For His meek brow the cruel crown of Deign to repose Thine oft-rejected head.

From "The Christian Psalmist," just published by the Sunday School Union.

The Editor's Table.

CHAPTER VII.-IN TROUBLE.

N entering the hall, Julia was the first to notice a card on a tray with Mr. Dunn's name, and a pencil message under, that he would "call on the following morning on a matter of importance." By this she found that Mrs. Winchfield had not returned. Harriet was trembling with the fright she had just had, and the effort she had made in lifting the child from under the cart. Her clothes, too, were soiled by the mud, and Martha, who had opened the door, was full JULY, 1871.

H

of exclamations and inquiries, which for the moment Harriet was too much out of breath to answer. But Julia, feeling that now she was in her own domain, resolved on troubling what really was her kingdom.

"There, I am frightened to death!" she exclaimed, throwing herself on a hall chair, and bursting into a fit of hysterical crying. In an instant Norris was called, and the whole dwelling was in confusion, which my young readers, if they have ever seen the spectacle of a perverse, foolish girl in a fit of passionate weeping, know was not likely to compose her. A glass of water, a word kindly and firm, would have helped a sensible girl to recover her self-control; but in this, as in many similar cases, there was coaxing and crowding, cordials and scent-bottles-a desperate fuss, ending in increasing the attack until it had passed beyond her power of restraint, and she was carried up-stairs in a real fit of hysterics.

Harriet meanwhile was thrust aside, and went trembling to her own room, with a vague fear that some evil to herself would come out of the morning's adventure. Thus the joy that had filled her heart, at once more seeing Crystal, and the hope of renewing, occasionally at least, some intercourse with her, was overclouded. In vain, as soon as she had changed her muddy frock, did she apply at Miss Wilson's bedroom door for admission. Norris was glad of an excuse to assert a nurse's authority, and drove her away with the ominous words,—

"No; you've done mischief enough neglecting your young lady, and letting her be frightened, and run away alone. You should have kept by her and protected her; and there you were, -cook saw it all from the attic window, and she says-there you were ducking and diving under the cart, and doing the nursemaid's work: she was there to mind her young master, that was her business; and you to mind your young lady."

This version of the case very naturally filled Harriet with amazement, but she knew it was in vain to plead that Miss Wilson was in no danger and the little boy was, and therefore she was silent, sadly looking forward to Mrs. Winchfield's return. A message had been despatched to that lady, who came hurrying home, bringing with her the family doctor, whose carriage she had met on her way, and whose assurances that Miss Wilson's attack was merely a little nervous weakness, that a night's rest would remedy, scarcely reassured the mother. All the household were kept in alarm for the day. Harriet remained in the nursery with Archy and Willie, and, spite of the temptation to yield to low spirits, made herself a pleasant companion to the little boys, the youngest of whom said, with the frankness of childhood,

"I'm glad it isn't oo sat's ill, only cross Julie."

At night, after Mr. Winchfield's return, and the dinner-hour was over, Harriet's spirits rose. She had not been called, and she was willing to think her fears as to incurring blame were over, when the nursery bell sounded, and a message came that "Meagre" was to go down to the dining-room.

Fearing she knew not what, the poor girl entered the room timidly,

and stood just within the door. The master and mistress still sat at the table, and both desired her to come forward, until she stood just below the gaselier, whiter than ever, in its light.

"I'm so angry with you, that I've a great mind you shall go out of the house at once," said Mrs. Winchfield, in her sternest tones. "If you had not been here, my daughter would have taken a proper person with her this morning; and you led her into danger and then deserted her!"

"She might have been killed. 'Tis horrible to think of," said Mr. Winchfield, who had heard some distorted story that had made a complete lie out of a basis of truth, as exaggeration always does.

"Yes, truly horrible; and we've this girl to thank for it! I've always thought Miss Wilson was too good to you, took altogether too much notice of you. And now I find you've been talking to her about things I forbade you to mention, working artfully on her feelings."

"Indeed, indeed, ma'am, I've been most careful to obey you."

"Be silent; I know the contrary. And I mean to find some place, some strict place for you to go to."

"Oh, pray don't send me away-pray don't."

Mr. Winchfield shifted his chair uneasily, saying,

"My dear, I hate scenes. Pray tell her what you proposed to

send her away."

me, and

"Be silent, I won't have a word; you're too ready with your tears. I've decided that you shall not attend on Miss Wilson any longer, it's bad for her and for you. Norris has a pile of plain needlework cut out, and I desire that you sit in the next room"-pointing as she spoke to the folding-doors-" and work there daily until I find a place, a strict place to send you to."

Harriet tried to speak, but was afraid her voice would break into a sob.

"Go," said Mr. Winchfield,-"go at once."

And feeling as if she walked in a dream, Harriet left the room and went up to her attic, thankful for a place where she could weep unnoticed.

Bitter feelings rose in her heart. She could not help thinking how Julia Wilson's tears were pitied and her own were derided. She was young, ill-taught, friendless; yet how much was expected from her! She had to bear blame not only for real but suspected faults. No wonder that for some time after she flung herself on her knees at her bedside, and buried her face in the coverlet to stifle her sobs, thoughts and feelings very different from those of prayer were in her mind. Anger and almost hatred throbbed in her heart for a time-only for a time. She might have said, "He withdrew His face from me, and I was troubled."

She rose from her knees uncomforted, for she had not prayed. But the good she had sought after was not lost. One of her frequent exercises had been to copy out from her Testament texts that she was particularly impressed by. And as my young readers will readily understand, those containing promises of divine aid and succour to the helpless were most likely