THE LIBRARY 
 
 OF 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 LOS ANGELES
 
 " (She's found it, granny! " said Phoebe triumphantly. Page at.
 
 OUT IN THE STORM; 
 
 OR. 
 
 Olittle Messengers. 
 
 BY 
 
 CATHARINE SHAW, 
 
 AUTHOR OK 
 NELLIK ARUNDB!.," " ONLY A COUSIN," " 1H1 GABLED FARM." fcTC. 
 
 NEW YORK: 
 ROBERT CARTER & BROTHERS, 
 
 530 BROADWAY.
 
 TZ7 
 
 5n /Ifcemorp 
 
 A LITTLE BOY 
 
 HAS GONE HOlfE. 
 
 622678
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 PAOK 
 9 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 PHCEBE'S PLAYTIME 
 
 CHAPTER IL 
 
 A PUZZLE I7 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 MAGGIE'S QUEST * 3 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 A PROMISE 33 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 40 
 
 COME 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 THE LIGHTHOUSE 47 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 PHCEBE'S HOME 59 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 AN INVITATION . 7I
 
 viii Contents. 
 
 CHAPTER IX. p AOE 
 
 SAFE IN THE HARBOUB 79 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 " 'APPY NOW " 84 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 ALONE 95 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 THE KING'S MESSENGER IO3 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 TWO GRAVES 109 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 HARD HEARTS 115 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 THE STORM 121
 
 OUT IN THE STORM. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 PH (EBB'S PLAYTIME. 
 
 ETCH the chair, child," gasped a man, 
 stretching out his thin hand and 
 pointing towards the other side of 
 the room. 
 
 The child addressed hastened to obey, dragging 
 the heavy seat clumsily forward, while her eyes 
 watched her father's face uneasily, with a- con- 
 sciousness of how much noise she was making, and 
 .of how her very effort to be quiet resulted in 
 fresh misfortunes. 
 
 The man noted it all with passionate impa- 
 tience, uttering groan after groan as each bump 
 and scrape racked his nerves.
 
 i o Out in the Storm. 
 
 At last the chair was placed by his side, and 
 the frightened little girl stood waiting for further 
 orders. " Surely father was getting worse instead 
 of better," she thought ; " for he never used to 
 be quite like this." 
 
 She had to wait some time, for even when he 
 had all things ready, there was no strength to 
 make the journey across that small room. Twice 
 he sank back on his bed, too weak to make the 
 necessary effort. 
 
 " You must call your mother if there ain't any 
 customers there," he said at last, and the child 
 ran off to the shop below. 
 
 But there were customers. Her mother 
 stood talking with a woman who often fre- 
 quented the little shop, more to have half an 
 hour's gossip than to spend much money there. 
 Though Maggie had a shrewd suspicion of this, 
 she did not dare to speak, and went slowly up- 
 stairs again, wondering dimly how long the 
 neighbour had been standing there, and how 
 long consequently she would still remain. 
 
 " There's some one in there," said Maggie. 
 
 " Who is it ? " asked the invalid. 
 
 " Mrs. Wilkes." 
 
 " Then, there goes !" he exclaimed impatiently. 
 " Come, Maggie, haul at me, and do the best you 
 can. That woman will stay till evening."
 
 Phoebe's Playtime. 1 1 
 
 He grasped the chair, and Maggie grasped 
 him, and by and by the groaning, panting man 
 reached the fireplace. After he was seated in 
 the arm-chair he was too exhausted to do more 
 than stare about the room with his large eyes, 
 while Maggie stood in silence by his side. 
 
 By and by he seemed to recover himself 
 somewhat, and ordered her to place the materials 
 for his work by his side. 
 
 She opened a press and took out some neatly 
 folded pieces of cloth, with some bright yellow 
 lining, and the man spread them out on a small 
 deal table in front of him, and proceeded to plan 
 the lining of a waistcoat. But the weak fingers 
 trembled too much to hold the needle, and at last 
 the man pushed it all away, saying hoarsely, 
 " No more work for me, Maggie ; I've seen it a- 
 coming for a long time, and now it's come ; this 
 is the third time as I've sat up to try, and it's no 
 use." 
 
 Maggie was silent. Her father had been too 
 ill of late to bear any remarks of hers, and she 
 had nothing cheering to say. 
 
 He went on talking to himself in a low broken 
 tone. " No more work, no more work no more 
 rest neither ; coming, coming ; I've seen it long, 
 and now it's come." 
 
 "Father," said the child in a frightened
 
 " 1 2 Out in the Storm. 
 
 whisper, " what is it ? What is coming ? what 
 is ? " 
 
 He shook his head. 
 
 " Shall I go and fetch mother ? Mrs. Wilkes 
 '11 be sure to ha' done by now." 
 
 " No, no ; what good could she do ? She 
 likes her gossip far better, and it don't matter. 
 It won't be long." 
 
 Oh the weary plaintive moan that accompanied 
 the sad words ! 
 
 He sat on, silently regarding the fire with an ab- 
 stracted gaze, till his wife came up from below. 
 
 " Maggie, go and mind the shop," she said, bust- 
 ling to the fire, which she hastened to make up, 
 filling the kettle and setting out the tea. Her 
 quick eyes took in her husband's dejected atti- 
 tude, but she attributed it to want of food, and her 
 heart misgave her that she had let her neighbour 
 talk too long. 
 
 He was very taciturn, only grunting out an 
 answer when she addressed him ; so, seeing he 
 was not inclined to talk, she prepared the meal 
 in silence. 
 
 Maggie meanwhile sat behind the dull little 
 counter downstairs, looking out on the fast 
 darkening street, thinking the saddest thoughts 
 she had ever thought in her little life. Her 
 father's words rang in her ears, " Coming, coming."
 
 Phoebe s Playtime. 13 
 
 What was coming ? Vague fears filled her heart, 
 apprehensions of she knew not what. 
 
 Presently a girl of about her own age entered 
 the shop and looked round. 
 
 " Holloa ! Maggie," she said, as Maggie rose, 
 " so you're here all alone. I want a pound of 
 sugar, and a quarter of tea ; mother said your 
 mother knew the sort she always has." 
 
 Maggie nodded. 
 
 " Are you all alone ? " said the child, " ain't 
 you dull ? It's a'naost dark, and I hardly see 
 you when I come in." 
 
 " I must light the gas, but I was a-thinking, 
 Phcebe." 
 
 " You seem dull. I always thought you was 
 a merry girl, Maggie." 
 
 " Not when you've got a sick father," she 
 answered dolefully. 
 
 " Is he sicker than ordinary ? " 
 
 " I'm afraid so ; he was awful weak this 
 afternoon, and he did talk so funny." 
 
 " How, funny ? " asked Phcebe, drawing nearer 
 and laying her money down on the counter. 
 
 " I don't know 'zackly ; but I wish I could 
 say something to cheer him." 
 
 " Don't yer mother cheer him, as you call it ? " 
 
 "Not she," answered Maggie, "she's too 
 busy."
 
 Out in the Storm. 
 
 ' Can't you sing to him some of our school 
 things ? those is cheerful." 
 
 " I don't think as he'd let me." 
 
 " Not read nothink to him, neither ? " 
 
 " I never thought of that." 
 
 " But what ails him, Maggie ? " 
 
 " He says Phoebe ! it sounded so horrid 
 
 he says, c it is coming.' I can't think what 
 
 he means : but his eyes looked afeard-like when 
 he said so." 
 
 " My granny is the one to ask about them sort 
 of things," said Phoebe with sympathising eyes, 
 " and if you can run in after tea, I shall be going 
 over there, and you can ask her." 
 
 " Would she be able to tell me .what is 
 coming ? " 
 
 " I daresay she would." 
 
 " Do ye think she'd mind my troubling her ? " 
 
 " My granny's never troubled with nothing." 
 
 " I'll come then. But, Phoebe, here's your tea 
 and things ; will your mother think ye've been a 
 long time ? " 
 
 " Not she ; I'll run like lightning." 
 
 As she left the shop, Maggie's mother called 
 to her from the top of the stairs to come up, 
 telling her to fasten the bell to the door before 
 she came. 
 
 Her father lay back in his chair propped up
 
 Phoebe's Playtime. 1 5 
 
 with a pillow, looking paler than she had ever 
 seen him, and her mother bustled about more 
 noisily than usual. 
 
 After tea, finding that her presence was not 
 required at home, Maggie slipped out to run 
 round to Phoebe's grandmother's. 
 
 Her light little feet soon brought her to the 
 wide court, where, in the last house, the plea- 
 santest and the cleanest, lived old Benson the 
 carpenter and his aged wife. 
 
 Maggie knocked with her little knuckles at the 
 green door, and was immediately let in by no other 
 than Phoebe herself, holding a pail in her hand. 
 
 " Why ? " said Maggie, opening her eyes 
 
 wide. 
 
 Phcebe laughed. " This is my playtime," she 
 said. 
 
 Maggie looked puzzled. " Do you do scrub- 
 bing in your playtime ? " 
 
 " Sometimes ; at least, I run round every even- 
 ing when the children are in bed to clean my 
 granny's steps ! My father says he can't bear to 
 see his dear old mother doing it, and so " 
 
 " You do it, I 'spose." 
 
 " Yes, that's just it ; and it's the whitest step 
 in the town ; grandfather often says so." 
 
 " I b'lieve it is ; for I've noticed it afore." 
 
 f: Well, come in, for we shall make the room
 
 1 6 Out in the Storm. 
 
 cold. I'll be in, in a minute ; you go and speak 
 to granny." 
 
 She shut herself outside into the cold darkness, 
 where only the street lamp gave its uncertain 
 light, and Maggie advanced to old Mrs. Benson, 
 who sat in her arm-chair knitting.
 
 CHAPTEE II. 
 
 A PUZZLE. 
 
 'ELL, my dear, so you are the little girl 
 who wants to see me ? Come and 
 stand by this bright blaze and warm 
 those cold little fingers : put one foot on the 
 fender so and when that is hot, change over 
 to the other ! That is what I say to my grand- 
 children ; and see if you don't find out I'm 
 right." 
 
 Maggie looked in the gentle face and began 
 to feel a little bit at home, especially when the 
 warmth began to creep through her chilled little 
 frame. 
 
 Mrs. Benson rose, and busied herself about the 
 room for a few minutes, so Maggie had time to 
 look about her. 
 
 At the other end was a bench, with chips and 
 shavings lying about, though the carpenter him- 
 self was not there. A jet of gas, turned very
 
 1 8 Out in the Storm. 
 
 low, made Maggie guess that he was expected 
 back again. 
 
 Across the window, behind some pretty plants, 
 a short red curtain was drawn, shutting out the 
 cold and seeming to keep in the warmth, while 
 the whole room was cleaner and more comfort- 
 able than anything she had ever seen. 
 
 As her eyes came back to the fire, so did the 
 old woman, taking her seat by it, and laying her 
 thin hand on the child's shoulder with an in- 
 quiring look. 
 
 Just then Phoebe entered and went across to 
 a green door at the other side of the room with 
 her pail, coming back in a moment to say with 
 a pretty gentle little look, " Shall I be in the 
 way of yer talking, Maggie ? because, if so, I'll 
 run home now." 
 
 " Oh no ! " answered Maggie. 
 
 " And what is it, my dear ? " asked Mrs. Ben- 
 son, " is your father so ill, dear ? " 
 
 " Yes," answered Maggie, her lip trembling. 
 
 "And you hardly know what to do for him, 
 or how to make his pain better ? " 
 
 " I don't know as it's his pain. It's because 
 he seems so down-like, and will not be comforted 
 by nothing we can do." 
 
 " How, dear ? " 
 
 " He says ' it's coming, and he knew it would,'
 
 A Puzzle. 19 
 
 and you know, ma'am, I can't make out what he 
 means ; Phoebe said you'd know." 
 
 Mrs. Benson was silent for a few moments, 
 then she said 
 
 " Do you think he would like me to come and 
 see him ? " 
 
 But Maggie hastily interrupted. " Oh no, 
 ma'am, I'm sure as he wouldn't, for he told 
 mother never to let none of them visiting ladies 
 come upstairs messing round him." 
 
 " But they're very kind," remarked Phcebe. 
 
 " So they may be," answered Maggie decidedly, 
 " but that's no difference to my father, he never 
 will see no one." 
 
 "Ah, well, never mind, Maggie," said the old 
 woman, " you will do as well, I daresay." 
 
 " / ? Why, whatever could I do ? Father 
 never talks to me, you know, if you mean talking 
 sort of comfort." 
 
 " There's a better sort of comfort than ' talk- 
 ing-comfort,' and perhaps you know it ? " 
 
 Maggie shook her head. 
 
 " Can you read, dear ? " 
 
 " Yes at least, pretty well ; I'm twelve, you 
 know, but I'm very slow at learning." 
 
 "And I daresay you have got a Bible at 
 home ; haven't you ? " 
 
 "I don't think so. Oh yes, we have; the
 
 2O Out in the Storm. 
 
 best big one that's not meant to be read, you 
 know." 
 
 "Do you think you might have that one out 
 for a treat ? " 
 
 " What for ? " asked Maggie, opening her dark 
 eyes very wide again. 
 
 " To read to poor father in." 
 
 Oh ! " 
 
 " He'd enjoy that," put in Phoebe, " 'cause my 
 father does." 
 
 "I don't know," she answered sorrowfully; 
 " it ain't likely he will, for he can't bear a word 
 sometimes." 
 
 " You try it, dear. Get the big Bible up very 
 quietly, and when you see a good opportunity, 
 ask him if you might read a verse to him; and 
 then if he seems quiet and comfortable, you go 
 on till he tells you to stop." 
 
 " But where should I read ? Should I begin 
 at the other end and go straight on ? " 
 
 Mrs. Benson looked puzzled. " Don't you 
 ever read at school ? " she asked presently, " so 
 as to find the places ? " 
 
 " Sometimes we do, but I ain't no hand at 
 it. 
 
 " Could you find Luke, do you think ? " 
 
 " I might if I was to look very hard." 
 
 Phcebe turned to the table, and sprang up.
 
 A Puzzle. 21 
 
 There lay her grandmother's Bible as usual, its 
 pages open now with the silver spectacles lying 
 across them. 
 
 " Try to find Luke here, Maggie, and then you 
 would know at home ! " 
 
 The child timidly advanced to the table and 
 turned over the leaves nervously. 
 
 At last her eyes filled with tears. " I don't 
 know, and I can't do it ; it ain't no use to think 
 such as me could comfort father." 
 
 " Don't despair, dear," said Mrs. Benson 
 kindly. " I'll tell you how to do it. Look here. 
 Luke is somewhere near the end. Turn over all 
 those pages, and leave about a quarter of them. 
 Yes, that will do. Now what is the word up at 
 the top ? " 
 
 " John," answered Maggie. 
 
 "That is capital. Why, Luke is the next 
 before it. Try again." 
 
 Maggie turned back a few leaves, but she turned 
 too many, for she spelt out " M-A-T-T-H-E-W." 
 
 " It is next but one to that," whispered 
 Phoebe encouragingly ; " turn over leaf by leaf." 
 
 " Here it is ! " exclaimed Maggie. 
 
 " She's found it, granny f " said Phoebe trium- 
 phantly. 
 
 "Now turn over a page at a time, till you 
 come to the I5th chapter. Do you know
 
 22 Out in the Storm. 
 
 the look of 15 in the Bible ? " asked Mrs. 
 Benson. 
 
 " ]STo, I'm afeared not." 
 
 " It is like a 10 on the clock, and a 5 X and 
 V close together. Now try again." 
 
 The little girls bent their heads over the 
 book, Phoebe watching with intense interest for 
 the finding of the figures which she knew so 
 well. 
 
 "Here it is," again said Maggie, and then 
 Phoebe kissed her for delight, though she was 
 surprised at herself for doing it. 
 
