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WHAT AMY FOUND IN THE GARRET.

WHAT AMY FOUND IN THE GARRET

A QUEER old garret—a spinning-wheel, a chest of drawers—what a nice place!"

Amy Gray thought so. And the rain on the roof, what a soft, go-to-sleep sound it made! But that which interested Amy most of all that day was a cow's horn hanging from a nail on the garret wall. It was known to Amy as "Mooly's horn," and had been given to her by an old friend of her father.

"It is a pretty horn," thought Amy.

Then she stood watching it a while longer, unmindful of the rain that tapped on the roof and said, "Go to sleep! go to sleep, little girl."

The only answer Amy made was suddenly to clap her hands, exclaiming,—

"Yes, I'll give Mooly's horn!"

She took it down from the nail, wiped off the dust with a cloth she found near the window, and took the horn to her little bedroom. The next day was Sunday, and all the children in the Sunday school had been invited to make an offering for a mission to the Indians.

"If you can't give what you would like, give what you can," said the superintendent.

He meant, if they could not give a shilling, then let them give what they could, though it might be a penny.

"O dear!" sighed Amy; "papa is poor, and I don't like to ask him for money."

She had sighed all the week until that rainy Saturday, but then she began to smile.

"I'll give my horn, 'cause—'cause he told us to give what we could," said Amy; "that is, if we couldn't give what we would like."

The next day, Sunday, Amy appeared in the Sunday-school room, her arms filled with the long, gracefully-curved horn. The scholars had gathered, and Amy was a bit late. She was a little girl, with a peculiar but sweet face. Her hair was very long and very light; and there was so much of it that it would persist in falling down over her forehead; and through this tangle, like big blue blossoms seen through a vine, Amy's sweet, wondering eyes tried to look. Down the aisle she walked very dignifiedly, bearing Mooly's horn. The scholars began to titter.

"There goes a small goddess with her horn of plenty," whispered one of the students from the academy.

"Blow your horn and sell your fish," said Joe Vinton, in an undertone.

Amy heard the tittering and began to blush. The tears began to swell in her big eyes. She walked on, though, and reached the superintendent's desk. As Mr. Arnold saw her he smiled, as if wondering, " What queer thing has this child brought 1"

Amy saw the smile. It was like the last pull on the pump-handle that brings water; for the tears rushed out of her eyes, and sobbing, she said,—

"I — I — want to give this—to—the Indians."

Mr. Arnold saw his mistake; and though he would sometimes get into a difficulty, he was very quick at getting out.

"My dear child, that gives me much pleasure.—Scholars, I like this better than anything else that has been given to-day. Somebody gave half-a-crown, but this will bring in a pound."

The scholars stopped their laughter, and looked up in wonder.

WHAT AMY FOUND IN THE GARRET.

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"How do you suppose it can be done?" asked Mr. Arnold.

Billy Gadsden was on his feet in a minute.

"It seems to be a well-seeded squash; and if you would plant the seed I think it will bring in a good deal."

The school was laughing again.

"Silence !" cried Mr. Arnold. "I will not have such joking. It is cruel. Sit down, Gadsden."

Billy dropped as if a bomb-shell had fallen on his head, while the school was still, as if hushed by a tempest. Mr. Arnold was generally very mild, and such an outburst surprised every one.

It may have been three weeks after this affair in the Sunday school when Mr. Arnold appeared at Amy's door one Saturday. He held up a very beautiful object.

"That is yours, Amy."

"O Mr. Arnold, I thank you. Where did you get it 1"

"It is a comb made from Mooly's horn."

"What! that pretty, pretty comb, with such a beautiful polish 1"

"Yes; and I have a number more. The others are to be sold, save one; and a man has promised to buy them, and pay a crown apiece. A friend made them for nothing; and whatever is paid me will go toward missions, as your contribution."

"You are so good; but what are you going to do with the one that you don't sell 1" asked Amy, with her pretty, curious eyes.

"That is a secret, but it is no secret how the combs were made. Do you wish to hear?"

"I should like to, ever so much."

"Well, at my friend's factory you will see a lot of horns; and that is where your horn went. First, they cut the horn into broad rings. The tips, though, they save for

knife-handles and other thiugs. Each ring is then slit on one side, so lhat it may be pressed down into a flat piece, the rings having been first washed and then boiled in water and in oil. Forcing the rings open, the workmen put them between pressing-irons, hot—oh, how hot they are ! you could cook a beefsteak on them. Then a great pressure is brought to bear on these irons, and the rings of horn are all flattened down into stiff sheets. A workman takes the sheets, and then a die shaped like a comb is placed on them. When this die is struck it culs out small pieces of horn shaped like a comb. They shave the comb-like pieces nicely with steel shavers. The teeth are cut out by

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THOU SHALT NOT STEAL.

The next day at school Mr. Arnold held up several combs.

"There, children; I planted the seeds of what Billy Gadsden called a squash, and see what they have brought me. They are worth a crown apiece;—so Amy's gift will bring to our mission fund five crowns at least."

"Oh! oh! oh!" the children were saying.

"Will Billy Gadsden step this way?" asked Mr. Arnold.

