But what was passing in Philip's mind at the same time? We fear a humble, lowly spirit was no longer his-for as he passed Hardy, his heart glowed with exultation at his own success, and his feelings were akin to those of the Pharisee, who dared to thank God that he was not as other men. Ah! how short, at any time, is the step between us and sin; and what need to pray for God's preventing grace! All day he hugged vain thoughts of his goodness close to his heart, though none suspected it; but afterwards when he knelt down at night, his conscience smote him as he remembered that his Father in heaven, "from whom no secrets are hid," had read the thoughts of his inmost heart. A sense of his sin in God's sight weighed him down, and he whom all had praised that day, closed it in the secresy of his own little chamber with the heartfelt prayer, 66 God be

merciful to me a sinner."

In the meantime, the Lyntonville party, with the addition of Mrs. Quin, Philip, and Mr. Elmslie, had reached home; and the pleasant day was brought to a close by a row in Mr. Lynton's large boat on the river. The short twilight had already begun, but a bright star twinkled here and there in the dark blue sky, to light them on their way. There was a

hush in the air which told of the coming hours of stillness and rest, broken only by the sighing of the wind in the tree-tops, mingled with the distant lowing of cattle, or the loud croak of the bull-frog close at hand. Fireflies flitted about, gleaming like flashing emeralds amongst the low bushes by the water-side; and the plash of the oars kept time to the evening hymn, begun by Mrs. Lynton's sweet voice, and sung in chorus by all the party. Harry thought he had never loved their beautiful river so much before; and he bade his friend "good-night" with unmingled happiness, rejoicing in his success. The dew was falling fast, and the night wind blew with a chilly breath as they hastened homewards; but little did any of them dream of the change that a few short hours would work on that peaceful scene!

CHAPTER VI.

WHAT CAME OF IT.

Fire is a good servant, but a bad master." Behold how great a matter a little fire kindleth."

HAD any one watched the stealthy footsteps of a boy who, under the darkening shades of that summer night, left the village of Fairfield and proceeded in the direction of Mrs. Quin's cottage, they could hardly have failed to suspect mischief, and Tom Hardy, for it was he, might well stop at every sound, and draw back into deeper shadow. It was but the wind, however, as it blew back the hair from his hot forehead, or the echo of his own footfall in the stillness that startled him. His conscience whispered, "Turn back, Tom, turn back; think what you are going to do;"-but in vain, Tom would not listen. He tried to stifle its voice. "It was no such great matter after all," said he to himself; he was only going to set fire to Philip's bower; that would do him no real harm, he might build it again if he liked. It would but make him angry;