 " You read that to him, dear, and depend upon 
 it that will comfort him. There's no comfort in 
 the world like the love of Jesus." 
 
 Maggie rose and began to put on her jacket in 
 silence, her little heart full of new thoughts. 
 
 " I'll come part of the way home with you," 
 said Phoebe. 
 
 " But 'spose I might never find that er-e place 
 again ? " 
 
 " I should turn over every page till I did," 
 answered Phoebe, "and put a bit of paper in 
 when I found it. Eemember it's near about 
 three quarters through the book ! "
 
 CHAPTEE III. 
 MAGGIE'S QUEST. 
 
 HERE have you been, child, all this 
 time ? " asked Maggie's mother the 
 moment she entered the little shop. 
 
 " I've been round along with Phoebe Benson, 
 mother." 
 
 " What did you want with her ? " 
 
 " She said as her granny knew something to 
 do father good." 
 
 " It's not likely she does, for there's nothing 
 now as 'ull do him any good." 
 
 " mother ! " 
 
 " No more there isn't. Wasn't the doctor 
 here only five minutes ago, and didn't he say, as 
 plain as plain, ' I can't do nothing more for your 
 husband, Mrs. Moder; medicine don't take no 
 effect on him, whatever.' " 
 
 Maggie was silent. She had a feeling that old 
 Mrs. Benson's prescription was something of quite
 
 24 Out in the Storm. 
 
 another kind; but she had not been used to express 
 her thoughts to her mother, and knew that, if 
 she were to mention the big Bible, it would only 
 be to get a hasty command not to touch it. So 
 she was silent, wondering with a sort of sicken- 
 ing fear what it all meant. 
 
 " Go up to bed," said her mother, " you look 
 more like a ghost than anything else. What's 
 the use of shivering like that? any one with a pair 
 of eyes could ha' seen it coming this long time!" 
 
 Maggie turned to the door of the narrow pas- 
 sage leading upstairs, her knees shaking together 
 in her fear. She slowly mounted the dark stairs, 
 till she came to her father's room, then she hesi- 
 tated, and was finally deciding to pass on to her 
 own little attic, when she caught the sound of 
 his voice uttering that mournful groan of mingled 
 pain, weariness, and despair. 
 
 Maggie was not a particularly observant little 
 girl, and many things that she might have noticed 
 in the months that were gone, had passed by her 
 as if they were not ; but once roused from the 
 sort of apathetic dream she had been living in, 
 she was beginning to see the meaning of what 
 she had before taken as a matter of course, and 
 in finding it out she woke up to know that 
 something was the matter, something very dread- 
 ful and sad.
 
 Maggie s Quest. 25 
 
 So, unable to bear the sound that came from 
 her sick father, she entered to see if she might 
 do anything for him. 
 
 He was sitting in bed now, propped up by pil- 
 lows, his breath coming in painful gasps, and his 
 whole frame shaken by his cough. As the door 
 opened his eyes turned in that direction, and he 
 beckoned Maggie to his side. But when she got 
 there he could not speak, and she stood 
 waiting. 
 
 " Maggie," he said at last in a hoarse whisper, 
 " where have you been ? I've been wanting you 
 for ever so long." 
 
 Maggie's heart leapt with a sudden new happi- 
 ness. She had never been wanted before. 
 
 " I didn't know, father," she said, looking up 
 at him, with some of her feeling in her eyes. 
 
 " It's so lonely," he said, shaking his head 
 drearily, " so lonely and so dark." 
 
 " What is dark, father ? " asked Maggie, trem- 
 bling. 
 
 " Where I'm going so dark, oh so lonely ! " 
 
 " Could I go with you, father ? " said the child, 
 with a certain suspicion of what the answer 
 would be. 
 
 " No, no, no ; nobody can't do that, Maggie." 
 
 He put his hand on her shoulder, and looked 
 with his large yearning eyes into her eyes.
 
 26 Out in the Storm. 
 
 "It's no use," he said at last, "it's no use; 
 lay me back, Maggie; I'll try to get some 
 sleep." 
 
 Maggie did as she was bid, for the sick man 
 to take the only kind of rest he had done for 
 many a weary month ; she dragged him a little 
 lower in the bed, and then with hands which 
 had a new confidence in them, a confidence of 
 love, she straightened the bedclothes, watching 
 the haggard face closely for any sign that her 
 ministrations distressed the invalid. He bore it 
 with unusual patience, but at last he said 
 
 " Leave that alone now, child, I don't care for 
 any more moving." 
 
 " May I stay along with you, father ? " asked 
 Maggie wistfully. 
 
 " Ay, ay, I'd rather have you than not. It 
 comforts me to see you there." 
 
 Maggie did not know what to answer, but she 
 ventured to put her hand into his for the first 
 time in her life. 
 
 After she had stood for a few minutes thus, 
 with her father's restless eyes roving about the 
 room, when he moved his hand hastily away, she 
 ventured to say 
 
 " Might I fetch something from downstairs ? " 
 
 He nodded, and Maggie hastened to the dark 
 little parlour behind the shop.
 
 Maggies Quest. 27 
 
 Her mother heard her step on the stairs, and 
 looked out of the door leading into the passage. 
 
 " What ails you, Maggie ? " she asked in a 
 vexed tone ; " how you did startle me ! " 
 
 " Father said as I might sit with him a bit," 
 said Maggie, trembling lest she should get a 
 refusal. 
 
 " What's he a-doing ? " asked his wife. 
 
 "He's trying to get some sleep." 
 
 " Oh, he is, is he ? Then, Maggie, if you're 
 not agoing to bed jest yet, you listen to the shop 
 while I run round to a neighbour's for something. 
 I shan't be long." 
 
 " All right, mother." 
 
 "What are you awanting in there?" called Mrs. 
 Moder from the shop, where she was locking up 
 the little till. 
 
 There was a glass door between the parlour 
 and the shop, and the light shining over the 
 green blind helped Maggie to see well enough 
 for her purpose ; she grasped the big book in 
 both hands before she answered, " I'm finding 
 something, mother." 
 
 " What is it ? " asked Mrs. Moder. 
 
 " I've got it now," gasped Maggie, springing 
 out of the side door and up the stairs. 
 
 Maggie was not a very dutiful little daughter, 
 and did not trouble to explain to her mother;
 
 28 Out in the Storm, 
 
 only glad to get out of the way of her hasty 
 words ; she had never been taught better. 
 
 She left the bedroom door ajar, and went over 
 and sat down by the fire, laying the great book 
 on the small table as noiselessly as she could. 
 
 Her father's eyes were closed, and she had 
 time therefore to try to remember her lesson 
 before he should awake. 
 
 She had passed through so many experiences 
 during the last hour that it felt quite a long 
 time ago since Phoebe had flung her arms round 
 her neck when she had found that place, and 
 she began to doubt if she could recall anything 
 at all about it. She sat with her head resting 
 on her hand, trying to think. 
 
 At last Phoebe's parting words flashed over 
 her, " Three quarters through the book," and she 
 slowly stooped her head to have a look at the 
 leaves. 
 
 She fixed on a suitable spot and put her 
 finger in, and then with trembling heart she 
 opened the heavy pages. The great leaves nearly 
 flapped back with a bang, but she caught them 
 just in time, and laid the book open before her 
 that wonderful book in which is written the 
 message to us of the King of kings. 
 
 Maggie had had a school Bible in her hand 
 many and many a time as a task book, which
 
 Maggie's Quest. 29 
 
 no one had explained to her, and it' she had 
 spoken her thoughts truly, she would probably 
 have said that of all her tasks it was the least 
 interesting. But now, this opening of the great 
 Bible was quite a different thing. It did not even 
 occur to her that it was the same book at all, as 
 that school task. Here was something which 
 she was told would do her father good something 
 that would comfort him, above all other comforts 
 and Maggie gazed upon the open page with 
 awe. 
 
 Fortunately for her, the very name she wanted 
 was printed at the top. There was Luke as plain 
 as possible. If it had not been, Maggie very 
 much doubted if she could ever have found it, 
 for she remembered nothing but that one 
 sentence, "three quarters through the book," 
 which she had said over and over to herself 
 all the way home. 
 
 She turned over the leaves in an uncertain 
 kind of way, dimly remembering something about 
 the clock, but sure that it was not any figure 
 on the face of theirs. 
 
 She turned round and scanned the little 
 American clock which ticked on the mantel-shelf, 
 but she scanned it in vain, for no clue did it give. 
 
 At last she decided to read the figures carefully 
 all round, and wh.en she came to the X she
 
 Out in the Storm, 
 
 started with a new thought. That was it! 
 and and half ten didn't they say ? five ! yes 
 to be sure, 15 X and V close together. She 
 turned over the pages breathlessly, hoping and 
 fearing alternately. 
 
 Then a light broke over her little face and at 
 the same moment her father's voice startled her 
 by his weak hoarse whisper 
 
 "What is it, child?" 
 
 Maggie had hoped to have time to look it over 
 and get familiar with it before she should be 
 asked to read it ; but the time had come before 
 she expected, and instead of 'answering with any 
 explanations, something prompted her to begin 
 reading at once 
 
 " Then drew near unto Him all the publicans 
 and sinners for to hear Him. And the Pharisees 
 and Scribes murmured, saying, This man re- 
 ceiveth sinners and eateth with them." 
 
 Slowly Maggie read out the words, struggling 
 through the long ones bravely; and while she spelt 
 to herself and hesitated, her father had time to 
 take in the meaning, as he would perhaps not have 
 done had they been read more fluently. 
 
 " This man receiveth sinners, and eateth with 
 them," he said to himself, with a wondering, 
 thirsting yearning that he could see that Man 
 and understand all about Him.
 
 Maggie s Quest. 
 
 Maggie read a few more verses, and then her 
 father stopped her. 
 
 " That 'ull do, child," he said, more softly than 
 she had ever heard him speak before ; " to-morrow 
 you shall read some more." 
 
 " Yes, father." 
 
 " Eeceiveth sinners," he murmured low to 
 himself. 
 
 " What d'ye say, father ? " 
 
 " I was a-thinking of them words you read, 
 'receiveth sinners.' Does it say who does, Mag- 
 gie ? " 
 
 Maggie looked on the book again 
 
 " No, it don't say who, father ; but I can look 
 about for it, if ye like." 
 
 " I expect who it is, as I've heard on. But, 
 anyway, you can see." 
 
 There was a pause; Maggie's eyes went up 
 and down the big open page, but she could not 
 light on any name to satisfy her. 
 
 " I don't see none," she said at last ; " it is all 
 about Him, whoever it is, father ; for it keeps on 
 'He,' all the time. There's no one but Him 
 spoke of hardly." 
 
 " I daresay we'll come across it to-morrow," 
 whispered the invalid with a sigh. 
 
 But Maggie's own words had started a train 
 of thought in her mind. Mrs. Benson's had
 
 Out in the Storm. 
 
 matched them. "ISTo one but Him," Maggie 
 
 had said, and Mrs. Benson had assured her 
 
 " there was no one like Jesus ! " 
 
 " I 'spect it's Jesus it means, father." 
 
 " I shouldn't wonder," he answered, closing his 
 
 eyes wearily.
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 A PROMISE. 
 
 HE next morning Maggie asked her 
 mother if she might remain at home 
 from school. 
 
 " What for ? " asked Mrs. Moder. 
 
 " To stay along with father." 
 
 " Stay long with father ! Whatever for ? " 
 
 " I thought I thought perhaps he'd want 
 me." 
 
 " Want you ? Nonsense. Bundle on yer 
 clothes and be off this minute." 
 
 Maggie knew better than to object. She would 
 have liked just to have said goodbye to her father, 
 but Mrs. Moder held the shop-door in her hand, 
 and she had no choice but to go out. Her heart 
 was heavy, for while they had sat at breakfast 
 in the invalid's room, where they generally had
 
 34 Out in the Storm. 
 
 their meals since he had been too weak to come 
 down stairs, she had noticed his eyes looking to- 
 wards the corner where she had put the book 
 away, as if he fain would hear more of it. 
 
 But Maggie went to school, and, like the rest, 
 took her place and began the morning's work. 
 She was not a bright child, or an industrious 
 child, and she was no favourite with her teachers. 
 She did not behave very badly, nor very well ; 
 but she just rubbed along day after day, hoping 
 to get as few punishments as possible, her object 
 in life being to escape notice altogether. 
 
 To-day, as she sat in class, a thought struck 
 her, a thought so sweet that it lighted up her 
 face. What if she could learn to find those 
 places in the Book that were to comfort her 
 father ! 
 
 So when the Scripture task came and her 
 companions stood up, one after another, and said, 
 in sing-song voices, " The eleventh chapter of 
 Matthew and the 28th verse, ' Come unto me, 
 all ye that labour and are heavy laden, and I 
 will give you rest/ " the words took a new 
 meaning, and she listened with all her heart. 
 " I will give you rest." Ah ! that was what her 
 poor weak father wanted rest rest. She de- 
 termined to look out for those new words, and see 
 if they might prove just what she wanted.
 
 A Promise. 35 
 
 She stored up in her mind the place, only 
 hoping she might remember it when she got 
 home. 
 
 After school, Phoebe Benson came up to her 
 and said softly, " Did you find it ? " 
 
 Maggie nodded. 
 
 " Did he like it ? " 
 
 " I don't quite know." 
 
 Phoebe's countenance fell. 
 
 " I think he did, though," said Maggie. 
 
 " Is he better ? " 
 
 " I don't think so," Maggie sighed ; " I must 
 run home now, Phoebe." 
 
 Phoebe looked after her for a minute thought- 
 fully, and then turned towards her own street. 
 
 Meanwhile, Mrs. Moder had been tidying up 
 her husband's room during the intervals of being 
 wanted in the shop. As she was dusting, her 
 quick eyes fell upon the large Bible which Maggie 
 had so cautiously hidden away in the corner 
 under a new dress her mother was making for 
 her. 
 
 " What's this ? " asked Mrs. Moder sharply. 
 
 " Don't you see, wife ? " answered the invalid. 
 
 " What's brought it up here ? " 
 
 Her husband was silent. 
 
 " Who had it ? " she demanded. 
 
 " Maggie and me."
 
 Out in the Storm. 
 
 " You ? It's likely you have been down to 
 fetch it." 
 
 " I never said that, wife." 
 
 " You said but how dare Maggie touch 
 it?" 
 
 " There's no harm in her having it." 
 
 " No harm ! " exclaimed Mrs. Moder ; " I 
 should like to see her touch it again, that's 
 all." 
 
 " Then you will," answered her husband 
 quietly ; " for I mean her to have it whenever 
 she likes." 
 
 " If she wants reading, she must have it in 
 something different from our best big Bible ! " 
 answered Mrs. Moder decidedly, taking the book 
 up and walking downstairs with it. 
 
 Her husband's eyes followed her with an 
 angry light in them, but a violent fit of cough- 
 ing stopped the words he was attempting to 
 utter, and continued so long that when she came 
 up again he had no strength or will left to 
 speak. 
 
 She walked swiftly into the room, placed his 
 water near him, and then, as if his attack had 
 no connection with her in any way, she quietly 
 went on with her dusting in silence. 
 
 " Will you get up ? " she presently asked 
 him.
 
 A Promise. 37 
 
 A slight shake of the head was his only 
 reply. 
 
 Just then the shop bell rang, and she was 
 called away, and did not return till it was nearly 
 time for Maggie to come in from school. 
 
 Her husband looked worse than ever, she 
 thought, when she put her head in at the door, 
 but after a hasty inquiry to know if he wanted 
 her, she went down again. 
 
 Maggie came bounding into the shop, and was 
 running through, when she was arrested by her 
 mother's words. 
 
