in the green-house room. When she did see them, she felt a sting of mind that gave her a great deal of pain. Ruth had one young friend who knew what she had done; and this friend had so much love for Ruth, so much real grief for what she knew Ruth felt, that when young friends came to play with her, she took care to beg that there should not be jam cake.

THE AIR.

What is air? Look up and look round; there is air, though it is not to be seen. It fills all things. The glass jug which seems to be quite void is still full of air.

THE LESSON ON AIR.
Page 23.

It is the air we feel when the wind blows. We do not see the wind, but it can blow with such force as to throw down trees. When the wind blows it makes ships sail on the seas to all parts of the world, and brings them back home. It turns mills, to grind corn; and in some parts they use the force of wind to do all kinds of work. The wind is but the air, and it does all these things, though it is not to be seen.

But the air does more than this. If it were not for the air we could not live. It is the air we breathe;