is obtained, and it hardens into little reddish-brown lumps which are sold at the drug-stores. They call it "lettuce opium" sometimes, but they say it is not so harmful as the real opium."

"Where does that come from?" asked Ben.

"From the poppy," said Gill. "There is a species of poppy which yields it in large quantities. It grows wild in the south of Europe, and in parts of England; and it is cultivated in India, and Persia, and Asiatic Turkey. The people make a good deal of money out of it. When the plant is young, it is as harmless as the young lettuce, and is eaten as a pot herb. The opium is chiefly extracted from the seed-vessel after the flower has fallen. There are large fields of this poppy, in the countries I spoke of, and men and women go out and make little incisions, or cuts, in the capsule or seed-vessel. Then they leave it for twenty-four hours, and when they come again the juice stands in tears, and they scrape it off with blunt knives. You have heard of opium-eaters?" said Gill.—"Yes," returned the children; "they are like drunkards, are they not?"

"Just as bad," said the Scotchman. "When people get this habit, it makes such slaves of them that they seldom shake it off; but if they could know the process of opium-making, I think it might possibly prevent their eating the dirty stuff."

"Tell us," said Ben.

"The juice hardens like jelly," said Gill, "and it is put into small earthen vessels and beaten with a pestle, and moistened now and then with saliva."

"You don't mean spittle!" said Ben, who had not forgotten the meaning of the word.

"Precisely so," said Gill, delighted at the lad's expression of disgust. "I see you will never care to eat the filthy drug. When it is of the proper consistency, it is wrapped in leaves and sent to market."

"Ugh!" said little Sally, "don't say any more about it."

"We must remember that, under the advice and direction of a physician, it is of great benefit to mankind," said Gill. "It is used in cases of severe pain, and of continued sleeplessness; but one should never tamper with any such poisons The doctor is the only fit person to administer it."

Gill was half way to market when Lucy rang the "early bell." You would not have known the neat little girl and boy who entered the breakfast-room, and gave papa and mamma the morning kiss. Sally had left her garden-shoes in the back entry-way, in a small closet, and had hung her wet frock in the sun to dry; and she had come fresh from the bath, with her cheeks as rosy as could be, and the damp curls brushed smoothly over her forehead, and clustering about her face. Her black, shining boots were laced over white stockings, and she wore a pure white dress and apron. It was a refreshing sight, and her father and mother commended her by saying, "How nice you are, little daughter!"

Ben also had his share of praise, and deserved it; for he had put away his soiled clothing, and appeared in a fresh brown linen suit, and his hands and finger-nails were as nice as if he had not been helping Gill all the morning.

Lucy brought Jack in to prayers. She seated the little fellow upon the carpet, and gave him a string of buttons to play with, and he had already learned that the buttons meant, "Now, my little man, you must be very quiet, and not disturb mother before she has had her lesson from the Holy Book, and her time of communion with God." The baby understood what was expected of him, and he behaved much better than some people that I have seen in the church, which is the house of prayer.

Only the other Sunday I was almost afraid, there were so many thoughtless young people around me in the sacred place. They did not seem to listen at all when the Bible was being read; but they whispered and laughed together, as if they had come for a frolic; and, even when the people who wanted to be good were upon their knees before God, these wicked boys and girls sat with their faces close together, and their tongues busy with idle words, for which they must give account at last. I was so sorry! so sorry! I hope God will grant what I asked for them,—that they may repent of their sin, so that it may not be laid to their charge.

Ben and Sally were very attentive to the word of life, and their hearts and voices went up to their heavenly Father in earnest prayer for help and guidance through life.

The breakfast never tasted so delicious. They had worked hard enough to give them a good relish for Lucy's brown bread and fish-balls, and toast and eggs.

CHAPTER V. MRS. BETH AND HER CAT

MRS. BETH was drinking coffee from a tin kettle, as Gill drove up to a side door in the market. She sat in her stall with her bonnet on her head, and her spectacles upon her nose, and her fat face as gleeful and jolly as one need wish to see. It was a pleasure to look at the woman; she put every body in a good humor by her own cheerfulness.

The stall was in the middle of the market-place, and was about twelve feet square,—perhaps not quite so large. There was a sort of table or platform, covered with crisp, yellow-green lettuce, and cresses, and spinach, and young beets with the tops for greens; and below this platform, running around on the outside of the stall excepting at the entrance or gateway, was a bench with baskets of vegetables; beans, peas, summer squashes, etc., etc. Up above were bars with hooks, and suspended from the hooks were red peppers, and garlic, and herbs, (or "medicine" as Mrs. Beth called it). At the gateway was a post with a broken lantern on the top. All around were other stalls with produce, and their salesmen or saleswomen, but nowhere was there a neater place, or a more attractive face, than by the old broken lamp that served as a beacon. Many a time it had lured Gill in the dimness of some cloudy morning; and yet he thought there was little need to light the lantern, so long as the beaming face of the woman was there. He wondered how it was that such multitudes of people hide their sunlight which is radiantly beautiful when it shines clearly through honest and earnest eyes.

He and Mrs. Beth were such fast friends! She watched for the head with the yellow hair, which the Reed children thought a halo; and she felt better all day after it had appeared to her; for Gill always left some Word of blessing that she could think of, and so break the weariness of sitting there hour after hour. She scarcely waited for him to jump from his cart, before she was at the door to lend a hand to the baskets.

"It is all bespoken, every thing that you bring," she said to the Scotchman. "I could sell bushels on bushels more, if you had the produce. You see it makes all the difference in the world when the vegetables are picked fresh in the morning. They're worth almost double then."

"And I'm worth almost double for getting up to pick them," said Gill. "When I lie in bed longer than I ought, I feel wilted, as the vegetables look when they've been long pulled. I remember when I was a little fellow, and my father used to take me out of bed, and set me upon my feet by the window, to hear the June birds sing; and, pretty soon, my eyes would fly open of themselves before sunrise, and I would tumble out of my nest, and run to listen to the early concert. It all comes back to me now, as I stand among the vines—the old home by the river, and the woodbine climbing up to my chamber, and the sweet sounds coming in, and my father and my mother talking to each other as they were dressing. I wouldn't lose my morning hour for any thing."

"Isn't it queer to think of ourselves as little children?" said the old woman. "I often see a little girl, with a yellow frock and a blue apron on, and a great black cat in her arms, as she plays among the hay in the barn. You wouldn't believe that this old gray Eliza Beth is she; but so it is, and there's the black cat's granddaughter at your