 "Maggie, take along that soap and those 
 matches and things to Mrs. Craggs over the hill 
 at the other end of the town. Tell her I knew 
 she must be getting out of them, and so I sent 
 'em along. Tell her it don't matter about paying 
 to-day, if she ain't ready." 
 
 " But, mother ? " 
 
 " Be off as quick as you can ; you'll be back 
 in plenty of time for dinner, if you make 
 haste." 
 
 " But oh, mother, I wanted to see how father 
 was." 
 
 " He's all right ; don't worry yourself and 
 look here, Maggie, I'll not have that best Bible 
 carried about the house and messed up with your 
 nonsense."
 
 38 'Out in the Storm. 
 
 The child stood confounded. All her plans 
 were dashed to the ground hopelessly, and 
 comforting her father went down, down, down 
 with them. 
 
 She turned to the door without another word, 
 taking up the basket and proceeding slowly on 
 her way. It was a long walk, and old Mrs. 
 Craggs would perhaps keep her a long time. 
 She could hardly see her way through blinding 
 tears. 
 
 It was ever so much past one before she again 
 entered her home. The shop was empty, and 
 she mounted the stairs feeling strangely weary 
 and forlorn. 
 
 A nice smell greeted her, and when she came 
 into the room her father had his plate with a 
 savoury morsel before him, while her mother 
 was eating her dinner at the table. 
 
 " Here, child," said Mrs. Moder, " come and 
 take yours." 
 
 Maggie glanced in her father's face. It was 
 very pale, and he seemed to be only picking at 
 the food before him. 
 
 She went timidly to his side, and was just 
 going to ask him if she might help him, when a 
 hasty call from her mother stopped her. She 
 turned to the table then, and began her own 
 meal.
 
 A Promise. 39 
 
 The moment it was swallowed she had to 
 hasten off to school again, and so the day passed 
 on. 
 
 The light had faded out of her face as she sat 
 doing her sewing that afternoon, and Phoebe 
 wondered how it was she looked so woe-begone. 
 
 Poor little Maggie did not know that there was 
 a loving Father watching over her, and planning 
 after all, the best way for her to comfort her 
 father. She thought it was all over, when really 
 it was only just begun. 
 
 When the evening came, Mrs. Moder told 
 Maggie to mind the shop and see after her father, 
 as she wanted to go out for an hour. Maggie 
 joyfully assented, and went down to sit behind 
 the counter till her mother should go. 
 
 It seemed a long time to her impatience before 
 she came down, but at length she appeared, and 
 after giving Maggie some parting instructions, 
 she banged the shop-door and was gone.
 
 CHAPTEE V. 
 
 COMB. 
 
 AGGIE quickly hung the bell on its place, 
 and after giving a glance round, she 
 ran upstairs. 
 
 " Father," she said, " here I am." 
 
 He looked up with a pleased look, while 
 Maggie came over and stood by his side. 
 
 His wife had helped him across to the fire 
 just before tea, and he sat now grasping the 
 arms of his chair, supporting his weak frame as 
 best he might. 
 
 Maggie's eyes sought the corner where she 
 knew she had hidden the Bible, and she soon be- 
 came aware that her dress, under which she had 
 placed it, looked far too flat. 
 
 "Father," she said beseechingly, "what has 
 mother done with it ? " 
 
 " Maybe she has put it away." 
 
 " She told me I was not to touch it again ;
 
 Come. 4 1 
 
 but I may, mayn't I ? 'cause you know we did 
 count on reading it to-day ! " 
 
 The poor sick man sighed heavily. " I'll not 
 be the one to tell you to disobey your mother, 
 child," he said, "so we'll just have to do without it." 
 
 " Never have it, father ? " 
 
 " I'll settle that." 
 
 Maggie was partly reassured, but her little 
 heart was full of disappointment ; for the present 
 was much more important than the future, and 
 her father's face made her long that she might 
 give him all the solace possible. For what, if 
 that should come which was coming, and he 
 should never be comforted after all ? 
 
 So her eyes were full of tears, as she gazed 
 into the haggard face. What could she do for 
 him ? 
 
 Then her school lesson came back to her mind, 
 and she suddenly recalled the words she had 
 tried with such pains to remember, and which 
 she that morning thought she would never more 
 forget. 
 
 " Don't you learn some of that at school ? " 
 asked her father. 
 
 " Yes," she answered, " but I am no hand at 
 it ; I wish I was now, father." 
 
 " Can't you call to mind any of it ? " sighed 
 the sick man.
 
 42 Out in the Storm. 
 
 " Well, this morning, father, there was some- 
 thing which would just have suited you, but I 
 can't remember one word of it ! " 
 
 " Was it about like that you read last night 
 about sinners ? " 
 
 Maggie shook her head. " No, it didn't say 
 nothing about sinners. It was about tired 
 people." 
 
 "I'm sure I'm tired enough. What did it 
 say about them, Maggie ? " 
 
 Maggie looked into the fire in deep thought, 
 but she could not get hold of the idea. 
 
 "Then it was not about receiving sinners," 
 said the poor man longingly. 
 
 Maggie looked up, a sudden light in her eyes, 
 " Why, yes, father, it was that sort of thing ; 
 I've got it now ' Come unto Me, all ye that 
 labour and are heavy laden, and I will give you 
 rest.' " 
 
 The sick man was silent, pondering on the 
 words, while Maggie stroked his hand with her 
 little fingers lovingly. 
 
 " Does it feel comfortable, father ? " 
 
 " Eh ? " he said. 
 
 " Is that the sort of medicine as '11 do you 
 good ? " 
 
 " I shouldn't wonder. But now, Maggie, who 
 do you think said them words ? "
 
 Come. 4 3 
 
 " It didn't tell that in my lesson ; but I 'spect 
 it's the same as says all them sort of things. 
 There's more of it, only I don't know it." 
 
 " I wish you did." 
 
 " Shall I say it over again, father ? " 
 
 " Very well. Say it slow and plain, Maggie." 
 
 Maggie said it very distinctly, and her father 
 gazed into the fire. 
 
 " As you've read all of it," he said presently, 
 " what d'ye suppose it means ? " 
 
 " I should think as it's like promising me a 
 penny if" Maggie paused "if I did as you 
 tolled me." 
 
 " Does He tell us to do anything ? " 
 
 " Why, yes, father, He says, ' Come to 
 Me.' " 
 
 " So He does, Maggie. And so, if we come, 
 how does it go on ? " 
 
 Maggie said it again, ending up with those 
 words, " I will give you rest." 
 
 " How can we come ? " said the sick man. 
 
 " Why I just get up and go to people ! " said 
 Maggie. 
 
 " But that ain't the way people go to Jesus," 
 answered her father; " and besides, if it were ever 
 so, I can't move." 
 
 " Then it must mean some other way," said 
 Maggie confidently, "for I know I've said it
 
 44 Out in the Storm. 
 
 right. Perhaps it's the way as they do when I 
 go to chapel, father." 
 
 The sick man sighed. It was years, years, 
 since he had gone to any place of worship, and 
 he could not recall anything to give him the 
 clue. 
 
 " They speak to some one in heaven, don't they, 
 father ? " 
 
 " It's what they call praying ; and I have never 
 prayed since I was a little boy ! " 
 
 Maggie came close to him, and knelt down by 
 his side, laying her face on his trembling hand. 
 After a long silence her father's other hand was 
 placed on her head, and his broken voice whis- 
 pered 
 
 " Lord Jesus, we don't know anything as we 
 ought about you, nor how to come to you. We 
 don't even know the way to come. But oh, we 
 are so tired, so heavy laden, please give us rest ! 
 And if it's you as receives sinners, please do re- 
 ceive us ; for it's very dark on before, and we'd 
 like to know as you were there." 
 
 Maggie was sobbing long before her poor 
 father got to the end of that simple prayer, and 
 her whole heart went up with a great longing 
 that it might be answered. 
 
 She raised her head and laid it on his breast, 
 while his arms closed round her little form. By
 
 Come. 45 
 
 and by she ventured to look up in his face, and 
 to her surprise there was a quiet peace in it such 
 as she had never seen before. 
 
 He looked down on her with an answering 
 glance and whispered 
 
 "We've done what He's told us, Maggie, and 
 now we'll expect Him to keep His promise." 
 
 " Yes, father." 
 
 "I feel it, Maggie, as I never did 'afore rest, 
 rest, ' I will give you rest' " 
 
 He looked round the room, " Maggie, help me 
 to the bed, child, I'll lie down a bit; and you make 
 up the fire and put all things straight for your 
 mother." 
 
 Maggie longed to ask if he would settle about 
 the Bible to-night, but she had a feeling that she 
 must not disturb that " rest " of which he had 
 spoken. So she tenderly helped him across the 
 room, and had hardly done so when the shop 
 bell gave a peal, and she had to hasten down- 
 stairs. 
 
 It was not her mother, as she had expected, 
 but to her surprise old Mrs. Benson stood there. 
 
 " May I come in, dear ? " she asked. 
 
 " Oh yes," answered Maggie, wondering. 
 
 " I've not come to buy anything to-night, my 
 dear ; I've only come to ask how father is, and 
 to brins him this little mould of corn flour."
 
 46 Out in the Storm. 
 
 " Oh, thank you, ma'am," said Maggie grate- 
 fully. 
 
 " How is he ? " asked Mrs. Benson. 
 
 " I'm afraid as he's very bad, ma'am," said the 
 child sorrowfully. 
 
 " Do you read to him, dear, and tell him about 
 Jesus ? " 
 
 Maggie's eyes filled. " I don't rightly know 
 myself, ma'am, but I do try to, and he does like it." 
 
 " That's right, dear ; you go on reading to him, 
 and you pray yourself to the Lord Jesus, to teach 
 you what to do. Good night. If I can ever do 
 anything, I'm ready, remember." 
 
 As she went out, Maggie's mother came in. 
 
 " What did she buy ? " she asked. 
 
 " Nothing." 
 
 " Came to gossip ? " said Mrs. Moder sharply. 
 
 " She brought this stuff for father." 
 
 " Umph, well, I daresay he'll like it. Now, 
 off you go to bed, Maggie."
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 THE LIGHTHOUSE. 
 
 HEY went upstairs together, Maggie 
 going on tip-toe into the room, her 
 mother following. 
 
 The sick man was asleep, and Mrs. Moder 
 motioned to the child to pass on at once to bed. 
 
 She herself went and sat down by the fire, 
 busying herself over Maggie's dress for some 
 time. She was a thrifty woman, who made the 
 best of her money, keeping her home and one 
 child the pink of neatness. Her shop of odds 
 and ends, groceries, thimbles, and firewood, 
 added to her husband's trade of a tailor and her 
 own help in that trade, had placed the family 
 in circumstances of comfort. But joined to that 
 industry and cleanliness, had been a love of ruling 
 and a disregard of the happiness of those round 
 her.
 
 48 Out in the Storm. 
 
 To have her child clean was a first necessity 
 in her opinion, but whether that child was happy 
 never entered her head. 
 
 So she sat working, inwardly pleased that 
 Maggie should have had to do without the 
 Bible. 
 
 By and by the invalid's cough roused him 
 from his slumber, and he asked her if she would 
 help him to bed for the night. 
 
 She rose at once, and came to his side. 
 
 " Wife," he said kindly, " will you bring me 
 up the Bible presently ? '* 
 
 " Oh, I can't have that used, Jim," she an- 
 swered abruptly ; " it wasn't bought for use." 
 
 " But I must have one, wife, and I'd rather 
 have that one as has got our marriage written 
 in, and all." 
 
 Mrs. Moder glanced at him in surprise. It 
 was a long time since a soft word had passed 
 his lips ; was he going to die ? 
 
 "Two hours ago, wife," he said, looking up 
 into her face, " I should have bade you, with 
 what little remaining strength I had, to bring 
 me that Bible without any more ado; but now 
 I feel different from that." 
 
 " How different ? " she asked, her heart sink- 
 ing strangely. 
 
 " I have come to Him as receives sinners, and
 
 7 he Lighthouse. 49 
 
 somehow I can't be cross with you to- 
 night." 
 
 Her hard face softened for an instant, but 
 then she thought of Maggie and the Bible, and 
 it hardened again. 
 
 " It's very sudden," she said bitterly. 
 
 " Yes," he answered quietly ; " but you know 
 there's all the difference between tossing about 
 on the rough waves out at sea and being safe in 
 the quiet harbour. I don't rightly know much 
 about it, but I've had that before my eyes all 
 these hours when you thought I was asleep. 
 ' This man receiveth sinners ; ' and I am a 
 sinner, and He's received me. I shall learn 
 more about it when you bring me that Bible, 
 but I've learnt enough to find rest." 
 
 His wife shook her head, but vouchsafed no 
 answer. Was he wandering in his mind ? 
 
 " Here's some stuff Mrs. Benson's brought you 
 to eat," she said. 
 
 The sick man held out his hand for it. " I 
 feel tired and faint," he said; "it was kind of 
 her." 
 
 " I could have made you some if you'd have 
 mentioned it." 
 
 " I never thought of it. It is cool and 
 nice." 
 
 Still Mrs. Moder looked dissatisfied.
 
 50 Out in the Storm. 
 
 " Can you get me the Bible now, wife ? " he 
 asked, as she put down the plate. 
 
 "It ain't in the house." 
 
 " Not ? " he asked, looking up astonished. 
 
 " No ; I wasn't going to have you ordering 
 the child to bring it up to you." 
 
 "Well, well, wife, we'll not talk more about 
 it ; I know as you'll bring it to me 'afore long. 
 It won't be long as I shall want that or any- 
 thing else." 
 
 " Don't say that," she answered. 
 
 " It won't alter it one way or t'other, what- 
 ever I say ; and it don't make much difference 
 now." 
 
 " How do you mean ? " she asked, looking at 
 him. 
 
 " I mean ' He receives sinners,' so it's not all 
 dark and lonely like it was." 
 
 Mrs. Moder was silent ; she could not under- 
 stand what had come over her husband, and sup- 
 posed his illness must have affected his head. 
 Yet when she looked at his face, she could not 
 but acknowledge that it had never looked 
 happier. 
 
 The next morning the sick man was very 
 weak and suffering, and Maggie went to school 
 with a sad heart. 
 
 Again she tried to learn off perfectly the
 
 The Lighthouse. 5 1 
 
 Scripture lesson, but the class had passed on 
 to another part, and before she had caught many 
 words, the lesson was over, and the slates were 
 being got out for arithmetic. 
 
 Maggie felt despairing of ever doing any good, 
 she was so slow and so far behind the others. 
 Now, if she could but say off two verses like 
 Phoebe Benson, it might be of some use. 
 
 Thinking thus sorrowfully, old Mrs. Benson's 
 advice came back to her : " Ask the Lord Jesus 
 to teach you how to do it," and she remembered 
 how her poor father had spoken to the Lord 
 Jesus, and how he had seemed comforted, and 
 so she made up her mind she would do the 
 same. She did not know that she could raise 
 her heart to Him at any moment, so she 
 determined to speak to Him when the children 
 were let out for their run in the play- 
 ground. 
 
 It seemed a long time before it came, but 
 when at last the clattering little feet raced out, 
 Maggie ran away to a spot behind one of the 
 elms where she could be unobserved for an in- 
 stant, and there she looked up and asked to be 
 shown what to do. 
 
 Confident that He would send her an answer, 
 she ran back among her companions with a 
 heart relieved of its great load.
 
 5 2 Out in the Storm. 
 
 When she was leaving the school at twelve 
 o'clock, Phoebe Benson touched her on the 
 shoulder. " I'm coming home along with you 
 to get granny's basin; do you think as it's 
 empty yet ? " 
 
 " Yes ; mother turned it out last night, and I 
 meant to bring it round to your granny after 
 school." 
 
 "All right, 111 save you the trouble, and per- 
 haps you'll want to be with your father." 
 
