im?

How quiet the city was! Usually so many were stirring about at that
hour. No market wagons or bread carts about. Oh, now he remembered, it
was Thanksgiving Day.

On he walked, and then came in sight of the church where his mother
used to go, and then memories of all her holy teachings. Should he
find her if he attempted self-destruction?

What could he do? He could not live on! Surely God would forgive him!

Then he thought he would go once more into that church, and
then--Heaven only knows what next. Waiting in the park until church
time, he retraced his steps and reached the door just as the beautiful
hymn, "Come, ye disconsolate," rose into the air.

Going in while the words

"Here bring your wounded hearts"

filled his ear, he crept up into the gallery and seated himself near
the choir.

He grew somewhat calm, and his mind was, for the time, diverted from
his sorrows by the sight of a little girl seated beside one of the
singers--her mother, he thought.

The happy, beaming face of the little one interested him very much.

The services over, he followed close behind her, endeavoring to get
another look at her, wondering if she was ever sad! And, standing at
the church door as she was about to enter a carriage waiting, in which
a lady and gentleman were already seated, he thought:

"Oh, what kind, loving parents she must have to make her look so
joyous!" His face wore a very sad expression. The little girl turned,
caught the sorrowful look bent on her, then stepped suddenly back,
went up to our Willie, and said, with the winning grace and perfect
simplicity of a child of six:

"Here, little boy, you look so sad, I am very sorry for you. Take my
flowers."

What angel-spirit, prompted by the will of its Divine Master, was it
that whispered to the little child to go comfort the sorrowing boy,
and with her kind sympathy and sweet offering to draw him back from
the dreadful precipice on which he stood, and lift him from darkness
and despair? His mother's, perchance. A bright light shone in the
boy's eye. His face was losing its despairing expression. The flowers
were speaking to his heart, whispering of Trust, Faith, Hope! Yes, he
must live on, brave all sorrows, trample down difficulties, and with
God's blessing try to live to be a good and useful man.

"Why, Minnie! what do you mean? Why did you give those beautiful
flowers to that strange boy? I never saw such a child as you are!"

"Mamma, I