As Billy came forward Mr. Arnold held out the comb that was a "secret" and said :—

"Here's a boy's comb, a handsome one, made for you out of Amy's horn. Another time I know, Billy, you will try not to say unkind things about people."

Billy now felt as if half a dczen bombs had been dropped on his head; or rather, as if half a dozen combs were pulling on his tangled hair. It hurt then, but did him good for ever after.

THOU SHALT NOT STEAL."

THEY all do it." That is what Betsy is saying to herself. What does she mean? She is lookiog at that little bit of cherry ribbon in her hand. It is not hers; it belongs to her mistress. Still she would like to take it. She says mistress will never feel the want of it. That is true, as it was a little bit that was over. It is just the very thing, too, that Betsy herself wanted. Should she take it? Why not? It would hurt no one, and no one would ever know of it.

Betsy looked at the ribbon again. It was very pretty. Then she tied it; it was just long enough to go round her neck. So she thought to herself, There is Ben, that takes home one or two turnips for his pig almost every night, and sometimes a few handfuls of corn for his fowls. Then there is Sarah, the cook, who gives away plenty of thingi at the door, besides selling the bones and dripping. And the others take away wood for firing, or eggs, if the hens lay away from home.

"They all do it," says Betsy once more; "and after all, what is a little bit of ribbon?"

Why does she put it down all in a moment 1 Why does she clasp her hands and look upward? Her lips are moving; what can she be saying?

There has come into her mind what she had been taught in the Sunday school when she was a little girl. She had learnt that God has a book in which He notes down all that we do, whether it be good or whether it be evil; and that there will come a day when the dead, small and great, shall stand before God. Then the books shall be opened, and the dead shall be judged out of those things which are written in the books,according to their works (Rev. xx 12).

That is why she is praying earnestly that the covetous, dishonest thought of her heart may be forgiven her. Though it has been written in the book, she knows that the blood of Jesus Christ can blot that writing out. So she prays God, for his sake, to cross it out of the book.

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THEY all belonged to the infant class, and they all wanted to help at the coming Sabbath-school concert.

"Dear me!" said the teacher, " they are such little dots I don't know what I can have them do! But yet I want them to learn early to speak for Jesus. I must try to think."

So she thought, and the result was that on a sunny Sabbath afternoon the eight little dots stood up in the church, in the space between the seats and the pulpit, and recited the sweetest verses. Mamie was first, and her voice was sweet and clear as she said,—

"O what can little hands, little hands do,
To please the King of heaven?"

As she spoke she held up her chubby little hands and looked at them thoughtfully.

Mabel, the seventh girl in the row, bent forward and gave her a bit of an answer,—

"The little hands some work may try.
That may some simple want supply."

Then wee Alice, the smallest in the class, but a very clear-voiced maiden, said,—

"Beautiful hands are those that do
Work that is earnest, brave and true,
Moment by moment the long day through."

Then did Mamie fold her small hands and raise her eyes to heaven and say slowly,—

"Such grace to mine be given."

Anna was the next to speak, and she had a good word,—

"It is written, 'Whatsoever thy hand findeth to do, do it with thy might.'"

And Carrie said sweetly,—

"Little deeds of kindness to a wandering soul, Blessed by God, may lead him back to Jesus' fold."

Belle, the sixth little girl, held up her hands and said,—

"These two little hands must be ready to labour For Jesus all my days."

And now all the little girls who had spoken clasped their hands, and looked up and said,—

'' Such grace to mine be given."

Ida had a wonderful promise ready,—

"'He that hath clean hands shall be stronger and stronger.'"

And Kate added,—

"'I the Lord have called thee in righteousness, and will hold thine hand, and will keep thee.'"

Then the eight little girls folded their hands and bowed their heads, and said in concert,—

"Take my hands, and let them move
At the impulse of Thy love."

Now, just at their sides, fastened by ribbons, were little squares of brightcoloured pasteboard. As they finished reciting this prayer, they raised their bright boards, forming an arch over their heads, and on each square was a word, so that the whole read,—

HIS BANNER OVER ME IS LOVE

Tr, e fathers and mothers all decided that the little girls from the primary class had helped along the Sabbath-school concert very nicely.

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fTIHE frost is thick upon the pane— -*- Such pretty frost, all starry-bright! The ground is white, without a stain,

For it was snowing hard all night. It is too deep for me to play,

Yet there are birds enjoying it;

I see them hop, and dive, and flit.
Dear little birds, why did you stay?

Were you less wise than all the rest,
Who southward flew so long ago;

Or did you love each one his best

So much you could not leave them so?

Did no one tell the easy way

Which leads to summer bloom and sun, Open to all, forbidden to none 1

Dear little birds, why did you stay?

Your homes are full of drifted sleet,
The ice-hung boughs are cold and bare;

The woods hold nothing good to eat,
There is not one red berry there,

Yet there you twitter loud and gay,
As though you knew not care or fear,
Hopping and flying there and here.

Dear little birds, why did you stay?

My mother says, God is so good,
He loves each bird, however small,

And thinks of him and finds him food;—
How strange He can remember all!

Was it for this that, unafraid,
You lingered, trusting in His care,
When all the world was cold and bare

Dear little birds, I'm glad you stayed.

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