 " Yes, so I do ; but do you know, Phoebe, I 
 can't read the big Bible any more, because 
 mother won't let me use it." 
 
 " Oh ! " said Phcebe, " what a dreadful pity. 
 What shall you -do?" 
 
 "I don't know, but"- 
 
 Maggie did not like to say she had told the 
 Lord Jesus about it, so they walked in silence 
 till they reached her home. 
 
 " Come in and wait a moment while I run up 
 and get the basin," said she. 
 
 But the shop was rather full, and Maggie 
 drew Phcebe through it to the passage, and left 
 her at the foot of the stairs. 
 
 " Father," she said, peeping in, " may I bring 
 up Phoebe Benson, she's been so kind to me, and 
 I think she would like to see you." 
 
 " All right, my child."
 
 The Lighthouse. 53 
 
 " Phoebe ! " whispered Maggie over the ban- 
 nisters, "come up." 
 
 Phoebe's smiling little face was soon close 
 beside the sick man, as she took his hand and 
 asked him how he did. 
 
 Before he could answer her, an exclamation 
 from Maggie made her turn round quickly. 
 
 There was the little girl gazing spell-bound at 
 the table, as if her eyes must deceive her, for on 
 it lay the big Bible as large as life. 
 
 She heaved a great sigh, and then she remem- 
 bered that this was the answer come to her re- 
 quest, and she felt a strange awe to think she 
 had received something from the skies. 
 
 " Sit down, Phoebe," said the invalid, " and 
 cheer me up a bit with your chatter. I know 
 you can chatter, because I've heard you." 
 
 Phoebe blushed, but felt it impossible to talk 
 just when she was asked to do so ; all her 
 thoughts went running away like a flock of 
 sheep when the dog is after them. 
 
 "Maggie," said her father, turning his head 
 towards her, " have you ever seen in the picture 
 shop in High Street a picture of a ship in a 
 storm ? " 
 
 "I don't know but what I have," answered 
 Maggie. 
 
 " Is there one there now, do you think ? "
 
 54 Out in the Storm. 
 
 Phcebe said she thought not, as she had looked 
 in only that morning. 
 
 " Because I was always fond of making pic- 
 tures in my mind, and I've had one running in 
 my head all night ; but my head is so queer, and 
 I'm afraid I shall, may-be, forget it ; and I 
 thought if I had a view of it to remind me, then 
 it would all come back to me." 
 
 His voice died away with weakness and ex- 
 haustion, and the little girls looked on full of 
 alarm. 
 
 But presently he roused himself again, and 
 looked earnestly out of the window by his bed- 
 side. 
 
 " Could you tell me what it were like, father, 
 and then if you forgot I could tell you ? " 
 
 " There it is before my eyes," said the sick 
 man musingly, his voice coming in slow gasps, 
 but his face full of intense earnestness. 
 
 " It is an awful dark night oh, an awful dark 
 night, out at sea. The clouds hang low, black 
 with rain and storm, and no moon nor stars can 
 come through them to give light around. And 
 there's a ship on that sea, agoing a long, long 
 voyage, and hoping to come home by and by ; 
 but somehow the storm has took her unawares, 
 and the great high waves have washed over her 
 deck, and they've washed her compass right away.
 
 Mrs. Muder was serving some one in the shop and was very busy.'-fage 72
 
 The L i /it house. 5 7 
 
 " She's been beating about on them restless 
 waves for many a long day, thinking she must 
 be getting near land, but with nothing to guide 
 her to it, nor to keep her off the rocks as will 
 sink her for ever, if she runs agin them. 
 
 " I see her now, for all it's so dark, I can see 
 her tossing, tossing with no hope at all. 
 
 " And then, when the winds is blowing their 
 fiercest, and the waves dashing their hardest, and 
 she has almost given up all hope, far out in the 
 dense darkness there comes just one tiny spark 
 of light ! 
 
 " And lo, as the mariner on that poor ship 
 watches with straining longing eyes to see if it 
 shall fade away and go out in the darkness, he 
 finds the light still shining steady, always in one 
 place, and always steady. 
 
 " ' That's like our Lighthouse at home,' says 
 the mariner to himself, ' and what if it should 
 be the one as I've been wearying for all this 
 time!' 
 
 " So, though the wind and waves beat the 
 vessel worse and worse, and the mariner fears 
 she will be driven agin the rocks ere ever she 
 can get to that Light, still putting all his sail 
 up, and guiding her as best he may, the vessel 
 comes nearer and nearer that blessed beam. 
 
 " It seems to me as the storm and the waves
 
 58 Out in the Storm. 
 
 tries harder than ever, the nearer the poor ship 
 gets ; but as I watch her, she comes closer and 
 closer; and the closer she gets, the more sure 
 the mariner is that it is the Lighthouse at home. 
 
 " At last he is certain on it, and guidin' the 
 vessel by that ever-brightening Light, in spite of 
 waves and tempest, them very waves bears him 
 onwards safely into the Harbour! 
 
 " And so I see the ship now, no more tossed 
 about and buffeted, no more in danger of being 
 shipwrecked, but riding calm and free in the safe 
 Haven : the Light ever burns with its cheering 
 ray, saying, as it seems to me, while I think on 
 it 
 
 " ' Come unto Me, and I will give you rest.' "
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 PHOSBE'S HOME. 
 
 HILE Maggie and her father were learn- 
 ing the great lesson of finding life and 
 safety in Jesus, Phcebe had been find- 
 ing out how much help she needed even in the 
 little things. 
 
 One morning, a few days before the events of 
 the last chapter, young Mrs. Benson was passing 
 with a basket of clothes through her passage, and 
 saw Phcebe standing in the parlour window read- 
 ing a book. 
 
 " Phcebe," she said, " before you go to school, 
 you must sweep up this room better than that." 
 
 " Why, mother, I did it before breakfast." 
 
 " Your doing ain't my ideas of doing," said her 
 mother ; " so you must do it again." 
 
 She went out, leaving Phoebe in the midst of 
 the floor. 
 
 " I don't see as it's not right," she said to her-
 
 60 Out in the Storm. - 
 
 self, with a frown; "mother's dreadfully par- 
 ticular." 
 
 She glanced at the little clock over the mantel- 
 shelf. It wanted just a quarter of an hour to 
 school-time, and she had counted on finishing a 
 story-book which had been lent her. In fact, 
 this had been the cause of her having neglected 
 to do the room properly; she had been peeping 
 in it, and then going on with her sweeping 
 between whiles. 
 
 Phosbe had hardly ever been late at school in 
 her life, and as she now saw the time, she made 
 up her mind it was impossible to get it done 
 before she should have to leave the house. 
 Instead of deciding to do the best she could, she 
 walked over to the fire to examine the clock 
 more closely. 
 
 " I can never do it in the time," she said to 
 herself. " I'm sure mother could not have known 
 how late it was." 
 
 So after standing discontentedly for a minute 
 or two, she went to find her. 
 
 " Mother ! " she called out in the passage in 
 rather a vexed little voice. 
 
 No answer. 
 
 " Mother ! " called Phoebe again. 
 
 Then when no reply came, she remembered that 
 . her mother did not allow them to call about the
 
 Phoebe's Home. 61 
 
 house to her. So she ran upstairs to see if she 
 were there. She searched in the four little rooms 
 and came down again, running into the kitchen 
 and scullery in turn, to find no one there. 
 
 " I say," exclaimed her brother Dick, who was 
 putting on his hat and preparing to start, " ain't 
 you a'most ready, Phoebe ; you'll be late ! " 
 
 " I know I shall ; where's mother.? " 
 
 By this time Phoebe was nearly crying. 
 
 " I saw her go up the garden ever so long 
 ago. Yes, there she is, standing behind that big 
 sheet ; don't you see her skirts ? I'm off now ; 
 I can't wait for you. What's kep' you so long ? " 
 
 But Phoebe was half up the garden. "Mother!" 
 she called, " did you know it was so late ? I 
 shan't have time to do the room before school ; 
 can't I do it when I come home ? " 
 
 " No," answered the mother. 
 
 " But why ? " asked Phoebe ; " I shall have 
 plenty of time then, and " 
 
 "You can't neglect things, my dear, one 
 time, and then make up by doing 'em another 
 time!" 
 
 " But I've nothing to do at twelve, mother, 
 except to take Tommy out, and he can stay 
 along with me." 
 
 " I know," answered Mrs. Benson, coming 
 round the sheet and putting the pegs in her
 
 62 Out in the Storm. 
 
 apron-pocket; "but all the same for that, I 
 mustn't let you do so." 
 
 " But I've never been late at school this long 
 time not once this year, I do believe." 
 
 Her mother did not answer, but put her hand 
 quietly on Phoebe's shoulder and looked into her 
 face in silence. 
 
 The little girl turned away hastily and rushed 
 back into the house. She seized the broom from 
 its nail and hastened into the front room. She 
 threw herself on her knees and proceeded to 
 sweep desperately, while blinding tears of anger 
 and vexation prevented her seeing where she was, 
 or what she was about. 
 
 A sudden blow on her forehead arrested her, 
 and brought her to herself. A projecting corner 
 of her mother's little chiffonier, which in her im- 
 patience she had been too angry to see, had struck 
 her, and before she had time to realise what it 
 was, she found herself sobbing and crying as if 
 her heart would break. 
 
 The broom fell out of her hand, and she sat 
 disconsolately on the middle of the floor, her 
 hurt head the most distinct grief in her mind, 
 but with a feeling that she was the most un- 
 happy little girl in the world. 
 
 By and by her mother came in, and exclaimed 
 on seeing her
 
 Phoebe s Home. 63 
 
 " Why, Phoebe, not gone yet ? " then advanc- 
 ing further into the room, " What ails you, my 
 dear ? " 
 
 " I've hurt my head," said Phoebe piti- 
 fully. 
 
 " How did you manage that ? " said her mother, 
 wondering at the unusual sight of Phoebe crying 
 over a knock. 
 
 But Phoebe took up her broom and went on 
 sweeping, gulping down her tears as best she 
 might. Her mother left the room, and came 
 back with a wet rag which smelled sweetly of 
 Calendula. In silence she placed it on the 
 bump on Phoebe's forehead, and then, thinking 
 that solitude would be best for her little girl, she 
 went back into her kitchen. 
 
 At last, the room was done, and Phoebe came 
 through to put the brush away. She took a 
 duster in her hand, and as she was turning away 
 she said 
 
 " Need I go to school, as it's so late, mother ? " 
 
 " Oh yes, Phoebe." 
 
 Poor little Phoebe's hard angry feelings were 
 not gone yet, and she hastily dusted the room 
 and ran off, forgetting all about her ugly fore- 
 head in her anxiety to get to school as soon as 
 possible. 
 
 Her mistress's first word of concern brought
 
 64 Out in the Storm. 
 
 back the remembrance, and she quickly put up 
 her hand. 
 
 "Yes, I knocked it just before I came out." 
 
 " Was that what made you so late ? " asked the 
 mistress kindly. 
 
 Phoebe hesitated, blushed, and then answered, 
 raising her eyes to her teacher's face, "No, 
 ma'am." 
 
 Her mistress was troubled at Phoebe's hesita- 
 tion, for the bright little girl was a great favourite, 
 and she could not bear to think she should have 
 been playing truant. 
 
 " I will speak to you after school," she said at 
 last, looking earnestly in the child's face. 
 
 Phoebe went to her seat, and the day's work 
 proceeded as usual. 
 
 After school the mistress called her into her 
 room. 
 
 " Why were you late, Phoebe Benson ? " she said 
 kindly ; " don't mind speaking out, my dear." 
 
 But Phoebe did not feel as if she could speak 
 out. 
 
 " Were you doing wrong, my dear, or how did 
 that knock come ? " 
 
 " I was sweeping the parlour," said Phoebe. 
 
 " And was that what kept you ? " 
 
 " Yes, ma'am." 
 
 " Did your mother know ? "
 
 Phoebe s Home. 
 
 " Yes, ma'am." 
 
 The mistress looked puzzled, and said hesi- 
 tating, " I wish you'd speak out, Phoebe Benson ; 
 I do not understand you. Is that all the reason 
 you have for being late ? " 
 
 "Yes, ma'am." 
 
 The mistress dismissed her, though she was not 
 perfectly satisfied, and Phoebe turned homewards. 
 She felt out of tune altogether, and she suddenly 
 thought she would walk home by the meadows. 
 They were allowed to do this, as it only took a 
 few minutes longer than going through the town. 
 So she hastened up the solitary lane, and turned 
 into the green field, glad at last to be alone. 
 
 Just as she was thinking this, she almost ran 
 against her brother Dick and another boy, who 
 were standing together under a hedge. 
 
 " Holloa ! " exclaimed Dick, as surprised as 
 she was, and looking rather taken aback. 
 
 " Why, Dick," she said, too astonished to know 
 what to say. 
 
 Her brother turned round to come home with 
 her, saying in a would-be careless tone to his 
 companion, "All right, I understand." 
 
 The boy walked off, not too well pleased at 
 the interruption, and 'Dick and Phoebe proceeded 
 the length of the field in silence. 
 
 " Dick," she said at last severely, " I thought 
 
 E
 
 66 Out in the Storm. 
 
 father had distinctly said as you wasn't to go 
 with that boy." 
 
 " A fellow must have some chaps to be friends 
 with," answered Dick sullenly. " Father forgets 
 as he was young once." 
 
 " I don't believe he does," said Phoebe, feel- 
 ing her face get hot at the remembrance of some 
 words of hers that morning ; for while she had 
 been kneeling in the middle of the parlour floor, 
 sweeping desperately, angry with herself and 
 with her mother, she had muttered 
 
 "Mother forgets as she was young once, or 
 she wouldn't make me late for school like 
 this." 
 
 "Yes," pursued the boy, "you can be sharp 
 enough to come down on me, Phcebe, but you're 
 not always good yerself. I know you was as 
 cross as two pins this very morning." 
 
 " That has nothing to do with this, Dick," 
 said Phcebe. 
 
 But she said it in an altered tone, and Dick 
 knew that in a moment. 
 
 " Now, wasn't you ? " he persisted. 
 
 Phcebe paused. It was a hard struggle to 
 confess herself in the wrong to this young 
 brother; but a sudden thought of Whose she 
 was, enabled her to do it, and she answered, 
 , " Yes, I was, Dick."
 
 Phoebe s Home. 67 
 
 She sat down on a bank which was close to 
 them, and there was a minute or two's silence, 
 while Phoebe came back to her soul's resting- 
 place. 
 
 She had meant to be alone and have time to 
 think it all over, and she wanted to be able to 
 go to that precious Saviour and confess the sin- 
 ful thoughts and actions of that sorrowful morn- 
 ing, but instead of that it was all the work of a 
 moment. 
 
 Her Lord had said to her, "Why beholdest 
 thou the mote that is in thy brother's eye, and 
 considerest not the beam that is in thine own 
 eye ? " and here she was humbled, penitent, and 
 forgiven. For she had gone to Him to be 
 washed, and He had said, " Go in peace." 
 
 So at last she said softly, " Dick, I'll tell you 
 something." 
 
 " Well ? " he answered ungraciously. 
 
 " I was cross very cross. First, I was idle, 
 and did not half do my work ; and then I was 
 ever so angry with mother for making me do it ; 
 and then I got this knock, and I said it was 
 mother's fault, and I've been that nasty and 
 horrid all the morning, as I cannot bear to 
 think of it." 
 
 " And yet you can come down on me fast 
 enough."
 
 68 Out in the 
 
 " Not now; Dick ; I'm only awfully sorry as 
 you can do as father bid you not." 
 
 Phcebe's eyes were brimming over at the 
 thought of her own wrong-doing, and Dick felt 
 there was real humility in her voice, and so he 
 said more softly 
 
 " Well, Phoebe, I weren't doing no harm." 
 
