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

by A. L. O. E.

Grace, the youngest child of Seele, was but a little child; but she saw and shared the troubles of her parents. She marked how bitterly her mother wept, and how her father would stride up and down the room, groaning aloud in his anguish of soul. Grace, young as she was, learned to know what is meant by that terrible word ruin.

"O Heartslove!" said Grace softly to her white dove, as she fondled it in her arms, and her tears dropped fast on its feathers, "poor, poor father will be taken away and shut up in the dreadful place, and we shall have to leave this home, and everything that we care for! I must lose you, my own little pet Heartslove. Some stranger will have you, who may be cruel to you, and kill you. I shall never hear your soft coo in the morning; I shall never stroke your white feathers again!"

Seele was almost in despair. He knew that it was not only misfortune that had brought him to this depth of distress, but that he had been careless, wasteful, and dishonest; for it is dishonesty to run up debts when we know that we are not likely ever to be able to pay them.

"I might have struggled through my difficulties," muttered the unhappy debtor, "but for that crushing sum for rent which I owe to the lord of the manor."

Little Grace turned from the window at which she had been standing with Heartslove, her white dove, in her arms. "O father," said she, "could you not go to the great lord, and tell him of your misfortunes, and ask him to forgive you your debt?"

The suggestion was a very simple one. The same thought had often arisen in the minds both of Seele and his wife, but they had not acted upon it, until it was expressed by the lips of their little daughter. Seele rose hastily from his seat.

"Yes, I will go at once to the Castle," he said, "and try to move the pity of my lord. This is my last chance, my last hope. If he do not show mercy to-day, I shall be in a prison to-morrow."

Very anxious and very sad was Seele's wife during his absence. She could settle to no occupation, but sat weeping and wringing her hands, as if her husband were already carried off to a prison. She was so fretful in her misery that she could scarcely bear to have even her children near her; only Grace softly stole up to her once, and whispered, "Let us hope on, dear mother; perhaps the great lord will have pity when he sees in what trouble poor father is now."

At last the sound of rapid steps was heard on the road—steps that quickened into a run. Seele's wife looked up eagerly, for she knew that her husband was approaching, and that he would have come more slowly and sadly had he been bringing evil tidings. Seele burst into the cottage, his face, lately so careworn and gloomy, beaming with hope and delight.

"Give me joy, wife!" he cried, breathless with running and with excitement. "My lord has forgiven me all—"