k me too long, I must talk a little more about
the dear Alice, and tell you what I witnessed till I was separated
from her."

"Go ahead," said the old musket.

"I must tell you how her sweetness and goodness once saved the house
from robbery. It was the custom of her father and mother, on Sunday,
to lock up the house, while they went to church. A pot of pork and
beans, and a pudding of Indian meal was put in the oven to bake for
their dinner.

One Sunday, as Alice had a heavy cold, they left her at home. She
was then fourteen years old, and felt herself quite equal to taking
charge of the house.

It was generally known that the curate's house was locked up on
Sunday; and a poor, foolish, as well as wicked fellow, determined to
take that opportunity to help himself to the good curate's silver,
or any other valuable, he could find in the house. It happened that
the man took the Sunday when Alice was left at home for his wicked
purpose.

When he came to the door which he intended to break open, he was
admitted by Alice, who saw him coming. She asked him to come in and
sit down, then inquired if he had travelled far, and set before him
some bread and butter and cold water.

"My father is a minister," she said, "and always asks travellers to
stay. We have some dinner in the oven, and we shall all of us like
to have you stay and dine. You look pale and tired; you had better
stay."

These words Alice said with such a sweet, confiding earnestness,
that the wicked purpose died away from the heart of the intended
thief. He felt as if he was in the presence of an angel. He looked
at her in wonder. All the evil in him seemed to depart.

"You are very good," he said. "Do you take care of the house all
alone by yourself?"

"O yes," she replied; "it does not take much trouble. There is no
one to harm us. Would you like a book to read till papa and mamma
come home; here is my Testament; or would you like I should read to
you?"

"Read to me," said the man.

As Alice read from the history of Jesus, the tears ran down the
robber's cheeks; he said nothing.

When the curate came home, he repeated Alice's invitation to dine.
The man accepted it. After dinner, when he thanked Alice and her
father for their kindness to him, he said to the curate, "Your
daughter is an angel, and has saved me from sin. I go away a better
man than I came."

He then confessed the evil intentions with which he had entered the
house, told how Al