 " Don't you think as you were, Dick ? " 
 
 " Not much, at any rate. I didn't mean to do 
 no harm." 
 
 '' But the harm is in not obeying." 
 
 " But you don't always obey ! " 
 
 " No ; I don't say a word about that ; but 
 because I've been wrong to-day, and am very, 
 very often wrong, too, it don't make it a bit 
 more right for you to go against what father 
 said." 
 
 " I thought it 'ud make you feel for me," said 
 Dick. 
 
 " And so it does," answered Phcebe ; " oh, you 
 can't think how much ! But all the same I 
 never wished so much in my life as I was good, 
 so as I might encourage you to be good, Dick." 
 
 " Why do you want me to be good ? " he 
 asked ; " it don't make any difference to you as I 
 can see." 
 
 Phcebe was silent for a moment, looking into 
 the clouds.
 
 Phoebe s Home. 69 
 
 " I don't know as I can say what I mean, 
 Dick ; but for ever so long I've wished more than 
 anything else to please the Lord Jesus, and so I 
 want you to love Him too." 
 
 " Why particularly ? " 
 
 " Because Dick ! if we don't begin to love 
 Him now, we might leave it till too late." 
 
 " Too late for what ? " v 
 
 " To be saved," said Phoebe, turning pale. 
 
 Dick was rather startled, but he rose now, 
 saying, " Well, we'll be late for dinner if we 
 stay any longer." 
 
 Phoebe walked home slowly, her mind not 
 made up as to what she ought to do about Dick's 
 forbidden friend. Just as she was thinking that 
 if she told the Lord Jesus about it, He would see 
 to it, Dick burst out 
 
 "There, Phoebe! I'll do this for yer. I'll 
 not go with him again. There ! " 
 
 "Dear Dick," she exclaimed, infinitely relieved, 
 " I am so glad as you've decided so." 
 
 " All right," he answered a little gruffly ; " but 
 look here, I didn't do it because I was afeared as 
 you'd tell." 
 
 " Oh no, Dick." 
 
 He said no more, and in a moment .they found 
 themselves at home. 
 
 Their mother was getting the dinner ready,
 
 yo Out in the Storm. 
 
 and Phoebe saw with a pang that the cloth was 
 spread on the table, and that her mother had had 
 to do her usual duties as she was not home. 
 She hastened in, and before her mother could say 
 a word, she ran up to her and threw her arms 
 round her neck. 
 
 u Mother, I am so sorry," she whispered, and 
 no more was needed. Her mother returned her 
 embrace warmly, and then said gently 
 
 " Now, Phoebe, my dear, hasten to get father's 
 dinner ; I'm afraid we shall be late."
 
 CHAPTEE VIII. 
 
 AN INVITATION. 
 
 the afternoon of the day on which 
 her father had told them about the 
 lighthouse, when Maggie returned from 
 school she found that Phoebe had forgotten to 
 take back her granny's basin. So she wrapped 
 it up in a piece of paper, and ran round to Mrs. 
 Benson's with it. 
 
 She knocked at the green door, and was 
 admitted by Phoebe herself, who held by the 
 hand her little brother Tommy. 
 
 " I didn't know you was here," said Maggie. 
 
 " We've just come to have tea with granny." 
 
 " Have you ? And I've come to bring back 
 the basin." 
 
 " Why, I left it after all this morning ! 
 Whatever is my head worth I'm so sorry." 
 
 " It don't matter one bit ; but I thought as 
 your granny might be wanting it."
 
 7 2 Out in the Storm. 
 
 Phoebe left her standing on the step while she 
 went into the room with the parcel. Maggie 
 could see through the open door that she ran to 
 her grandmother's side and whispered something 
 very earnestly. Then Mrs. Benson looked to- 
 wards the door and nodded her head, and Phcebe 
 came running back. 
 
 '' Granny says you may stay to tea too, if you 
 like ! " she exclaimed. 
 
 " I ? Oh, thank you ; but " 
 
 " Of course you'll have to ask your mother, I 
 'spose, but that won't take long ; we'll couie 
 with you, Tommy and me, and ask her." 
 
 Maggie's heart beat. She had never been 
 asked out to tea that she could remember. 
 Her mother had "kept themselves to them- 
 selves," as she called it, and had not allowed 
 her child to make any friends. Phcebe Benson 
 had been the only little girl who had entered 
 their doors. 
 
 Maggie knew this, and her expectations were 
 not very high, but she tried to hope as they went 
 quickly along. 
 
 Mrs. Moder was serving some one in the shop 
 and was very busy. 
 
 "Go to Mrs. Benson's to tea!" she echoed; 
 " eh ? mind you're home by seven o'clock, that's 
 all, Maggie."
 
 An Invitation, 73 
 
 " Then I may, mother ? " 
 
 " I'm busy, child, do run off as fast as you 
 can ; caii't you see I have mislaid that piece of 
 
 flannel " 
 
 ' But Maggie was gone before the sentence was 
 finished ; she slipped through the shop and ran 
 upstairs. 
 
 " Father, I'm asked out to tea, but if you want 
 me one bit I'll stay ever so." 
 
 " No, no," he answered ; " you won't be late, I 
 daresay ? " 
 
 " Oh, no, but " 
 
 " You need not hurry, child. I shall be all 
 right. I feel better to-night." 
 
 This was such good news, that Maggie's feet 
 danced along the pavement, while Phoebe's feet 
 had to dance to match them. Little Tommy, 
 between them, nearly flew, his light toes hardly 
 touched the ground. 
 
 They soon reached Mrs. Benson's door, and 
 Phoebe turned the handle and entered. 
 
 The carpenter stood before the fire talking to 
 his wife, and tea was spread out on the table, 
 while a smell of hot muffins greeted their senses 
 pleasantly. 
 
 " Put your things on this peg in the scullery," 
 said Phoebe, going on before and taking off 
 Tommy's hat and hanging it up with her own.
 
 74 Out in the Storm. 
 
 " Granny's very particular about her room ; ain't 
 you, granny ? " 
 
 Mrs. Benson answered her smile with a rarely 
 sweet one, while she said, " You be saucy to- 
 night, Phoebe ! " 
 
 " That's 'cause I love being here, granny," 
 she answered. 
 
 " Tommy 'oves being here," echoed the little 
 boy. 
 
 " And I love having you," answered his kind 
 granny, taking his soft little hand to lead him 
 to a high chair which was kept on purpose for 
 him. 
 
 Tommy knew just where he was to sit and 
 what he was to do. He rested his two little 
 hands before him on the table, and leant against 
 them, while he waited for his grandfather to 
 ask a blessing. He and Phoebe would as soon 
 have thought of going without their meal as to 
 sit down to eat without thanking Him who 
 gave it. 
 
 Phcebe drew her chair up close to her little 
 brother, and after a glance at her grandmother, 
 she placed one for Maggie on the other side of 
 him. 
 
 Tommy had taken a fancy to Maggie, and put 
 out his hand invitingly. " This is for zoo," he 
 said ; which little sentence made Maggie feel at
 
 An Invitation. 75 
 
 home, and she advanced to her place with less 
 shyness. 
 
 " Come along, grandfa'ver I " said the little 
 fellow, " 'cause we can't begin without a b'essing ! " 
 
 The carpenter came forward to comply with 
 the child's request, and then seated himself by his 
 wife. 
 
 " Here we are, a happy party, to be sure," he 
 said, stretching his hand out for hers which rested 
 on the tray. " Why, grandmother, muffins, have 
 you got for us ! " 
 
 "Didn't you smell them and see them long 
 ago, grandfather ? " asked Phcebe, laughing. 
 
 " No, I can't say as I did." 
 
 " Grandfa'ver was thinkin'," said Tommy. 
 
 " Well, I was, my little man," answered Mr. 
 Benson. 
 
 " I wish I had a little brother like that," 
 Maggie ventured to say, very softly, across the 
 little curly head to Phcebe. 
 
 Phcebe glanced down lovingly. " Yes, I can't 
 tell you how we all love him." 
 
 " What do you do at home of evenings ? " asked 
 Maggie. 
 
 "After tea I help mother put Tommy and 
 baby to bed, and then I wash up the tea-things, 
 and then I learn my lessons." 
 
 " When do you get done those ? "
 
 Out in the Storm. 
 
 " Oh, about seven o'clock, and when I have 
 done, I run round to granny's." 
 
 " Yes," answered Mrs. Benson, " and after she 
 has helped me in a few little things, she sits 
 down with me and learns to knit." 
 
 " Do you ? " said Maggie ; " I wish / could 
 knit ; it seems so difficult to me." 
 
 " Why, it's easy, now I know it ; then while I 
 knit I sing to grandmother." 
 
 " Sing ? " echoed Maggie again. 
 
 " Yes, all the hymns and tunes I know ; ' it 
 lightens her up,' she says." 
 
 " So it does," answered Mrs. Benson ; " it seems 
 to bring the thought of heaven nearer." 
 
 " I know what you're talkin' about," said the 
 child, with a loving little nod, and pointing up to 
 heaven, " it's about Jesus." 
 
 " Yes, Tommy knows, " added his grandfather ; 
 " and, children, I'll tell you one thing, if we know 
 about Jesus, it's above all other knowing in the 
 world ! Why, if I only knew how to carpenter, 
 would that be any good when I come to die ? " 
 
 " And it ain't only dying," added Mrs. Benson, 
 "it's living too. If He loved us and died for 
 us, ought we not to love Him and live for His 
 glory?" 
 
 Maggie was very silent, taking it all in with 
 astonishment. She had never heard anything
 
 An Invitation. 77 
 
 like this before, and new and strange thoughts 
 were running through her mind. 
 
 Then it was Jesus who must have said that 
 "come," which had so comforted her father; for 
 even this darling little ehild said it was Jesus 
 the) 7 were talking about. 
 
 AVhen tea was over, the children helped 
 Mrs. Benson to clear the table and wash the 
 cups, and after that the carpenter said he sup- 
 posed they wanted a game of " blind man ? " 
 
 The children joyfully assented, and Phoebe 
 pushed back the table and placed the chairs 
 against the wall. 
 
 Mr. Benson took off his coat and stood wait- 
 ing in the middle of the room, and when he saw 
 the children ready, he closed his eyes up very 
 tight, and made a rush, at them. 
 
 Of course they retreated into the corners and 
 ran in every direction, while grandfather managed 
 to catch the little skipping Tommy far oftener 
 than was his share, at which his eyes sparkled 
 gleefully. 
 
 When the girls had been caught at last, Mr. 
 Benson said he must go to his work, and their 
 grandmother sat down to her knitting. 
 
 " Phoebe," she said, " will you and Maggie sing 
 me a hymn, and then it will be time to go home, 
 I think ? "
 
 78 Out in the Storm. 
 
 Tommy seated himself at his granny's knee, 
 and looked on soberly while the two little girls 
 settled what they both knew, and then they 
 began to sing. 
 
 " There's a Friend for little children 
 Above the bright blue sky." 
 
 When they had sung to the end, Phoebe 
 kissed her grandmother and grandfather, and 
 fetching their hats from the peg, the three 
 children were ready to go. 
 
 "It was very kind of you to have me," said 
 Maggie, as she stood by the old woman, raising 
 her eyes full of the thanks she did not know 
 how to express. 
 
 " I have been very glad, dear," answered 
 Mrs. Benson, stooping to kiss her too. " Good- 
 bye, dear."
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 SAFE IN THE HARBOUR. 
 
 HEN" Maggie got home she found her 
 mother sitting upstairs, putting the 
 finishing stitches to her dress, and 
 her father propped up in his chair by the fire, 
 with his eyes resting on the open Bible. He 
 looked exceeding weary, and his face was drawn 
 with pain, while the perspiration stood on his 
 forehead with the effort he was making. 
 
 "Is that you, Maggie?" he said wearily; "come 
 along, child, and sit down and read to me. I'm 
 no hand at finding the place, more's the pity, 
 and it's too much for me too much for me 
 altogether." 
 
 He closed his eyes, but Maggie noticed that 
 his face was troubled. She looked down on the 
 book to see if anything there might do him good, 
 but she did not recognise the place ; it appeared 
 to be. nothing but hard names, and words she 
 could not understand.
 
 8o Out in tJie Storm. 
 
 "Shall I turn to where we was last night, 
 father ? " she asked. 
 
 " If you can light upon it," he whispered. 
 
 " Oh, I think I can, father ; it's Luke, three- 
 quarters through the book." 
 
 Maggie turned the leaves as near as she could 
 guess, and after some little searching, and a de- 
 cided flutter at her heart, the fifteenth chapter 
 of Luke really lay open before her. 
 
 " Shall I begin it, father ? " 
 
 "Yes, go straight on and read right through. 
 I'd like to hear once more what He says to 
 sinners." 
 
 So Maggie read all about the woman losing 
 the piece of silver and sweeping until she found 
 it ; and about the lost sheep, which the shepherd 
 searched for until he found it. 
 
 Her father listened with profound attention, 
 uttering a broken " Ay, ay," as she slowly read 
 out the words. 
 
 Mrs. Moder's needle flew in and out of her work 
 with a hasty click, which Maggie knew meant 
 that she was dissatisfied with what was going on, 
 but she said not a word. Then Maggie came upon 
 the story of the prodigal son, who wandered 
 so long and hopelessly, who was so hungry 
 and forlorn, who had spent all and was so very, 
 very far off. As she read the words, "I will
 
 Safe in the HarBour. 8 1 
 
 arise, and go to my Father," and of that Father's 
 yearning tenderness in receiving his lost son, the 
 sick man's tears rolled down his cheeks one by 
 one. Maggie read on to the end, and then looked 
 up. 
 
 " Father," she said, " if it makes you sad, shall 
 Heave off?" 
 
 " It don't make me sad, child ; it makes me 
 more glad than ever I've been in my life. That's 
 just like what He's said to me, ' found.' I could 
 never have believed He'd have taken so much 
 trouble ; but He has, and it's like my picture 
 as I was telling you about : ' Out in the storm,' 
 ' safe in the harbour ' ' lost and found.' " 
 
 Maggie rose and stood before the fire with her 
 little hands crossed in front of her, gazing into 
 the bright flame thoughtfully. 
 
 "It's time for bed now," said her mother 
 sharply. 
 
 " Kiss me first, my child ; it won't be long 
 not long now." 
 
 " Father, don't say so," exclaimed Maggie tear- 
 fully. 
 
 "Why, child," he answered, "I don't mind 
 how soon it is ; I'm safe in the harbour ! " 
 
 Maggie dimly understood. Her little, igno- 
 rant heart, too, had gone out to that mighty 
 Saviour. He had been searching for her, and 
 
 F
 
 82 Out in the Storm. 
 
 had found her ; and though as yet she knew but 
 little of His love, for all that He was to her a 
 living Person who had helped her in her dire 
 need. v 
 
 So she kissed her father with a comforting 
 sense that he was loved and cared for by One who 
 was far wiser and stronger than she was ; and she 
 went up to bed with a heart at rest. 
 
 Mrs. Moder got up directly Maggie was gone, 
 and prepared for her husband to go to bed, for 
 she saw he was greatly exhausted. 
 
 "You'd better have yer beef- tea before you 
 get into bed," she said, placing it by his 
 side-. 
 
 His trembling hand could hardly hold the cup, 
 and when he had taken a few sips, he pushed it 
 from him with a smile. 
 
 "Wife, it's little more of that sort I shall 
 want." 
 
 " You'll be better to-morrow." 
 
 " Yes, I hope so," he answered. 
 
 There was something she did not like in that 
 reply, something which made her heart sink 
 down and down; so she answered a little 
 hastily 
 
 " What do you mean by being safe in the 
 harbour ? " 
 
 " I mean Jesus" he said.
 
