down to Jericho, or in sailing on the Lake of Genessaret. You must be there yourself to know how it feels; and then you cannot talk about it; it is too sacred! I shall never regret that we went to Palestine." ever. It was much later in the day when Phoebe arrived, and I felt so much out of sorts that I thought more than once of going out and leaving word that I had an engagement, which indeed was the truth, as I had promised to dine as usual in Belgrave Square. That poor Phoebe was going to give me trouble I never doubted. She came in, looking bright and blooming, and prettier than She was very gaily dressed, and she was, as usual, a flutter of frills and ribbons; but her blue eyes were sparkling with pleasure, a lovely pink flush was on her dimpled cheeks, and the happiest smiles were playing about her little rosebud of a mouth. Certainly, for mere prettiness, there were few belles of the season who could eclipse bonnie Phoebe Milner. I saw at once that she had something of consequence to impart; indeed, she told me as much before we had been three minutes together, only I insisted upon her taking some dinner before we commenced a conversation on any subject. "And do you always dine at seven, Hugh? And how nice everything is! When I have a house of my own I shall have everything so proper and genteel, and in good taste. I shall have dinner-napkins every day; Mrs. Simcox only has them on Sundays and company-days-I call that mean, I do!" "Better not have them at all," I replied, seeing that she waited for some comment. "But, Phoebe, is there any chance of your having a house of your own?" She blushed very becomingly, and smiled. Something far more than a chance, Hugh! It is as much a downright certainty as anything can be in this perishable world, as the clergyman beautifully said last Sunday. I am engaged to be married!" "I am delighted to hear it, Phoebe," I answered; "I only hope you have a fair prospect of real happiness; " for I felt rather dubious as to Phoebe's judgment in the matter of an eligible lover. Everybody says I am a most fortunate girl! He is the very nicest young fellow I ever saw! There's no mistake about his business habits and his steadiness, Mr. Simcox says; and yet he's as genteel as if he had no connection with trade! Mrs. Simcox is as pleased as can be, and I'm to be married from their house, and Lucy and Annie are to be my bridesmaids. And Mrs. Simcox gives the breakfast, of course, and Mr. Simcox will give me my wedding-dress, and he did say my bonnet; but, of course, I can't be married in a bonnet, can I? I shall have a veil and wreath! I shall want a bonnet, or, at least, a hat, to go away in, though, sha'n't I? I wonder whether he would give me a pretty, stylish hat, with a handsome feather in it? I hope you won't object, Hugh?" "Object to Mr. Simcox giving you a hat? No, certainly not. Or, if you like it, I will give you one myself. Lady Olive will buy one for me at her own milliner's." "Oh, that would be best. I should so like to say I had my hat from a Court milliner. But I didn't quite mean that. I hoped you would not object to my Alfred Thomas-my husband that is to be." "If he is a respectable and worthy young man you may be sure I shall not object. And if your friends the Simcoxes really approve, I should hope it is all right. They are not the sort of people to encourage a foolish, unsuitable match, I should say." For I had heard a good deal about Phoebe's employers, the Simcoxes, and I had made certain inquiries concerning them when Phoebe was about to become their children's governess. And it seemed that they were very respectable, well-to-do, business people, not above their station, and likely to be useful to Phoebe if only she would consent to be taught a little common sense. Phoebe at once went off into rhapsodies, and assured me that Alfred Thomas was all that could be desired. He was five-andtwenty, remarkably handsome-everybody said so, very clever too. He had learned Latin and French when he was at school, and he played hymn-tunes most sweetly. He was strictly religious, always went to church twice on Sundays, and once had taught in a Sundayschool, only it did not agree with his health. And the people where he had lodged for the last three years said he was the best lodger they had ever had, paid up quite regular and liberal, kept good hours, never as much as hinted at a latch-key, had never been known to be the worse for liquor, only smoked in moderation, and had the sweetest, evenest temper in the world. I ventured to inquire what trade or profession this paragon followed, and also whether he was in a position to support a wife. The replies were perfectly satisfactory. Mr. Alfred Thomas Webster was a traveller, and Mr. Simcox said he would be sure to get on; he shouldn't wonder if he was soon taken into the firm as junior partner, and his income was ample for prudent people to marry upon. "A traveller? What is called a commercial traveller, I suppose ?" "Yes; it is quite genteel, is not it? So much better than a mere shopkeeper! But Hugh, are commercial men considered to be gentlemen-real gentlemen, you know?" "They would not be accounted gentlemen in some circles; but in their own sphere they will pass muster very well, I dare say.” And then I gave Phoebe a little lecture, which made her pout for half a minute, for I still feared whether she might not sacrifice her happiness at the shrine of that false deity yclept "gentility." But, as I afterwards discovered for myself, Alfred Thomas Webster was a really respectable and sensible young man, and quite contented to be the most energetic and punctual " commercial" on the road. He was well-principled, had more than average business talent, was perfectly steady and truly kind-hearted, was in receipt of a very fair and increasing salary, and was furnishing a very pretty little semi-detached cottage or villa at Hornsey; and, to crown all, he was very much in love with his pretty pink-cheeked fiancée. Olive was very kind, concerning Phoebe; she helped me choose some dresses and ribbons, and other finery for her trousseau; and she presented Phoebe with a splendid silk dress, and with a little really good jewellery, and Phoebe was in a seventh heaven of gratitude and bliss. Finally she was married with all due honours; and Olive and I went to the wedding, to the extreme delight of the Simcoxes, especially of Mrs. Simcox, who could now boast of entertaining a real "my lady," and to the unbounded satisfaction of Phoebe, who felt somehow as if she were connected with the whole family of Dovercourt. And in less than a week after Phoebe's wedding Olive and Maude went down to Dovercourt; a few days more, and Lady Olive Walton would be Lady Olive Vassall. (To be continued.) The Children's Hour. A GIRL'S FRIENDSHIP. BY MARIANNE FARNINGHAM. CHAPTER I.