idow was reading the
Bible to her children, but her grief was too fresh to gather comfort from
it. When Dabney was flung into the room he grovelled at her feet and
begged piteously for mercy. Her face did not soften, but there was a kind
of contempt in the settled sadness of her tone as she said, "It shall be
as God directs. I will close this Bible, open it at chance, and when this
boy shall put his finger at random on a line, by that you must live or
die."

The book was opened, and the child put his finger on a line: "That man
shall die."

Warner drew his knife and motioned his prisoner to the door. He was going
to lead him into the wood to offer him as a sacrifice to his brother's
spirit.

"No, no!" shrieked the wretch. "Give me one more chance; one more! Let
the girl open the book."

The woman coldly consents, and when the book is opened for the second
time she reads, "Love your enemies." There are no other words. The knife
is used, but it is to cut the prisoner's bonds, and he walks away with
head hung down, never more to take arms against his countrymen. And glad
are they all at this, when the husband is brought home--not dead, though
left among the corpses at Paoli, but alive and certain of recovery, with
such nursing as his wife will give him. After tears of joy have been shed
she tells him the story of the Bible judgment, and all the members of the
family fall on their knees in thanksgiving that the blood of Dabney is
not upon their heads.

PARRICIDE OF THE WISSAHICKON

Farmer Derwent and his four stout sons set off on an autumn night for the
meeting of patriots at a house on the Wissahickon,--a meeting that bodes
no good to the British encamped in Philadelphia, let the red-coats laugh
as they will at the rag-tag and bob-tail that are joining the army of Mr.
Washington in the wilds of the Skippack. The farmer sighs as he thinks
that his younger son alone should be missing from the company, and
wonders for the thousandth time what has become of the boy. They sit by a
rock that juts into the road to trim their lantern, and while they talk
together they are startled by an exclamation. It is from Ellen, the
adopted daughter of Derwent and the betrothed of his missing son. On the
night that the boy stole away from his father's house he asked her to
meet him in this place in a year's time, and the year is up to-night.

But it is not to meet him that she is hastening now: she has heard that
the British h