 Safe in the Harbour. 83 
 
 " It's a strange change," she answered, " from 
 what you was a week ago ! " 
 
 " It's all the difference in the world, between 
 being lost and found" 
 
 She was stooping down to help him to rise 
 from his chair, and as he placed his hand on her 
 shoulder, she found a kiss imprinted on her fore- 
 head. But to her surprise, the hand upon her 
 shoulder loosened its grasp, and the form she was 
 supporting fell back heavily. Without a struggle, 
 without a sigh, his spirit had passed to that 
 Saviour who had sought and found him.
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 " 'APPY NOW." 
 
 ARLY the next morning, a little step 
 came down the stairs, and a little face 
 peeped cautiously into the bedroom. 
 
 But something strange struck Maggie's eyes. 
 The fire was laid, but not lighted ; the room was 
 perfectly neat, not a shred lay on the carpet, not 
 a chair was out of its place ; no breakfast was 
 prepared on the table, but a green cloth, only 
 used for very best, was spread there instead. 
 Maggie could hear her mother stirring about in 
 her usual morning occupation of sweeping the 
 shop and making all things ready for customers, 
 so there Was no doubt about her being up; but 
 the curtains drawn along that side of the four- 
 post bedstead hid her father from view. 
 
 " How quietly he must be sleeping," thought 
 Maggie, as she noiselessly crept across the room,
 
 " 'Appy Now" 85 
 
 and she began to -wonder how it was his breath- 
 ing seemed so very much better. 
 
 When she stood by the table she could see 
 her father's form in the bed, but she felt startled 
 that he should be so very still, and advanced 
 quickly to his side. She uncovered his face with 
 tender fingers, and wondering who could have 
 covered him up like that when he was asleep, 
 she sat down by his side to wait. 
 
 Maggie had never seen death, and, though her 
 father looked much worse than she had ever known 
 him, she imagined if she waited long enough he 
 would wake up and speak to her. But she 
 waited very long, and still he did not move ; 
 at last, frightened at herself, but feeling she 
 must do something, she bent and kissed his 
 cheek. 
 
 Never had his face felt like that before ; she 
 started back terribly alarmed. Was that come, 
 which had been coming ? And he left all alone ! 
 Oh, that was a dreadful thought ; what if he had 
 missed her, had wanted her ! 
 
 She could not bear the thought, and fled down- 
 stairs to her mother. 
 
 " Mother, mother," she gasped, " there's some- 
 thing the matter with father ; I'm sure there is. 
 Do come up." 
 
 Her beseeching eyes were raised to her mother's
 
 86 Oiit in the Storm. 
 
 pale face, and, when she saw the stony look there, 
 she began to tremble all over. 
 
 " I know," answered her mother, going on with 
 her work. 
 
 " But can't anything be done ? won't you go 
 to him ? " 
 
 " It's no use," answered Mrs. Moder. 
 
 Maggie turned away, and went slowly upstairs 
 again. 
 
 Why would not her mother tell her what was 
 the matter with father ? A new thought struck 
 her. She would run for the doctor, if her mother 
 would but let her. 
 
 So she ran down quickly, hope once more 
 entering her heart. She found her mother set- 
 ting the breakfast in the little parlour. 
 
 " May I go for the doctor ? " asked Maggie, 
 " it might do him good." 
 
 "What nonsense, child, nothing can do him 
 good now ; he's dead." 
 
 " Dead ! " said Maggie, turning away hope- 
 lessly. She had a little canary onqe which had 
 been found one winter's morning lying in the 
 bottom of its cage. She remembered taking it out 
 and holding it in her hand ; she remembered how 
 cold and stiff it had been ; she remembered how it' 
 had never moved any more. Her mother had said 
 then, "You can't do him any good now, he's dead."
 
 "'Appy Now" 87 
 
 All this came back to her as she stood by the 
 table. At last she turned silently and went up 
 once more to her father's room. 
 
 She climbed up on the bed and laid her head 
 on his pillow, resting her warm little cheek 
 against the icy cold one. 
 
 " father, father ! " she murmured, " I wish 
 you could speak to me ; can't you speak to 
 me ? " 
 
 But no answer could come from those closed lips, 
 and Maggie put her arm about his neck in vain ; 
 the only sounds in that still room were her 
 passionate sobs and entreaties. 
 
 Her mother's voice roused her at last. " Come, 
 child," she said, "you must have something to 
 eat ; it's no good fretting so." 
 
 Maggie found herself lifted off the bed and 
 carried downstairs in her mother's strong arms. 
 Mrs. Moder placed her in a chair by the parlour 
 fire, and put a cup of hot tea in her hand. The 
 child drank some mechanically, and was revived 
 by the warmth. The fire, too, began to take 
 effect on her chilled little frame, and though she 
 still shivered, she raised her head and looked at 
 her mother. 
 
 " Won't you have some breakfast, mother ? " 
 she said. 
 
 " I can't eat, child," said her mother, sitting
 
 88 Out in the Storm. 
 
 as Maggie had never seen her sitting before 
 with her hands folded dejectedly in her 
 lap. 
 
 " Mother," said Maggie, coming to her side 
 timidly, and placing her hand on her shoulder, 
 " I have just thought of something." 
 
 Mrs. Moder did not answer or take any notice 
 of the trembling touch. 
 
 " He said," pursued Maggie, " as he was safe 
 in the harbour ; and he seemed very glad, so 
 perhaps he don't want us as much now as I've 
 been thinking." 
 
 " I don't know," answered her mother. 
 
 " But he said so, didn't he ? " 
 
 "Yes, 'he said so." 
 
 The cold calm face continued to be turned 
 away from the little comforter. 
 
 " Mother," Maggie went on softly, " I've often 
 been tiresome to you, but I'm awful sorry now ; 
 will you let me try to be good ? " 
 
 " Maggie, Maggie ! " exclaimed the poor 
 woman, bursting into tears and holding out 
 her arms at last, " if only he could come 
 back ! " 
 
 They wept together for a long, long time, the 
 child folded in arms that had never embraced 
 her since she had been a baby. Perhaps the 
 mother was realising how much she had missed ;
 
 " 'Appy Now" 89 
 
 the child was thinking that there was joy even 
 in such sorrow. 
 
 " Mother," she whispered presently, " Jesus 
 our Saviour really does hear us when we speak 
 to Him." 
 
 " How do you know ? " 
 
 " Because each time He's sent me an answer." 
 
 " How can He ? " asked Mrs. Moder, raising 
 her head and wiping her eyes. 
 
 " That I don't know ; only somehow He does, 
 mother. Father asked Him, and I've asked Him, 
 and I know" 
 
 Mrs. Moder shook her head, though she did 
 not seem to mind Maggie's saying it. 
 
 By and by she rose to clear away the break- 
 fast. " I'll think about it, child," she said ; " but 
 it's all dark to me." 
 
 Maggie stood before the fire feeling very for- 
 lorn and miserable ; she knew it must be getting 
 near school-time, but she supposed she need not 
 go to school. 
 
 " Can I help ? " she said, turning round and 
 noticing her mother's pale set face. 
 
 "Yes, you must answer the shop while I go 
 out," answered Mrs. Moder ; " you'll not mind 
 being left alone ? " 
 
 " Oh no, mother." 
 
 " I shall be back as soon as I can."
 
 go Out in the Storm. 
 
 " But ain't you going to take down the shutters, 
 mother ? " 
 
 " No, let them bide ; if any one wants anything 
 they can have it, but I shan't have the shutters 
 took down." 
 
 So Maggie was left alone. Her tears had all 
 been shed, and she set about seeing what there 
 was to do. 
 
 She brushed up the hearth, dusted the room, 
 and then went into the shop. How miserable it 
 all looked in the dim light which made its way 
 through the little glass door. She sat down 
 behind the counter, because she had nothing 
 alse to do, and waited wearily. 
 
 How she longed for the sound of that cough 
 once more, or the heavy breathing which had 
 been its accompaniment night and day for so 
 long! 
 
 And then the thought came over her, that 
 perhaps her dear father was well of that cough 
 and had no more suffering where he was. She 
 had heard about people going to heaven, and 
 she supposed that must be where her father 
 was. 
 
 
 
 These thoughts made her cry once more, but 
 they were peaceful tears too ; for how could she 
 be sorry when he was glad ? At least she 
 thought she oudit not to be.
 
 In the grass, which was only just beginning to get green, a tiny buttercup 
 jieeped out." Page 114.
 
 Now" 93 
 
 Just then the glass door opened, and Phoebe 
 and her little brother came in. 
 
 " Maggie ! " she exclaimed, coming round 
 the counter and throwing her arms round her 
 neck, " I am so dreadfully sorry." 
 
 Maggie cried still more at the loving sym- 
 pathy, and then she sat down again and took 
 Tommy on her knee, feeling as if to press him 
 in her arms was the greatest solace she could 
 have. 
 
 Tommy understood that there was grief, and 
 twined his arms lovingly round her neck. 
 
 " You said he did love Jesus, didn't you ? " 
 said Phoebe gently. 
 
 "Yes oh yes. He said he was safe in the 
 harbour that Jesus received sinners. I'm sure 
 he loved Him ! " 
 
 "Then he's happy now," said Phoebe conn- 
 
 
 
 dently. 
 
 " He's 'appy now," echoed Tommy, raising his 
 little eyes to Maggie's, " 'cause he loves Jesus." 
 
 Maggie knew but little yet about Jesus, but 
 these assurances gave her infinite comfort. Many 
 little children who have been to Sunday-school 
 all their lives know all about being sinners and 
 Jesus dying to save them from their sins, and 
 all about going to heaven if their sins have 
 been washed away in His precious blood. But
 
 94 Out in the Storm. 
 
 Maggie had never been taught these things; 
 beyond the bare name, she Had never heard 
 about Him till the last few days. 
 
 Yet, in those few days she had learned what 
 some children better taught have never learned, 
 that Jesus loved her, and gave Himself for her. 
 This knowledge, imperfect as it was as yet, was 
 enough to carry her through all the storms of 
 life, safe home to glory at last.
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 ALONE. 
 
 OULD that long weary day never pass 
 away ! Maggie sat in the cold shop, or 
 went and stood by the little parlour 
 fire in forlorn solitude. 
 
 Her mother came back after a time, and by 
 and by a man called, and Mrs. Moder went up 
 with him to the chamber of death. After that, 
 when he was gone, things went on much as usual, 
 except that they sat down in the darkened little 
 parlour, instead of up in her father's room. 
 
 A few customers came in, more than usual, 
 Maggie thought, but her mother did not stay 
 to gossip with any of them to-day. Her face 
 stopped the inquiries that would otherwise have 
 been plentiful. She served them with the trifles 
 they required, and if any one asked in an awed 
 whisper " if he was gone ? " she merely bowed 
 her head in answer.
 
 Out in the Storm. 
 
 " Were it very sudden at the end ? " one of 
 her neighbours ventured to ask, and she re- 
 plied coldly, " He died at eight o'clock last 
 night." 
 
 So the day wore away, and early in the even- 
 ing Mrs. Moder told Maggie she was coming up 
 to sleep in her room, and that they would shut 
 the shop and go to bed at once. 
 
 "Mother," said Maggie, "may I read to you 
 them words he liked so, what gave him comfort ? " 
 
 " I can't bear no reading, child." 
 
 " Could you let me say that one to you, that 
 I don't know where it is, only I can say it. I 
 did say it to him, and it was then he asked 
 Jesus to give us rest." 
 
 " Well, say it if you like, child ; I don't 'spose 
 it'll do me good." 
 
 " ' Come unto Me, all ye that labour and are 
 heavy laden, and I will give you rest,'" said 
 Maggie. 
 
 " Well, now, child, if you're satisfied, we'll go 
 to bed." 
 
 Maggie felt far from satisfied, for it grieved 
 her little heart to see her mother's face of silent 
 grief; but she did not know what more to do for 
 her, so she hastened upstairs. 
 
 As she came to her father's door she paused : 
 then stepped softly in and put down the candle
 
 Alone. 97 
 
 on the table. Suddenly she thought of some- 
 thing. She had been cherishing a geranium for 
 months, and it had just sent out one lovely 
 flower. She hastened to the window where it 
 stood, and plucked it ; then she crept softly to 
 the bed and placed it on her father's breast. 
 When she had given one kiss on the cold cheek, 
 she hurried away lest her mother should mind 
 her being there. 
 
 She had never been taught to pray to God 
 every morning and evening, but she had a vague 
 idea that some people did ; she thought she had 
 seen pictures of it. So, feeling a great need of 
 comfort, and having found that there was deepest 
 peace in coming to Jesus, she knelt down and 
 told Him just how sad she was and how sad her 
 mother was. Then she got into bed and, wearied 
 with much sorrow, fell asleep. 
 
 It was some hours after that she was wakened 
 by a stifled sound of weeping, and then Maggie 
 recognised her mother's voice close to her side. 
 
 "Poor mother," said she pityingly, raising 
 herself to put her arms round her, as she had 
 clasped little Tommy, " Jesus is sorry for you. 
 I've told Him all about us, and He knows now." 
 
 " Ah, child, child ! " was all Mrs. Moder could 
 answer. 
 
 " He says, ' Come to Him,' " persisted Maggie, 
 
 G
 
 98 Oitt in the Storm. 
 
 " and father came, and I came, and now, mother, 
 do you come. He does give rest." 
 
 The poor woman's sobs subsided while she 
 listened to the soothing little voice, and Maggie 
 finding this, went softly on, repeating that one 
 text over and over, till she heard her mother's 
 breath come and go quietly, and then she knew 
 that she was asleep. 
 
 The next few days passed on with but little 
 variation, her mother being very silent, but al- 
 lowing Maggie to do many little trifles for her 
 which before she would have refused. They 
 were days of peace to Maggie. When her 
 mother did not want her, she crept up to that 
 still room, sat down at the little table, and 
 opened the big Bible. 
 
 Slowly she would read to herself in a low 
 whisper the words of the sacred book, beginning 
 at the loved chapter which had been her father's 
 solace, and continuing page after page till she 
 got to the end. 
 
 When she came to the 43rd verse of the 23rd 
 chapter, and read the words " To-day shalt thou 
 be -with Me in paradise," her eyes shone with 
 joy, and she went over and gazed upon her 
 father's face with new happiness. 
 
 " Then he is safe and happy," she murmured. 
 " Oh, I'm so glad, so glad ; I wish I'd read that
 
 Alone. 99 
 
 to him before, but he knows now ; oh, I'm so 
 glad ! " 
 
 " What are you so glad about ? " asked her 
 mother, who had come in and was standing by 
 the coffin on the other side. She spoke low, 
 and looked with wonder at the little girl. 
 
 " See here, mother," whispered Maggie, pulling 
 her forward to the book, and pointing with her 
 little finger ; " I thought as he was safe and 
 happy, but now I know it ! I've read all on to 
 here, and every word of it is that same sort of 
 thing about receiving sinners. I wish as you'd 
 let me read it to you." 
 
 " Well, there's no call for you to sit up here 
 in the cold, child ; bring the book downstairs 
 and we'll see.'"' 
 
 "Oh, I don't mind the cold, mother; but I'd 
 like to bring it down, if you'd let me." 
 
 Mrs. Moder said no more, but Maggie knew 
 no second permission was needed. 
 
 So that evening, when her mother sat down to 
 her work, she placed the Bible on a chair close 
 to the fire, and fetching a low stool from the 
 shop, on which her mother used to stand to 
 reach anything, she seated herself and opened 
 the leaves. 
 
 Mrs. Moder stitched away at the black work, 
 while Maggie stumbled along over the blessed
 
 ioo Out in the Storm. 
 
 words. She could' read it better than she had 
 been able to do that first day, but still it was 
 very poor reading. Mrs. Moder made no remark, 
 but listened in silence, and tear after tear rolled 
 into her lap. 
 
