ndkerchief at last, and carried it to her mother, asking
her to beg her papa's forgiveness.

After tea was over, Mrs. Manvers called Emily to her, and folding her
arm fondly around the little girl's waist, pointed to a small book lying
open upon the table, saying as she did so:

"Do you remember, my love, our conversation last Saturday night upon the
subject of your gifts?"

"Oh, yes, mamma, and you told me you would keep an account of my
ill-usage of one of them."

"I have done so, my dear, and now tell me can you not imagine what this
gift is which you so much abuse?"

"Indeed, I cannot, mamma," replied the little girl with a sigh. Mrs.
Manvers placed the memorandum book in her daughter's hand without saying
a word.

There, written at the head of the page, were these words:

"_Emily's Waste of Time._"

and beneath was quite a long column of figures, and a list of duties
unfulfilled.

"Oh, mamma," cried Emily, throwing herself upon her mother's breast, "it
is time, precious time, that is the gift I waste; but surely I have not
spent so many idle minutes in just one week."

"I am sorry to say that you have, my dear daughter, all these and even
more. I have promised to keep an account, and I have done so; add them
up and see how many there are."

Emily added up the figures with tearful eyes, and said, "there are four
hundred and twenty, mamma."

"And how many hours does that make, Emily?"

The little girl thought a moment, and then answered,

"Seven hours."

"Very well; then you see you waste seven hours in a week, which would
make three hundred and sixty-four in a year, and if you should live the
allotted period of life, which would be sixty years from the present
time, you will willfully waste twenty one thousand eight hundred and
forty hours of the precious time God has given you in which to work out
His will."

"Oh, dear mamma, it does not seem possible; I am sure I don't know how
the time slips away," said Emily, sadly.

"I will tell you, my love," replied Mrs. Manvers. "It slips away in just
a minute; as uncounted drops of water form the sea, so do millions of
minutes make up the sum of life; but so small are they that they pass
without our heeding them, yet once gone they come back to us no more.
Time is the one talent, the precious gift which God has bestowed upon
all his creatures, and which we are bound to improve. Every hour brings
its duty, and do you think it is right, Emily, to leav