favour: it was, as William thought, goodnatured, and kind: it softened him, and he was not at all offended at his master's fixing on Michael to take care in his absence. Jem

returned at the usual time to the house, and learned from the servants that their master was gone out, and Michael left in care.

Jem had sorely repented of his ingratitude to Michael, and would have given his best coat to be friends. But what could he say? Pride, that first sin, prevented his speaking; pride made his heart rebel against Michael's power.

The evening closed in; they all went to bed; and Michael, according to his master's private order, burnt a light, and was just asleep, when a slight noise waked him, and by the light of the candle he saw a figure glide by his bed: he jumped out, looked at the windows (well secured by iron bars), and made for the door, having snatched up the candle; then turning the key of the door, he went to William and Jem, and called them to come, related what he had seen, and asked what they would advise? they were all of opinion that it would be best to go back and examine the room: this they did, and, to their astonishment, found Robert, a very worthless boy (for whom the

farmer was obliged to find work), whom he never lodged in the house, on account of his dirt and dishonesty. This lad, keen in wrong, who had concluded the light only burnt because people should not think his master out, hoped therefore to have stolen in and out unperceived, and possess himself of whatever came to his hand. When he found himself locked in, and that he could not escape by the window, he was in extremity; and when he saw Michael, William, and Jem, enter, he was ready to sink; he knelt, he prayed, said his master would hang him! And so he ought,' said Michael. "Oh Lord! oh Lord!" Michael. Did you ever call on that name before? "Oh Lord!" was all the reply. The three lads withdrew to consult what must be done, having first locked Robert into a closet. They determined to ride over, by day-break, to Farmer Newton, to consult him. Jem was sent; and the farmer was at the house by six. They took him up to the boy, who crawled from the closet on his knees with his hands clasped.

Oh, Sir, spare me!" Farmer Newton looked at him; ' Aye, Robert, this is what I always thought you would come to; how often I have caught you at my hen-roost, at my apple-trees, at every thing those wicked hands could reach;

how often I have heard you lie, and how constantly I have found you in the streets, on Sunday, at play; this is what I always thought you would come to.' And here the boy began to howl again "Oh Lord!" Farmer Newton said he must be kept a prisoner till Farmer Moss's return, as he must decide on his fate; and that they must feed him on bread and water. The boys all felt very much for Robert, and Michael never failed to see him twice in every day, and to counsel him to ask God's forgiveness. It was Jem's business to take his food to him; and never boy had a more merciful gaoler: many a slip of bacon did he put among the bread; and on Friday morning, the very day the farmer was expected, Jem came running to Michael, out of breath, and saying, "Oh, what shall we do! I cannot find Robert!" William looked very arch, and said, I'm not a morsel surprised; it's just what I expected, and I should not have been surprised if the keeper and his prisoner had gone off together.' Jem was greatly enraged, and was about to declare, by all that was good and holy, that he knew nothing of the matter, when a look from Michael made him red as

scarlet: " Well, he has escaped," said this steady boy," and, provided he changes for the

better, I really cannot be sorry, for though I certainly would not have assisted him, it has been a very painful circumstance to me. One piece of advice I shall, however, take the liberty of giving you, Jem; never from this day to know that boy, it may involve you in misery you have little notion of." This was said in the gravest and most distant manner, and it went to Jem's heart. In the evening of that day he came to Michael, and the following conversation took place.

Jem. Can I speak to you, Michael?
Michael. Certainly, Jem.

Jem. Are you still angry with me?

Michael. I certainly have not forgotten that you think me too godly for you; and while the law of righteousness is not obeyed by you, I hope I am too much and too steadily resolved to do my duty, to choose you for my friend.

Jem. Then you have done with me?

Michael. I rather think you have done with me; you are tired of the restraints of honesty, and prefer loose company.

Jem. No, indeed, I never loved you so well in all the time I have known you. ButMichael. But what, Jem?

Jem. But you have not spoken to me since

master went.

Michael. I think you forget; I have spoken to you, whenever there was need, with temper, and without resentment; but I do not find even the Bible requiring us to pursue those who wish to avoid us.

Jem. I'm sure I never did wish that; but I thought you had got grand and stately with your master's setting you over us, and I'm sure you need not think I disliked you to govern for I never minded that at all.

Michael looked steadily on Jem; he knew this was not true; he had heard him talking to Cicely, in the dairy, and in a manner which shewed that the orders the farmer had given were offensive to his pride. Jem blushed as Michael looked, and Michael replied to that blush: "You had better say no more, you have no right to account to me for how you felt. This honour I never desired, 'tis a post of care, and as your master comes home to day your vexation will soon be at an end." Jem was hurt, and he did not know what to say, Michael had always been so very kind to him. He went up stairs for a pair of dry stockings; and as he opened his box, these words met his