were the mother's blessing, and that she'd sold 1s. worth to the mother of a large family that morning. Mr. Stammers wanted Ruth to be sent away, but his wife said,

"No, I won't do that, the girl spoke the truth and made no excuses or prevarications; I should not like to part with her in disgrace. Still, I don't know that I can keep her, unless she gets more handy. She had no idea even of lighting a fire, never emptied out the cinders, or cleaned the bars, but wasted a whole bundle of wood in trying to make last night's ashes burn up. What she said she did like was children, and she's very good to play with them; but, dear me if they tear their things she's no more idea how to mend them than the baby; says she never put in a patch in her life; still, she tells the truth and is good-tempered, and I'll give her a fair trial."

And she did give her a fair trial; but it is not easy for a busy woman like Mrs. Stammers to spend her time in teaching a girl how to do common things, so they parted.

The next place Ruth heard of was a nursery maid's, under a nurse, at Mr. Rawlings's, where ten maids and four men were kept; but, to her surprise, she found she would be required to clean all the three nurseries, to carry up coals and water, as well as all the meals, and to light two nursery fires, and clean two grates. She declined the place, saying "she had no turn for house-work." Next she heard that a dress-maker wanted an extra hand, and surely her needlework powers would make her valuable there. She was astonished to find that her close, beautiful, and exact

stitching was of no account, to run up seams was now machine-business, and unless it was fixed for her the body of a dress was beyond her. And even then she was pursued by the house-work, for which she had no turn. The least useful worker had to put everything away, dust the room, and once a week sweep it. Again Ruth protested against doing housework.

"And who do you think is to do it?" said Miss Saunders, the mistress. "I only want an extra hand in the drive of the season; and if you are above taking the trouble of 'the charge of the room,' you had better be off at once."

And so she was once more out of place. But worse trouble was at hand. Her mother was seized with a sudden and fatal illness; she knew she was going, and said so to her husband, who replied:

"Ah! you've been worn out, slaving and moiling for us all, and never giving yourself a bit of restyours has been a hard life, Annie, harder than you thought when you took me."

"Don't say that, husband. I have worked hard, but it was with a good will, for who has had a better man to work for? In all these years you never have given me an ill word, or lifted your hand at me, or called me out of my name, and who can say as much? No, mine has been a hardish life, but a happy one too, and I am going to have the long rest that remaineth for the people of God. But when one is going, things look so different, and one matter troubles me, and that's poor Ruth, I've not done my duty by her."

"Oh, mother, don't say so," said Ruth, sobbing behind the bed-curtains; "you worked yourself, and let me sit idle."

"Ah, because I said it was less trouble to do things myself than to teach you; but I ought to have taken the greater trouble and made you learn, for now, my poor child, you'll be sadly put out to do for them all."

Ruth promised to do her best, but the night before she died, Mrs. Davies told her husband she should die easier if he could get his sister, a sensible dependable woman, to come for two or three weeks to put Ruth in the way of managing.

"She'll try to learn, I'm sure, and she likes her aunt, and she knows my ways."

And so Mrs. Davies's weary life ended, and as Ruth's aunt could not come for three weeks, she had time to feel how utterly incapable she was of making those around her comfortable.

The three next children were boys, two at work, one at school; all three were constantly in disgrace for being late, though they often went with only bread and butter in their hands, because no fire was lit-no tea made. Yet Ruth was up, but went muddling about with damp wood and a dirty grate, uncleaned kettle and no water pumped.

At last her aunt arrived, and after her tea and a little conversation, Ruth said:

"Now, aunt, you are tired, and will like to go to bed, and in the morning you must show me how to get on. It is so tiresome; father and brothers have to be off so early-by eight.”

«< Do you call that early, my dear? my girl milks the cows at six, and lights the fire first-but in your case I should advise your beginning to-night." To-night, aunt! you must be joking."

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"It will be no joke to-morrow to come down to a place like this-first those cups and saucers must be washed, and put away."

"Not to-night, aunt, surely."

"Most surely they must; crockery set up dirty is ten times the trouble to wash. You have hot water in your kettle; fill your wooden bowl, and I will help you. Then clean the table. The fire is out, so you may rake out the grate, and lay the fire-put your cinders in the cinder-sifter."

"Our sifter has been broken ever so long; I put the ashes in the dust-hole."

"Do you? you must give your dustmen quite a good income, and lessen your father's to that amount: it shall be mended to-morrow. And, oh dear, the wood-do you think you have to build a house, instead of to light a fire? I never use more than six bits, they should be well dried in the oven, and the cinders laid lightly over then, and a little coal at the back, and when you come down to-morrow, two minutes will be enough to make a bright, cheerful fire. Fill the kettle, and put it on the hob; and now, dear Ruth, we can go peacefully to bed, knowing that we have done all we can towards an early, comfortable breakfast for those whose work makes the pot boil, or, at any rate, gives us something to boil in it."

The next morning Ruth could hardly believe how

quickly everything was done, owing to all being made tidy over night.

"I can't think how it is," she said; "I was always setting to rights."

"That's what it is," said her aunt, "things should never want setting to rights; they won't, if you don't set them to wrongs. Get into the way of putting everything in its proper place the minute you have done with it. Now that plate with the bread on it, first you put it on the dresser, then on a chair, then on the table. Why not put the loaf into its brown pan at once, and the plate in the rack ?"

"But, aunt, the children keep the place in such a mess, and they break ever so many things."

"Of course they will if you leave them within their reach, and nothing is so bad for children as to keep on dinning them with 'don't touch that; don't meddle with the other.' They care no more for what you say, than they do for the wind blowing. Put the things on their proper shelves; have two or three strong paper bags hung up against the wall, for snippings, bits of string, and odds and ends, and then make the children some playthings-old cotton-reels, birds' feathers tied to a string, horse chestnuts; there are no ends of scraps that will amuse them; and while you are cooking and cleaning, give them a word or a look which brightens them up, poor little wee things."

Long before the fortnight was over, Ruth and her aunt discovered that she decidedly had a turn for house-work, she took quite a pride in her bright windows, tidy cottage, and clean floors; nor did she forget her school learning, neatness saves a good deal