Anderson told me his mother had washed the children's things last Sunday morning during service, and you had given her some sharp words about it. Jos said it 'beat her' to know how you found out what she was doing, for she had taken care not to dry them on the hedge." "Ah, poor Susan! careless enough as to her Sunday duties, but careful in the attempt to hide her Sunday working. She forgot, though, that when a room is full of steam it is likely enough to escape through a broken window-pane. I am afraid that instance of my powers will not prove them to be very remarkable." 66 Well, papa, in this instance I want your wisdom to decide whether it is my duty to go and see Rina Cliffe, for the sake of trying to-to quiet her temper, or do her some good. Papa, she is very unhappy and lonely, but so wickedly cross with every one, even with our kind friend Mr. Hardie.” "What your cousin Nigel calls a 'rugged disposition'-a cliff with no verdure on it; rough granite, with here and there in its crevices a bramble or a thorn, ready to catch the poor mountain sheep who ventures to cross a slight pathway. Well, my dear, Rina Cliffe is all that you describe, and I am sorry for it, but the unhappiness and the ioneliness arise from the fact you have stated; she is so wickedly cross' and malicious, that no one will live with her; poor Joan Price, her next neighbour, leads a sad life with her. Even at a distance one may hear her angry attacks upon the inoffensive old creature. So you have ventured into that wretched home, and want my counsel as to future visits?" "Yes, papa. I am not afraid of her, but she uses rough words, and that I should be obliged to hear them is the great hindrance I feel to going there again; yet if no one cares for her, what will be the consequence? She cannot read, she never goes to church, and will live only to grow worse, and more unfit to die." Mr. Conway fidgeted in his chair, and stirred the fire, as Englishmen always do in moments of disturbed thought. Linda had touched upon one of his greatest vexations, for of all his parishioners -and they were numerous-none gave him more trouble and annoyance than did Rina Cliffe; and it was at this time understood between Major and his master, that on the day for their Farheath visitations, Rina's cottage on the Edge was to be passed at a sharp trot. "No surrender" had always been the rector's motto, but in the single instance of Rina's tongue he had been obliged to acknowledge himself defeated. Again and again he had endeavoured to meet the evil, yet never with the least effect. Rebuke was met with the loudest and most angry retort-advice raised a host of excuses. Quiet counsel was not even listened to; for if the rector's words were not firm enough and loud enough to warrant an attack or reply, Rina coolly disappeared from his presence, and went on with some noisy work or other in the back regions of the house. Frequently the clanking of the rusty chain over the windlass of the old well was the answer to the rector's remarks. Thus, with a hopeless sigh at his signal failure, and the idea that his presence only called forth a worse exhibition of temper, he had for some time left Rina's house unvisited, only passing it in troubled mood, feeling she had set him entirely at defiance. Mr. Conway might well take some time to consider before he answered Linda's repeated question, "Well, papa, what ought I to do ?" "I think I must remind you," he said at length, "of your cousin Nigel's description again ; Rina's rugged disposition' suggests to me that a little venturesome mountain sheep would lose some of its fleecy coat in trying to find a pathway across its dangerous surface. It seems to me, dear child, that there is something to lose on your part, little to be gained on hers." "Papa, I have also been thinking of Nigel's words, and that sometimes a very small thing will accomplish what a greater one cannot do. For instance, the brier; you know the little robin often chooses it for his sweetest song; the thorns do not touch his tiny feet, or ruffle a feather. He can settle wherever he pleases-even upon the rough cliff itself, however dangerous it may be to the mountain sheep." The rector smiled. "Well, then, my little bird, try your song; only do not choose the brier too often for your resting-place. I would rather see you nestled in the ivy gable of the old Rectory." He rose up to the book-case as he spoke, and then laying an open page before her, left her, with a cheerful good-night, to read it. Linda turned to the lamp, and read, with glistening eyes, her father's thoughts. "Then daintily the Robin stayed, upon a blackthorn dark and bare: song." 26 CHAPTER II. THE FIRST FEW CRUMBS. "A bright-eyed Robin, golden-red, came shyly to the door, E. M. L. LINDA CONWAY's next visit to Farheath was delayed by the arrival of her aunt, Mrs. Gresley, whose health required much of her time and attention; but when at length her cousin Olive joined them, and she could leave the invalid in loving care, she set off without delay to Rina Cliffe's cottage. "Where are you going at this early hour?" inquired Olive Gresley, as she saucily peeped within the basket on Linda's arm. "A red comforter, I declare and a small but tempting raised pie, a remedy for a cough (prescribed by my mother, no doubt), and a packet of Scripture prints. I shall not allow you to pass me until I know what you |