me back to her. She often blamed herself for
thinking so much of him, while the fate of her unhappy brother was so
uncertain. It was surely through God's kindness that she never learned
what his fate had been.

Mary's home, in many ways, was far happier than it had ever before been.
She soon saw the change in her father, and it did her heart good.
Instead of sitting gloomily by himself when he came in from work, or, as
he used, reading some bad paper opposed to religion and government, his
great pleasure was to listen to her reading the Bible, or to talk with
her on religious subjects.

Whilst Mary Page was, one evening, sitting at the window of the parlour
of the new mill-house, she saw a dark-bearded soldier-like man looking
up at the house, as if surprised at its appearance. The stranger passed
through the wicket; Mary could sit quiet no longer. She rose and opened
the front door: "James, James, is it you?" she cried out, as if yet
fearful that she might be mistaken.

"Yes, Mary, I am James, but not the James who went away in disgrace a
few years back," he said, when she had led him into the parlour. "But
tell me, do you forgive me? Does my uncle forgive me?"

"Oh, yes; yes--all is forgiven, long, long ago. It will give your kind
uncle a new life, to see you back safe and well."

Together, in a few minutes, they set off to the farm. Mary was right.
No father could give a more hearty welcome to a prodigal son than good
Farmer Grey gave to his nephew James.

James had gained rank and marks of distinction, and he had a pension for
wounds, and a considerable share of prize money. His rank and honour
showed that he had been firm in resisting the many temptations to which
he must have been exposed, for no soldiers escape them. He got his
discharge, but entered a militia regiment that he might be able to
defend his country, should she ever be attacked by foreign foes. He and
Mary married; and no more happy and prosperous couple were to be found
in or near Hillbrook. They were so, because they were "diligent in
business, fearing the Lord."

STORY TWO, CHAPTER 1.

TOM TRUEMAN, THE SAILOR; OR, LIFE AT SEA IN A MERCHANT VESSEL.

It was a sad, sad day for poor mother and all of us, when father was
brought home on a hurdle, the life crushed out of him by a tree which
fell right down where he stood.

He never spoke again. We lived in Dorsetshire, not far from the town of
Poole. Father was a day labour