wants
and to provide his only daughter with all the necessaries of life, and
even a pretty gown to wear in church on Sundays. His one modest boast is
that he is able to look every one honestly in the face, for he is not in
debt for a single farthing.

[Illustration]

The village blacksmith works hard from morning till night; at any time
in the day you pass by the forge you can hear the bellows being blown by
one of his boys, while he himself swings his heavy sledge-hammer,
keeping such regular time with his strokes that it calls to mind the
tolling of the village bell--a custom which the old sexton never omits
as the day draws to its close. On their way home from school, all the
village children love to peep in at the open door of the smithy to see
the flaming forge and hear the roar of the bellows. They have a fine
game at pretending to catch the sparks, which fly about as the chaff
does when the corn is being threshed in the barns at harvest time.

But on Sunday the blacksmith puts aside all his labor and goes with the
other villagers to church, where he takes his usual seat among his boys.
He listens attentively to the praying and preaching, and above all to
the singing, for his daughter is in the village choir and the sound of
her sweet voice brings joy into his heart. His thoughts go back to the
time when his young wife sang in tones as clear and pure as these, but
God thought fit to call her from him years ago to sing in the heavenly
choir. As he thinks of her lonely grave in the churchyard close by tears
rise in the blacksmith's eyes, but he wipes them away with his hard
rough hand and resolves to be grateful for the many blessings still left
to him.

When the service is over and the congregation leaves the church, after
greeting his friends, the blacksmith turns aside and, standing by his
wife's grave, reads once more the simple inscription on the stone which
he has put up to her memory. But you may be sure that the blacksmith's
pretty daughter knows where he is to be found, and, taking him gently by
the arm, leads him homeward, beguiling the way with cheerful words.

[Illustration]

This is how the busy blacksmith spends his life--toiling, rejoicing,
sorrowing. Every morning he begins some fresh task and he works so hard
that by evening he has finished it. He has attempted something and he
has completed something--surely he has well earned his night's rest.

We may all learn a useful lesson from the lif