"I have been able to take a little walk in the garden every day this week," said Miss Lee to herself one evening towards the close of May. "I think that I may take up my work again next month,—at all events, I will try." The lady opened her desk, and with her thin, wasted hand wrote a note to her Vicar to say that on Sunday week she hoped to meet her Bible-class in the schoolroom.
"It will be an effort, a very great effort," thought poor Miss Lee, as soon as she had sent off the note. "When I remember all the weariness and the worry that I had to bear through the winter, I can scarcely help hoping that Seth Rogers at least may have been withdrawn from my class. But oh, how this shows my want of faith and of love! Have I not prayed—prayed often both before and during my illness for the soul of that motherless child, and may not my poor stray lamb be given to me at last!"
The appointed Sunday arrived, and the first to meet his teacher at the door of the schoolroom was Seth. Miss Lee's first glance at the face of the boy raised her hopes that he was changed and improved; and her hopes were not to be disappointed. The prayers of teacher and pupil for each other had been abundantly blessed. Seth Rogers became the most steady and obedient boy in the class; it was he who most watched his teacher's eye, and most earnestly heeded her words. Of him, Miss Lee was wont to think as her "joy and crown of rejoicing;" for Seth was the first of her pupils whom she was permitted to look upon as the fruit of her labours of love. Often the sight of the boy recalled to the teacher's mind that day when she had seen the poor lamb saved from perishing; and a silent thanksgiving arose from her heart, "Heaven be praised, I did not let him go!"
A PARABLE.
ERNST SEELE was a ruined man, there could be no doubt of the fact. For years he had pursued his trade as a dairyman in a wasteful and careless way, spending much more than he earned, seeming to be prosperous while his affairs were getting into a terrible state of disorder.
Ernst owed no less than three years' rent for his comfortable dwelling to its owner, the absent lord of the manor, and Seele had not laid by a single farthing with which to pay that rent. The foolish and improvident dairyman, with thoughts of debt and difficulty ever preying upon his mind, was like a tree which looks fair at a distance, but which is quite decayed at the core, so that the first strong blast must lay it in dust.
That blast of misfortune came suddenly upon Seele. A disease swept away every one of his cows, upon which he depended for bread. The lord of the manor returned to his castle and claimed his due—the rent which his thriftless tenant had for so long neglected to pay. Ernst Seele was indeed a ruined man; there seemed to be nothing before him but a prison, and for his wife and family the workhouse.