aid Mrs. Worthington as Bessie came
skipping into the room from her play. "Your papa and I have decided to
leave our little home here in Chicago and buy a home in Michigan."

"Oh, how nice!" exclaimed Bessie, who was still in her eighth year.
"Shall we live with Aunt Emma again?"

"Yes, or rather she will live with us," said her mother, smiling. "Your
auntie's health is very poor, and she is tired of the responsibility of
farming; so we'll relieve her."

The following weeks were happy ones for Bessie. The Lord had been good
to her in many ways. He had given her a little baby brother to love and
care for, and now she was about to have a pleasant home in the country.
She had not forgotten the good times she had enjoyed on the farm with
her little sister, and she was very eager for the month of August to
come, the time when the family was to move. At last the time came to
start. With beating heart Bessie counted the hours that must pass before
she could run in the orchard and eat the luscious fruit.

It was late in the afternoon when the Worthington family arrived at
their new home. The greetings over, Bessie was contemplating a ramble
where she had noticed some large red apples hanging; but just then her
aunt said, "Bessie, you must not pick any of the fruit on the place this
summer, as the farm is rented and the fruit does not belong to us." This
was such a disappointment to the little girl that she could not restrain
her tears.

As the days passed by, she often looked longingly toward the tree where
hung the beautiful apples, but she never once thought of pulling one,
for her mother had carefully taught her the great evil of stealing. "But
oh!" thought Bessie, "if only one of the apples would fall upon the
ground, I could pick it up, and I wouldn't be stealing it." With this
wish in her heart, she daily watched the trees in hopes that just one
would fall.

At last her hope was realized. Walking through the orchard one day after
a hard wind-storm, she spied several large red apples lying in the soft
sand. With a fast-beating heart, she hastened to pick them all up; and,
placing them carefully in her apron, she hurried to the house, oft
repeating to herself, "I didn't steal them, for the wind blew them off."

As she entered the house, she began to tell how she came by the apples,
but stopped in dismay, for she saw her mother's look of disapproval.
Very tenderly Mrs. Worthington took her little daughter aside and,