 Maggie began at the I 5th chapter of Luke, 
 feeling more at home there than in any other 
 place, and consequently, as it was not new to her, 
 she read it with more appreciation of its beauty. 
 
 When at last she grew weary, her mother spoke. 
 
 " It's very nice, child," she said, " and I like 
 it better than I thought I should ; but it ain't 
 meant for me." 
 
 " Ain't it ? " asked Maggie, wondering. 
 
 " No," answered Mrs. Moder decidedly. 
 
 " I thought it was meant for everybody, mother," 
 said Maggie, hesitating j " but perhaps it's only, as 
 father said, meant for sinners." 
 
 Mrs. Moder gave a quick glance at the child's 
 face, but the unconscious puzzled look there made 
 her turn away without speaking. 
 
 " I wish I knew," said Maggie after a pause. 
 
 " Knew what ? " 
 
 " Whether anybody but sinners may come to 
 Him." 
 
 Mrs. Moder was silent. 
 
 The next day was arranged for the funeral. 
 At twelve o'clock Maggie was dressed in her
 
 Alone. 101 
 
 black frock, and Mrs. Moder told her with an 
 averted face, that if she wanted to go into that 
 room again, she had better do so now. The child 
 gave a startled look at her mother and hastened 
 away. 
 
 By and by Mrs. Moder's footsteps were heard 
 on the stairs, and Maggie hastily pressed one last 
 kiss on the marble brow and hurried from the 
 room, without daring to look back. 
 
 Just as they were ready to start for the ceme- 
 tery, Mr. and Mrs. Benson came to the house. 
 Maggie opened the door to them, and raised her 
 heavy eyes in surprise. 
 
 " Will you ask your mother, my dear," said 
 Mrs. Benson, " if we may walk with you ? I hear 
 she is going alone, and we should like to do it if 
 it would be any comfort." 
 
 The last words were spoken to Mrs. Moder 
 herself, who had followed Maggie to the door. 
 
 " You're very kind," she said stiffly, not 
 knowing how to refuse, and yet wishing they 
 had not asked. 
 
 " I am sure you will feel less lonely," said the 
 old woman kindly, though she perfectly under- 
 stood she was not wanted. 
 
 " Just as you please," said Mrs. Moder ; " will 
 you walk in ? " 
 
 Maggie's little hand was slipped into Mrs. 
 Benson's, and gave hers a grateful squeeze. She
 
 IO2 Out in the Storm. 
 
 noticed that her old friend was dressed in her 
 best, and had a black bonnet and shawl. 
 
 The cemetery was some distance from the 
 town. Maggie walked beside her mother, and 
 old Mr. and Mrs. Benson followed. Everything 
 seemed very strange to the child, and she was 
 very glad when it was .all over. 
 
 Mrs. Moder did not invite Mr. and Mrs. Ben- 
 son to enter the house on their return. 
 
 " I thank you kindly," she said, holding out her 
 hand to them at her door. " You were quite right ; 
 it was better than being alone, but I can't say any 
 more to-day." 
 
 So she and Maggie were shut into the deso- 
 late house. 
 
 After tea, when the child took out the big 
 Bible to read as usual, her mother said, 
 
 " Child, do you remember what you said yes- 
 terday about the book not being meant for me ? " 
 
 " I remember as you said you did not think it 
 was," said Maggie, her old misgivings and per- 
 plexities on the subject rising up again. 
 
 " Well, I've no wish to make myself out better 
 than I am, though I'm not so bad as some of my 
 neighbours. I couldn't say as I'm anything but 
 a sinner." 
 
 " Then that's all right, mother," said Maggie 
 joyfully ; " because father's text was, ' This man 
 receiveth sinners,' so you see it is meant for you."
 
 CHAPTEE XII. 
 THE KING'S MESSENGER. 
 
 WEEK or two after her father's death, 
 Maggie was running home from school, 
 when she was arrested by knocking 
 against some one who was walking briskly in an 
 opposite direction. 
 
 " Why, my child, gently," said the old woman 
 patiently, " little folks should look where they're 
 agoing ! " 
 
 Then Maggie recognised a kind voice, and 
 looked up in old Mrs. Benson's face. 
 
 " It's you, is it, Maggie ? " she said ; " why, I 
 was just thinking about you ! " 
 
 " Thinking about me, ma'am ? " asked Maggie 
 surprised. 
 
 " Yes ; about you and your mother ; how is 
 she, dear ? " 
 
 " I don't know, ma'am ; but I think she's all 
 ridit."
 
 1 04 Out in the Storm. 
 
 "I wanted to ask her something. Is she at 
 home ? " 
 
 " Oh yes, she's always at home now." 
 
 Maggie's lip trembled ; somehow talking to 
 dear old Mrs. Benson touched her heart and 
 brought up old thoughts, and made her realise 
 afresh all she had lost. Yes, her mother was 
 always at home now, as she had said. Poor 
 Mrs. Moder had no heart to go out, and sat 
 behind her counter in silence from morning till 
 night. 
 
 " Then I'll come home with you, my dear. 
 I'm sure you try to comfort your poor mother 
 all you can ? " 
 
 " She don't like me to talk to her," said 
 Maggie. 
 
 " Talking ain't everything, as we often say at 
 home," answered Mrs. Benson ; " but there's other 
 ways of comfort, my child." 
 
 Maggie hung her head; she felt that she 
 could do very little for her mother. 
 
 " You try, don't you, dear ? " 
 
 " Oh yes, ma'am, only I don't know as I do 
 any good." 
 
 " To be sure you do. If you are always look- 
 ing to see what you can please her in, there'll 
 come a time when she'll find out as it's good of 
 the dear Lord to give her a little girl."
 
 The King's Messenger. 105 
 
 Maggie looked up. " Did He give me to 
 mother ? " she asked wondering. 
 
 " Why, to be sure He did ! " 
 
 They turned at this moment into the little 
 shop, and Mrs. Benson greeted Mrs. Moder kindly, 
 asking her if she might come in and sit down for 
 a few minutes. 
 
 Mrs. Moder, though she answered less harshly 
 than she had done on the day when her husband 
 was buried, still replied so coldly, that most 
 people would have been offended and have ceased 
 to care to make friends. 
 
 But Mrs. Benson felt differently from most 
 people. She made very few acquaintances, and 
 never found time for visiting her neighbours for 
 the sake of a little gossip. 
 
 But she could find time to do many a little 
 kindness, to pay many a visit where her loving 
 face and cheerful words would relieve sorrow and 
 bring hope. For she knew her Master's voice, 
 and when He spoke to her and bid her carry a 
 message for Him, straightway she went and 
 did it. 
 
 So to-day she took no notice of Mrs. Moder's 
 stern face and want of welcome, but went forward 
 into the little sitting-room, saying, as she sat 
 down 
 
 " I do not go to strangers very much, Mrs.
 
 io6 Out m the Storm. 
 
 Moder, but I do not feel you a stranger, knowing 
 your dear little daughter." 
 
 Mrs. Moder was silent, hardly assenting with 
 a glance. 
 
 "And I do not feel you to be a stranger, 
 seeing that we stood with you at the graveside 
 so lately." 
 
 " That was none of my seeking, ma'am, as you 
 know," she answered coldly, " though, as I said, 
 I was obliged to you afterwards." 
 
 "When I was told to come and see you, I 
 was sure the Friend that sent me knew what He 
 was doing." 
 
 Mrs. Moder looked a little surprised, but also 
 a little angry. 
 
 " I have no friends here," she said, " so I don't 
 see as any one had any right to meddle in my 
 affairs." 
 
 " It was a Friend better than any earthly friend. 
 It was ' the Friend of sinners.' " 
 
 Mrs. Moder started, and then recovering her- 
 self said, as she rose from her chair 
 
 " I'm a person who has been used to be 
 to myself all my life, ma'am, and though I 
 don't wish to be rude to those who mean it 
 kindly, yet I'd a great deal rather you'd let me 
 alone." 
 
 Mrs. Benson rose too, without a shade of
 
 The King's Messenger. 107 
 
 vexation in her sweet gentle face ; she put her 
 hand on Mrs. Moder's arm and said gravely 
 
 " My dear, I'm an old woman, and I'm not going 
 to be vexed with you ; I know too well what a 
 sore wounded heart you've got, and that alone 
 would be enough reason. But there's just one 
 thing I've got to say " 
 
 She paused, and Mrs. Moder felt constrained 
 to look into her face and listen. 
 
 " There's a great King somewhere a great 
 mighty King. 
 
 " And He has servants of all sorts ; poor and 
 rich, old and young ; and He said to one of His 
 old servants the other day, ' Go and take this 
 message to that poor woman who's lost her 
 husband.' " 
 
 Mrs. Moder turned away hastily, and dropped 
 into her chair. 
 
 " And this was the message," pursued Mrs. Ben- 
 son tenderly, " ' I know the thoughts that I think 
 towards you, saith the Lord, thoughts of peace 
 and not of evil,' ' I have loved thee with an ever- 
 lasting love, therefore with loving-kindness have 
 I drawn thee.' " 
 
 " Drawn me ? " said Mrs. Moder in spite of her- 
 self. 
 
 " He drew your husband, didn't He ? " 
 
 " / don't know ! " she answered bitterly.
 
 io8 
 
 Out in the Storm. 
 
 "And He^ drawing you. He's saying to yon 
 at this very moment, ' I have loved thee with an 
 everlasting love ; ' ' God so loved the world, that 
 He gave His Son.' " 
 
 When Mrs. Moder looked up, she found herself 
 alone ; the King's messenger had gone.
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 back, 
 
 TWO GRAVES. 
 
 WO or three months passed away. In- 
 stead of the biting winter days and 
 leafless trees, warm sunshine had come 
 
 and all the earth looked bright and 
 
 green. 
 
 Phcebe and Maggie were sitting in the ceme- 
 tery together, picking daisies and tying them in 
 wreaths while they talked. 
 
 They had come there that spring afternoon to 
 bring some flowers for two graves. 
 
 Phcebe was dressed in mourning, and her 
 bright little face looked rather more sober than 
 usual, while Maggie's seemed brighter and happier 
 than it had ever been before. 
 
 " I like being here," said Phcebe softly, laying 
 her hand on a little mound whose turf was 
 hardly yet grown green ; " it seems to bring me 
 nearer to him, it is so quiet and peaceful."
 
 1 10 Oiit in the Storm. 
 
 " Yes," answered Maggie thoughtfully, " it is 
 quiet, and in that way it seems to make heaven 
 nearer; but I am glad I don't have to think 
 they're here." 
 
 " So am I," answered Phoebe tearfully ; " but 
 I'm not so good as you, Maggie ; I don't think 
 of heaven as often as you do." 
 
 "Why, I'm not good," exclaimed Maggie; 
 " I'm all sorts of things that are bad ! I'm idle, 
 and I am naughty to mother sometimes, and 
 when she's sharp with me I get cross, and " 
 
 "I daresay you do, but I don't mean that 
 way," answered Phoebe; "but you can't deny 
 it, you do love the Lord Jesus far more than 
 I do." 
 
 "I don't know how to measure love," an- 
 swered Maggie simply ; " but I ought to love 
 Him, for oh, Phoebe, if you could guess how sad 
 and desolate I was afore He found me out ! " 
 
 "Yes, that's" what I mean; you knew how 
 bad it was to be without Him, and so, now He's 
 your best friend." 
 
 " But so He is yours, Phoebe ? " 
 
 " Yes oh, so He is but I don't talk to Him 
 and tell Him everything as you do." 
 
 " But you could if you liked," said Maggie. 
 
 " Does He answer all your prayers ? " asked 
 Phoebe softly.
 
 Two Graves. 1 1 1 
 
 Maggie's countenance fell for an instant as 
 she answered slowly, "Not yet, Phoebe." 
 
 " And you think He will ? " 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "What do you do when He don't answer 
 you ? " 
 
 "I go on asking Him to do it if He don't 
 mind." 
 
 Maggie looked up into the blue sky, and 
 Phoebe's eyes followed hers. 
 
 " / asked Him not to let little Tommy die," 
 said Phoebe sorrowfully. 
 
 "But then, Phoebe," said Maggie gently, 
 "perhaps He thought it was best so." 
 
 " Yes only I loved him better than anything 
 in the world, and I am all miserable now he's 
 gone." 
 
 Maggie knew something of what that loneli- 
 ness of Phoebe's meant ; she could guess at it by 
 what she felt in looking at her father's empty 
 chair; so she did not answer, but her heart 
 ached at the sad tone of the poor little sister's 
 voice. 
 
 "He always loved Jesus, I think," said 
 Phoebe thoughtfully ; " and after he was taken 
 ill he would ask me over and over to say his 
 hymn to him about ' that 'appy place,' as he 
 used to call it. Oh, I wish you could have
 
 1 12 Out in the Storm. 
 
 seen how it comforted him to hear about 
 Jesus ! " 
 
 " Then don't it comfort you too, Phoebe ? " 
 
 "Yes and you mustn't think, Maggie, as I 
 don't love Jesus because I do but " 
 
 " You can't just be happy that He wanted the 
 little darling ! " 
 
 Phoebe's arms rested on her knees, and she 
 laid her head upon them with a sob, as she shook 
 her head. 
 
 " I should like to have seen him and kissed 
 him. once more ; I never knew or heard he was 
 ill; and then you came and told me he was 
 gone." 
 
 " Yes, it was very sudden ; just a violent cold 
 such as he had often had before/' 
 
 " Who taught him . about Jesus ? " asked 
 Maggie gently, longing to hear all particulars, 
 and yet hardly knowing if Phoebe liked to 
 tell. 
 
 " It was granny most, and father. Once 
 Tommy and I had to spend three months with 
 granny, for mother was very ill and could not 
 see after him ; so we went there, and I remember 
 every day granny would take him on her knee, 
 though he was only a bit of a boy, and would 
 tell him ' Jesus loved him.' It was then he 
 learnt to point to Heaven, like you've seen him
 
 Two Graves. 1 1 3 
 
 do ; and I can't tell you how happy he used to be. 
 It was then I first began to love the Lord Jesus." 
 
 " Did your mother teach him too ? " asked 
 Maggie. 
 
 " Sometimes lately. Mother says her long 
 illness made a great difference to her, and she 
 knows now what she never did 'afore." 
 
 Maggie's eyes glistened. " I'm so glad ! " she 
 said. 
 
 But Phosbe laid her head upon her knees 
 again quite dejectedly. 
 
 " What is it makes you so sad ? " asked 
 Maggie ; " is it that you're afraid he ain't happy." 
 
 " No ; oh no ! " 
 
 " Then it's because you're lunely ? " asked the 
 child softly. 
 
 "No it's just this, Maggie. I want him 
 dreadfully sometimes, and I can't be satisfied as 
 my prayer wasn't answered." 
 
 Phoebe spoke low, as if half ashamed to say 
 it ; and yet it was a relief, and her tears fell more 
 quietly. 
 
 " If we ask Jesus," whispered Maggie, bending 
 over her and stroking her hair with loving hand, 
 " He will make you understand, and be glad He's 
 done it." 
 
 " Will He ? asked Phoebe, looking up. 
 
 " I am sure He will, He loves us so." 
 
 H
 
 1 1 4 Out in the Storm. 
 
 The children took up their daisies again and 
 twined them in silence, till two pretty wreaths 
 lay on the two graves beside the spring flowers 
 from their gardens which they had brought with 
 them. 
 
 "Look," exclaimed Phoebe softly, pointing 
 down on the grave. 
 
 In the grass, which was only just beginning 
 to get green, a tiny buttercup peeped out. 
 
 " Oh, don't pick it," said Maggie. 
 
 " It's for father's Bible," answered Phcebe 
 tenderly ; " our little darling loved buttercups so. 
 He always came home with his pockets full of 
 them." 
 