—An IntroduCTION. A NEW and strange experience awaited Ruth Cameron, for she was leaving home for school life. It was necessary, she knew, and she had made no complaint, but she dreaded it more than a little. She was a quiet girl, rather timid and retiring, and half-afraid of strangers. If she could have had everything as she wished, she would like to have stayed with her mother always. She was thinking so as she stood at the window and watched the July sun sink ing behind the hills on the evening before she was to leave home. And as she thought she sighed. Mothers have quick ears, and Ruth's mother was in the room. She turned and looked at her child very lovingly. Few persons, perhaps, would have thought Ruth pretty, but her mother thought she was most beautiful. I think so, too, but it was the kind of beauty which comes from goodness alone. It is true she had a healthy-looking face, a well-formed head, and an abundance of brown, curling hair; but so many girls have these. Those who knew Ruth best were never weary of watching the changes of her countenance. She was a very earnest girl, who thought much and felt deeply, and when she talked the colour came into her cheeks and the light to her eyes, giving her quite a different appearance from that which she had at other times. But, after all, it was not so much her face as her disposition that endeared her to others. "Ruth, I wonder what you are thinking about?" Ruth came to her mother with a smile. "I was thinking, mamma, that I almost wish these next years were over, and that, instead of beginning school life, I were just finishing it." "That is not a good desire, my child. I know it is a painful thing to leave home for the first time, and I fear you will be rather dull and lonely during the next few days, but I hope and believe your school-time will be so happy that you will be glad not to have missed it." "But I have been so happy, mamma, at home with you." "Yes, dear, and I am thankful for it. But it will be better for you to go away for a time now, and I hope that in a few years you will have completed your education, and be wiser and stronger for the change. I think it very likely that at school you will find a friend." "I wonder if I shall! I have seen many girls already whom I like very well, but not one whom I could love well enough to call my friend. I do not really love any one much but you, mamma, dear, and my brothers." "But I hope you will. It is a good thing for a girl to have a friend and companion. If you have one you will not be lonely at school, but very happy. I need not tell you, Ruth, that you should be careful what friendships you form. No girl who is right-minded will lightly love or lightly lose a friend, and before you choose any one you should know something of her character." I do not think I could love any one all at once, mamma." "No, Ruth, but when once you have taken a friend, you will be very fond of her." "I think I might be." "And therefore, my child, I hope you will pray to be directed rightly in your choice. I think that all true friends are given to us, and I trust one may be sent to you at school. You have no sisters, but you may have a friend who will be almost as dear to you." "I hope I may, mamma." "And you will never forget the best Friend, Ruth? Tell Him all your perplexities, and ask His guidance in everything, and then I have no fear for your happiness." Ruth's brothers came in soon after, and nothing more was said between her mother and herself about her friend. But she remembered this conversation the next evening, when, trembling a little, she was introduced to her schoolfellows. She looked at them, and saw a party of girls rather disconsolate upon their return to school, and yet looking on the whole as if they would soon become happy and contented. Ruth felt so sad that she could scarcely keep back the tears. She wanted her mother. But she knew that she must not think too much of home on this first evening, or she would not be able to control her feelings, so to divert her thoughts she said to herself, "I wonder if my friend is among them, and which is she." The girls renewed the talk which her entrance had interrupted, and were soon eagerly telling each other particulars of their holidays, where they had been, whom they had seen, and a dozen interesting details. So Ruth had leisure to watch them, for she saw that only one girl took any notice of her. She soon discovered the name of this girl, who was very fair, with blue eyes and flaxen, or, as Ruth said in her own mind, golden hair. "Mabel Hollys, you are not listening, and you have told us nothing of yourself." "Not listening? I beg your pardon, I have heard every word; and what you are saying is so interesting, that I will save the ac count of my holidays until you have finished." "What we are saying is not as interesting as the fresh face of the new comer," said one of the girls in a low tone. "Perhaps not," said Mabel. "She is dull and strange, Mabel; go and speak to her," said another. "I scarcely like to do so," replied Mabel. |