by a matter that had absolutely no
influence on ordinary life, and which was never introduced but as a
bone of contention. Nor hitherto had the poor neglected ones any
opportunity of learning the blessed truths of a Father's and a
Saviour's love from any other quarter. There was no place of worship
in the glen. The Presbyterian chapel was a mile away, and even there
no Sunday-school was held. As for the Church, into the fold of which
the poor babes had been received, it was scarcely to be thought of,
being fully four miles off, across a rough mountain district. Here the
Rev. Cooper Smith ministered to a congregation that fluctuated much,
but was never very large. The parish was enormous, and the
Church-people dotted over it in a most unmanageable fashion. Yet it
was surprising what a considerable number of people were brought
together on a fine Sunday morning in summer. The clergyman, too,
persevered in keeping together what was at least the nucleus of a
Sunday-school, consisting of some twelve or fifteen children, whom he
and the clerk taught in the church before service. But from this means
of grace Elsie and Jim were cut off by distance, even if, as was more
than doubtful, their foster-parents would have allowed them to attend.
In the glen that sloped down to Tor Bay, there were no Church-people,
and but few children of any sort. Thus spiritual darkness reigned
supreme throughout this beautiful domain. Twice during five years in a
professional capacity (though several times on pic-nics) had the Rev.
Cooper Smith made his way to Tor Bay. The people had received him with
a patronising kindness, that was peculiarly irritating to his sensitive
and somewhat small nature.

"Sit down, mon, and rest yeresel' a bit; ye must be tired," said
McAravey, looking over his shoulder as he stalked out of the cottage.

"Don't you think you ought to send those children to school, Mrs.
McAravey?" asked the clergyman, whose kind heart had been touched, on
the occasion of a recent pic-nic, to see the half-drowned little ones
toiling amid the heaps of wet and writhing sea-wrack.

"Maybe ye 'd send yere carriage to fetch them up the brae!" remarked
Mrs. McAravey, with a harsh, disagreeable laugh at her own pleasantry.

"Well, it is rather far," replied Mr. Smith, somewhat apologetically;
"but it grieves me to see them growing up in ignorance, and without any
knowledge of the Saviour."

"Thank ye, sir," cried Mrs. McAravey, s