 Then they turned away in silence, and walked 
 home hand in hand ; the knowledge that their 
 two loved ones, whose bodies lay there, were re- 
 joicing in the Paradise of God, took away the 
 sting of death.
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 HARD HEARTS. 
 
 UT poor little Maggie had her own 
 troubles and an unanswered prayer 
 resting on her heart too. Her mother, 
 after the first few days of their sorrow, had re- 
 lapsed into the same cold woman she had been 
 before, and desolate indeed would the child have 
 been, but for the ever-present Saviour on whom 
 she learned to depend the more that she had no 
 one else. 
 
 Sorely as she wished her mother would take 
 her to her heart, yet when she did not, she crept 
 up to her room and knelt down by her bed and 
 told Jesus about it. They were poor little 
 prayers, for Maggie had never learned to pray ; 
 but they were just words straight from her 
 little sorrowful heart, up to that great heart of 
 love which was longing to give her peace and 
 rest.
 
 1 1 6 Out in the Storm. 
 
 So the little prayer that began by telling 
 Him how lonely she was, ended in thanking 
 Him for His comfort ; and then came that 
 earnest entreaty " that He would comfort mother 
 too." 
 
 One day, when she came down from tell- 
 ing Jesus everything, her mother called her 
 into the little parlour, where she was sitting at 
 work. 
 
 " Where have you been, child ? " she asked. 
 
 " Upstairs, mother." 
 
 " What have you been doing there ? ' 
 
 The tone was severe, and Maggie trembled 
 and answered hastily 
 
 "Nothing, mother." 
 
 "Nothing?" said Mrs. Moder, noticing the 
 burning blush that overspread the child's face. 
 
 "At least" 
 
 " There ! " exclaimed her mother, " say not a 
 word more ! I thought, after all your loving 
 Jesus and all that, you'd have been above telling 
 a lie!" 
 
 " mother ! " said Maggie, turning away, cut 
 to the heart at her words. 
 
 " Loving Jesus and all." She went into the 
 shop, hardly knowing what she was doing, and 
 stood at the glass door looking out. " Had she 
 told a lie ? " She Imrdly knew ; she felt she had
 
 Hard Hearts. 1 1 7 
 
 been very wrong not to have spoken out at once ; 
 Tout fear of her mother's anger, and perhaps deri- 
 sion, had made her hesitate, and now she. was 
 actually accused of a lie. 
 
 As she stood and thought it all over, every 
 moment it seemed harder to go and explain it 
 to her mother. No, she could not. So having 
 made up her mind so far, she tried to shake 
 off her miserable feelings, and set about her 
 lessons. 
 
 She walked back into the other room with a 
 hard look on her face, such as it had never worn 
 since that glad day when she had heard the voice 
 of Jesus saying " Come." 
 
 Her mother took no notice of her, and Maggie 
 went over her tasks as industriously as she could. 
 But though her eyes were on the words, her 
 thoughts were far away. 
 
 She was debating with herself as to what she 
 would do. Pride said, " Go on with your 
 lessons as if nothing had happened: you had 
 been doing no harm, and she ought not to have 
 blamed you ; " and Conscience said, " Difficult 
 as it was, the plain straight path would have 
 been to say at once what you had really been 
 doing, no matter if mother had not understood 
 it." 
 
 The battle raged fiercely in her heart, and
 
 1 1 8 Out in the Storm. 
 
 again and again the poor little girl said hope- 
 lessly, " I can't do it, and it's no use." 
 " " It's bedtime," said her mother presently, " go 
 at once, Maggie." 
 
 Not a line had she learned, not a sentence 
 had entered her mind. She closed her book and 
 raised her eyes to her mother's. But they were 
 fixed on her work, and Maggie slowly came round 
 to bid her good-night. 
 
 " Good-night," said her mother gravely, and 
 Maggie kissed the cool cheek which was half 
 turned away. 
 
 Then she took her caudle and went to her 
 room. It was many months now since she had 
 begun the habit of praying night and morning, 
 so she knelt down before she undressed, in her 
 usual way, and then she paused. The battle 
 raged in her heart still, and she could not speak 
 to the holy God while it did, and yet how could 
 she conquer herself ? 
 
 At last the words came over her, " Come unto 
 Me, all ye that labour and are heavy laden," and 
 she knew the voice, and as she heard it, her 
 hard little heart melted, and all at once she 
 realised all the siufulness of the last hour's 
 thoughts. 
 
 She buried her face in her hands, and looked 
 to that tender, pitying Saviour, whose love had
 
 Hard Hearts. 119 
 
 not grown cold because she had been so rebellious ; 
 and as she once more responded to His call, she 
 found the " Eest " He had promised. 
 
 Though Maggie understood very little about 
 the victories He will give if He is trusted, yet 
 she had trusted, and now rose up strong in His 
 strength. 
 
 She ran down to the little parlour again. 
 
 " Mother," she said, coining in and standing 
 before her, " I am so sorry I didn't answer you 
 as I ought to ha' done. Will you forgive me, 
 mother ? " 
 
 Still the grave face looked down at her, and 
 her mother only said 
 
 " Well, what were you doing, then ? " 
 
 " I was praying to the Lord Jesus." 
 
 " And so," said her mother scornfully, " when 
 you've been praying to Him, you come straight 
 away and behave like that. I've seen how 
 cross and angry you've been all the evening ! " 
 
 " I know I have ; I'm awful sorry, mother," 
 said Maggie, choking down the tears which 
 
 OO ' CJ 
 
 would rise up in her eyes, and overflow in spite 
 of her utmost efforts. 
 
 "Well, we'll say no more, then," said Mrs. 
 Moder less harshly, " go to bed now." 
 
 " Won't you kiss me, mother ? " 
 
 " I never did like deceiving," said her mother,
 
 1 20 Out in the Storm. 
 
 stooping to kiss her. " There, don't cry any 
 more." 
 
 But it was a long time before Maggie's tears 
 stopped, though she went up to bed at once, and 
 laid her head on her pillow. 
 
 If her cross angry face had so offended her 
 mother, must it not have grieved her Saviour ? 
 and to have hurt Him who > had loved her and 
 died for her, and given her rest, broke her little 
 heart. 
 
 So it was not till her father's chapter once 
 more came into her mind that she could be at 
 peace. 
 
 " Bring forth the best robe and put it on 
 him," it said ; and with this comforting thought, 
 that all her sins were covered by that " best 
 robe," she slept.
 
 CHAPTEE XV. 
 
 THE STORM. 
 EDSUMMEE came, and with it changes 
 
 O 
 
 in ]\ [aggie's home. 
 
 Mrs. Moder's shop had never been a 
 very successful one, and when the help was 
 gone which her husband's tailoring had been, 
 she began to see that she must do something 
 different if she intended to pay her rent. 
 
 Then arose the question in her mind what 
 she should do. She had no friends in the little 
 town in which they lived, and except that grave 
 there was no tie to the place. 
 
 She had relations in Canada, who were often 
 writing, telling her of their success, and now 
 her thoughts turned towards them. She was 
 too proud to live among her neighbours in 
 altered circumstances, and unable to devise any 
 means of increasing her little trade, she thought 
 emigration would offer a sphere for her energies.
 
 122 Out in the Storm. 
 
 To 3^rs. Moder to decide on a thing was to 
 do it, and before many weeks were over she had 
 sold her business, disposed of her furniture, and 
 she and Maggie were ready to start on their long 
 journey. 
 
 " Mother," Maggie said on the morning of the 
 last day, " may I take * a walk with Phoebe 
 Benson this afternoon ? " 
 
 " A walk ? how ridiculous ! I'm sure we're 
 tired enough without walks." 
 
 " But I did want to go with her once more, 
 mother," said Maggie beseechingly. 
 
 "You can do as you like," answered Mrs. 
 Moder, turning away. 
 
 So Maggie ran round to ask Phoebe if she 
 would come, and to her joy Phoebe's mother 
 gave permission for a walk after tea. 
 
 The days were long, and there was no pleas- 
 anter time ; so by and by the little girls set 
 forth for the last time together. 
 
 They were very silent ; the solemnity of a 
 long parting was upon both their hearts, and 
 when they stood at the graves neither felt in- 
 clined to talk. 
 
 Maggie sat down close to the mound which 
 covered her father's resting-place, and laid her 
 head on the soft grass, while Phoebe stood by 
 hardly knowing if she should speak or be quiet.
 
 77ic Storm. 123 
 
 At last Maggie raised her head and proposed to 
 go home, and Phoebe assented, feeling that she had 
 not been as sympathising as she had meant to be. 
 
 They turned homewards in the still light of 
 the summer evening, Maggie straining her eyes 
 as long as a single peep of the cemetery was to 
 be seen. 
 
 " It's no use saying a lot," said Phoebe at last ; 
 "but it seems to bring back all about little 
 Tommy as fresh as ever. I feel as if it had 
 happened only yesterday." 
 
 " I know," answered Maggie. 
 
 " Somehow, every little child I see, or if I 
 hear of any grief in other people, I live it all 
 again; and yet" 
 
 Her companion took her hand silently, squeez- 
 ing it in both of hers. 
 
 After a few minutes, Phoebe continued 
 
 " But though I'm losing you, Maggie, I've got 
 Jesus. I've come quite round to see as He knew 
 best. He's comforted me more than even little 
 Tommy did, though a while ago I could not 
 have believed He could ! " 
 
 Maggie's eyes glistened, and she looked peace- 
 fully up to the darkening sky, where one or 
 two stars began faintly to glimmer. 
 
 " It's wonderful what He can do," she said. 
 
 " Yes," answered Phoebe.
 
 124 Out in the Storm. 
 
 And so they parted, each having ^with her 
 always that best of Friends. 
 
 Late that night, as Maggie turned over in her 
 sleep, she saw her mother entering in her bonnet 
 and shawl. Her eyes were red with weeping, 
 and Maggie wondered for ever so long where she 
 could have been. But by and by she guessed, 
 and when the cold form lay down by her side she 
 flung her arms round her neck and whispered 
 
 " Mother, mother, it's a good thing he ain't 
 left behind here!" 
 
 "Maggie," said Mrs. Moder in a frightened voice, 
 " wake up, child, there's something dreadful hap- 
 pening. I never heard such thunder." 
 
 It was the middle of the night on the middle 
 of the Atlantic. Maggie started up with a dim 
 sense of fear and horror. 
 
 The other occupants of the cabin were already 
 hurrying on their clothes. Such a storm as this 
 had indeed never happened to them before. As 
 soon as they were dressed they began to try to 
 get on deck. What was their dismay, however, 
 to find that the captain had ordered the hatchways 
 to be fastened down, and a sailor who kept guard 
 on the steps told them, " It were no use hollering, 
 for however loud they hollered, the storm would 
 be louder, and no one could hear."
 
 T/ie Storm. 1 2 5 
 
 So the frightened passengers retreated to their 
 several cabins, and Maggie and her mother pre- 
 pared to follow them. 
 
 " Is it danger ? " asked Mrs. Moder of an old 
 sailor as she passed him. 
 
 He had said lightly, " Keep up heart, my dears," 
 to all the rest, but when he looked into the stern 
 anxious face he paused and answered, " There's 
 always danger in such a storm as this and 
 there's danger in all the storms of life, if we've 
 not got a sure Harbour to run into ! " 
 
 " What do you mean ? " she asked impatiently. 
 
 " Why, ye know, we are out on the open sea, 
 and the thunders roar round us, and the waves 
 roll high as mountains, and, if we were to spring 
 a leak, down we should go for it's a long way 
 off from port. But that's not like Jesus ! We're 
 not a long way off from Him. He's our Har- 
 bour, He's our port ; and, whenever we like, this 
 very moment, no matter how high the waves is, 
 no matter how leaky the ship is, fly to Him we 
 may, and as sure as we fly, safe we are ! " 
 
 Maggie was pressing her mother's icy trem- 
 bling hand all the while the old sailor was speak- 
 ing, and, as he turned to address some one else, 
 she drew her mother into a little corner by the 
 stairs., where a locker stood which afforded a seat. 
 Mrs. Moder mechanically sat down, and
 
 126 Out in the Storm. 
 
 Maggie climbed into her lap. The old sailor's 
 words had broken down all the child's reserve, 
 and the thought that some one else loved and 
 served her Lord gave her courage. 
 
 Mother," she said, clinging round her neck, 
 " mother, can't you do as the old sailor says, fly 
 into the Harbour ? That's what father did just 
 like he said he told me so can't you do it too, 
 mother, and then we'd all be there ? " 
 
 "I'm too wicked," groaned the poor woman, 
 "too full of sins to go to such as Him." 
 
 " Why, mother, He receives sinners," said 
 Maggie, clinging tighter yet, and kissing the stony 
 face over and over ; " and it don't matter how high 
 the waves is, nor how big the leak is, if only 
 you'll fly into the Harbour." 
 
 " Child," said Mrs. Moder solemnly, " it ain't 
 that I'm frightened of the storm no, not one 
 bit but I'm frightened of the storm in my 
 own heart, and the awful leak in my life, and 
 it's that makes me fly to the Harbour !" 
 
 " Then you do fly, mother ? " asked Maggie, 
 weeping joyful tears, as she felt two strong arms 
 enfolding her closely, closely. 
 
 " Yes, I do fly to Jesus, and what's more, 
 Maggie, I'm safe in at last safe in the Harbour/' 
 
 And thus, Maggie's mother was brought home 
 rejoicing after all.
 
 The Storm. i 2 7 
 
 When that great storm at sea was over, and 
 once more the passengers were allowed to go on 
 deck, Mrs. Moder sought out the old sailor who 
 had spoken to her so kindly and faithfully. 
 
 She had some trouble to find him, for he was 
 not on duty at the moment ; but presently 
 Maggie's eyes spied him seated behind a great coil 
 of rope, and she ran to her mother with the news. 
 
 " He's reading his Bible in a comer," she whis- 
 pered. 
 
 Mrs. Moder made her way along the rather 
 crowded deck, for every one who was well enough, 
 was anxious to get as much air and sunshine as 
 possible, and soon she found the old man, and 
 seated herself by his side. 
 
 " Fair mornin', ma'am," he said cheerily; "we've 
 got plenty to be thankful for this blessed day." 
 
 "Yes, we have," answered Mrs. Moder seriously. 
 
 The old man looked at her earnestly from 
 under his shaggy eyebrows. 
 
 "Be'ant you the woman as asked me if there 
 was danger in that there storm ? " he said. 
 
 " Yes ; and it was a bad one, wasn't it ? " she 
 answered. 
 
 " A very bad one." 
 
 The old man was looking in both faces before 
 him, and his own brightened. 
 
 " I believe as it wouldn't matter to you how bad
 
 128 Oiti in the Storm. 
 
 the storm were. For when we've got the Lord Al- 
 mighty as our Refuge, nothing can't harm us eh?" 
 
 " You're right enough," answered Mrs. Moder ; 
 " but it wasn't so always. I've fought against it, 
 and wouldn't have none' of it for months and 
 months ; and God's been that kind and patient, 
 as I can't tell you, sending me message after 
 message, and I've been that ungrateful" 
 
 " But you ain't now ? " said the old sailor, when 
 he saw the expression of Maggie's face as it 
 looked up into her mother's. 
 
 "No; and that's why I come to tell you 
 myself this morning, and to thank you as you 
 helped me by your words that night. What you 
 said, and what Maggie here said, made me go 
 straight to Him, and I'm saved ! " 
 
 " Praise the Lord," answered the old man reve- 
 rently, taking off his hat. " Then, if you know 
 all the danger of the storm, you'll be likely to prize 
 the safety and happiness of the Harbour ? " 
 
 And Mrs. Moder answered an earnest "Yes." 
 
 THE END.
 
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