A. L. O. E.'s picture story book.

by A. L. O. E.

"Yes, little Seth seems as if he could neither be won by kindness, nor moved by reproof. He cares neither for smiles nor for frowns. He disturbs all the rest of the boys in my class; sets them off laughing when I most wish them all to be quiet and attentive; he teases this one, quarrels with that; never by any chance knows his verse; and meets my reproofs with only a saucy look of defiance. And this is not the worst of it," thought the weary, anxious teacher, as she leaned for some moments on a high stile, as if to gather strength before she could make the effort of climbing over it; "I cannot depend on Seth's word! I am certain that it was he who threw the orange-peel under my seat, though he boldly denies that he did so, and tries to cast the blame upon others. And this is not the first time that I have had to doubt the truthfulness of the boy. I really must turn him out of my class!"

Having made this half resolve, Miss Lee set her foot on the lowest step of the stile, but instead of crossing over, she sat down to rest on the top one, though the March wind made her shiver. The lady felt very weary and faint; and a pain in her side, from which she often suffered, was more distressing than it had ever been before.

"I am sure that my pupils would give me less trouble if they knew how tired I always am when I leave them," thought the lady; "but they are all tolerably good, except Seth. And I am unwilling to give up even little Seth, troublesome, naughty boy that he is. He lost his mother when he was a baby; and his father, the farmer, is out all day long in the fields. Seth is allowed to run wild—and this is not the boy's limit. Then Seth is so young, and so small—he is only seven years old, and he scarcely looks five; surely I ought to be able to manage and guide such a child! But my strength and vigour are gone," continued Miss Lee, still speaking to herself, and she pressed her hand to her aching side. "I am scarcely fit for the effort of teaching at all; and one wilful, troublesome, saucy child tires me out more than all the rest of the boys put together. I think that I must tell Seth Rogers to come no more to my class."

With an effort which made her bite her lip with pain, Lee managed to get over the stile, and she then slowly walked along the path over some wide grassy uplands beyond.

It was pleasant to see those green uplands, dotted with sheep, and sweet was the tinkling sound of the sheep-bell. But Miss Lee was not inclined to enjoy either sight or sound. She was tired, chilly, discouraged. She was thinking for how many years she had laboured to teach children the way to Heaven, often going to the Sunday-school when scarcely well enough to walk to it. And after all her labour and pains, the teacher was not at all sure that she had been the means of really leading one little one to the Good Shepherd.

"Is it not—must it not be by some fault of my own?" thought the poor lady, as she slowly went on her way. "I have not worked hard enough, or prayed earnestly enough for my little flock, and yet not a day passes without my remembering every one of them in my prayers. I have tried to do the best that I can; but it seems as if all my efforts had been in vain, at least as regards Seth Rogers, that naughtiest child in my class!"

The path grew steeper, and Miss Lee walked yet more slowly, often stopping to take breath, until she had passed the crest of the hill. Then the loud bleating of a sheep near the bottom of it drew the lady's attention, for it sounded like a call from a creature in distress. Miss Lee turned aside from the pathway, and went down towards the sheep, to see what was the cause of its trouble; for a rough knoll hid it from view. On passing the knoll, Miss Lee came in sight of a fleecy mother who was piteously bleating, as she bent over a rushing torrent which ran at the bottom of the hill.

The lady quickened her steps; she was sure that some poor lamb must be struggling below in the water; and though very doubtful whether she herself would have strength to lift it out, she thought that she could but try. But Miss Lee's feeble help was not needed. The next step that she took brought before her view a young shepherd lad, stretched at full length on the grass, evidently engaged in a violent effort to pull something out of the water.

"I'll not let you go, little one, I'll not let you go!" muttered the lad, whose face was flushed scarlet from stooping so low over the brink of the torrent, for he could just manage to put down his hand far enough to touch the fleece of the drowning lamb.

Miss Lee stood still for several minutes, watching with interest the efforts of the young shepherd, although she had no power to aid them. It was no easy task for the lad to get the little wanderer out of the dangerous position into which it had fallen. Thrice, the strong current seemed to bear the lamb beyond reach of the shepherd lad's grasp, thrice, he had to jump up and change his position for one further down the stream; his hands were torn with brambles; but still muttering "I'll not let you go," he only redoubled his efforts, till at length the struggling creature, trembling and dripping, was lifted out of the torrent, and given back to its bleating mother.