his bed, and went sound asleep.

Mr. Hadleigh seldom went to church; indeed, the whole family were generally too tired on a Sunday, after a week of incessant labour, to do anything but rest. In fine weather Clarice generally went for a walk in the afternoon, and her father sometimes accompanied her. But on winter evenings they sat round the fire, yawning and tired, wishing the hours would pass rapidly by, so that the shop could be opened again. Mr. Hadleigh really cared for nothing but business.

The first Sunday or two Owen was very miserable. Sundays had been such bright days in his old home. He had always gone to church with his father in the morning, and to a class he held for elder boys in the afternoon; and though he had not always taken heed to the lessons as he ought, he had at any rate enjoyed the time. And he looked back to the Westbrook Sundays as days of peaceful rest. The first Sunday after he had found out that David was a cousin of his old friend Sam, he ventured to ask his uncle if he might go and spend the afternoon with the Netherclifts. His uncle gave him leave, not caring what he did on Sundays, so long as he attended well to his work during the week.

Owen started off eagerly, and just round the corner saw David, who had come to meet him by agreement. They walked some little distance, till they reached a narrower street, with smaller houses—a dingy street Owen thought it. But David stopped at a house which looked brighter than the rest, having clean blinds and curtains to the windows, and a very white stone step at the door. Owen noticed this as he followed David in.

"This is Owen Hadleigh, father," he said, bringing him into the little sitting-room.

"I am very glad to see you," said Mr. Netherclift; "but I cannot rise to greet you. I am a constant prisoner with rheumatism."

And then Owen noticed that the man's hands, too, were twisted and swollen with the same painful disease. He hardly knew what to say. But Mr. Netherclift was anxious to set him at his ease, and bid David bring a chair forward, as he remarked—

"You have come from Westbrook, David tells me. I used to go there often, many years ago."

"Did you really?" asked Owen, eagerly, ready for a talk with one who knew his old home. "Did you know my father, too?"

"I have seen him, but I don't think I ever spoke to him. My visits to my brother were always short, so I did not get to know many of his friends. And so your father is now home with Christ; it is a blessed change even from such a pretty place as Westbrook."

"Yes, and he was glad to go; though he was sorry to leave me," said the boy, wistfully. "Mother died when I was a baby, so now I have nobody."

"Have you not got Christ?"

Owen looked up inquiringly; he did not quite know his friend's meaning.

"The blessed Saviour loves you, my boy; have you no love in your heart for Him? Those who belong to Him can never say they have nobody to love them. Are you not his child?"

The question was asked very tenderly, and Owen looked into the kind face that watched his so earnestly, as he said, slowly, "I don't think so."

"Then I am sure you are both poor and lonely."

"Yes, I am poor, because father had very little to leave me—only a few books and furniture. But I have come to Barmston to make my fortune."

"I hope you will find the truest fortune; it is already made for you, and all you have to do is to accept it."

"What is the truest fortune?"

"It is to belong to Christ, the King of kings. The peace and rest and joy He gives are riches of untold price, more valuable—infinitely so—than any wealth of earth. And they are riches that will last for ever."

"How can we get them?"

"By first of all realising our poverty, that we, you and I, are poor lost sinners in ourselves, fit for nothing but hell, and that we can do nothing to save ourselves. Then, knowing this fact, because God says it, to come just as we are, and believe in His Son, who died to save us from all sin."

Owen listened earnestly, the boy's heart was roused; it was God's message to him. He looked thoughtfully into the fire for a few moments. Presently he said, "Father's last words to me were to seek the heavenly riches."

"Have you sought them?"

"There is no time here in Barmston. From morning to night I am as busy as can be, often till ten o'clock, and then I am so tired I almost drop asleep while I am undressing."

"Poor boy, you are hard-worked. But remember this, God never puts you into any place where you cannot seek Him. Do you never read your Bible, or speak to God in prayer?"