to mend a broken toy for some sick child, or to
teach a stupid boy some new game, as he would
to make his lectures entertaining, or the Christmas
magic-lantern laughable. He was always
trying to infuse a drop of happiness into our
cup. No heart in this worm ever contained
more of the milk of human kindness.

"I did not know till later how poor Mr. aud
Mrs. Penrhyn really were; but had their income
been ever so large, they would always have
shared it with those who needed, for it was their
principle as well as nature to do so. A strong
regard existed between them and my parents;
and when father was taken ill of the fever,
among many in our court, the master gave him
far more than his proper share of time and
attention. He nursed him like a brother; he
soothed his dying ears with the blessed promises
of the gospel. Well do I remember that time
of horror and dismay— some so selfish in their
terror— some so generous and self-denying.
Night and day Mr. Penrhyn was up and about;
where the fever raged worst, and people were
afraid to venture, there you might be sure to
find him, watching, comforting, doing all that
it was in the power of man to do. It was
encouragement in itself to see his kind face, and
hear his cheery voice. People said he brought
hope and consolation in with him. His wife,
too, who, for her child's sake, remained at home,
was always preparing comforts for the sick;
ready to give him a cheerful welcome whenever
he was able to snatch a few hours' respite from
his labours, which was but seldom. Well, sir,
father died, as did many another round about
us, and the very day he was buried, sweet baby
Betsy took ill too. Poor little thing! Though
so young, she was as fond of the master as any
of us. At the worst of times he had always
found a moment to give her a jump and a toss
when he came to see us, and she would crow
with delight when she heard his step. But
now she lay in mother's arms all fevered and
helpless; and when the master, looking at her,
saia with quite a break in his kind voice,
'What, my Betsy bad too?' she could just put
out her little hand, and make shift to stroke his
coat sleeve, and that was all. She died in three
days— our little baby Betsy— the pet of us all—
that had been father's solace for many a month
—she died, and was taken to lie by his side in
the graveyard near. Well, she was better with
God than with us, as we had too good reason to
feel before long.

"Mother did what she could for her neighbours
in that fearful time; she said it wasn't in
nature to see such an example as the master's,
and not try to follow it. There was one family
near us named Steele, about one of whom (there
were but three of them) I must now say something.
My father and Philip Steele's had been
friends for years, and as children young Philip
and I had been playmates; but when we two
lads went to the master's school, a spirit of
rivalry sprang up between us, and a strong
mutual dislike. He was a couple of years my
senior, very handsome, and had a certain
plausible way with him, which made people like
him. I, on the contrary, was naturally grave,
taciturn, and reserved. Yet I think in his heart
the master preferred me, though he was far too
wise and too just to betray it openly. Indeed,
his quick eye having detected the ill will that
existed between us, he more than once took us
each to task for it. But he didn't succeed in
making us love each other any the better; and
when mother nursed Phil in a dangerous attack
of the fever, and by God's mercy brought him
through, my heart didn't warm to him as it
should have done to a fellow-creature just
escaped from death; and I only said he was
lucky to have had such a nurse, and he'd do
well to remember it. He hated me worse than
ever from that very moment; and perhaps there
was cause.

"Mr. Tudor, the rector of B— , a very
learned man, but said to be under the rule of his
handsome wife, had quitted the town as soon
as the fever appeared. He was not strong, and
she persuaded him that he was more liable to
take the disease in consequence; a great error
in my judgment; for whilst numbers of the most
robust were struck down in a moment, many
who, like mother, had been long ailing, were
altogether spared. However, Mr. Tudor went,
leaving his curates to do the work of the parish
in that time of fear and of distress. And nobly
they did it too, never sparing themselves. But
they were sadly over-worked. One after
another broke down under the strain; and one
sultry afternoon, when the fever had quite
disappeared from our court, it was whispered that
Mr. Penrhyn was down with it. Then mother
locked up her poor rooms, got a neighbour to
take charge of me, and set off to give what help
she could to the master and his dear young
wife.

"She found him very bad: for a whole day
and night the doctors despaired of him. But
his day's work was not yet over. He rallied,
and the moment he was fit to move he was
ordered to the sea-side, to try what change of
air and rest would do for him.

"Meanwhile, I had not been improving in
temper and disposition. My dislike to Philip
Steele had increased to a detestation I took no
pains either to conceal or overcome. We were
always bandying bad words— always on the
verge of a furious outbreak. I was wild that
my mother should have nursed such a brute as
I thought him; and he was equally savage at
being continually reminded of the obligation.
'I didn't want your mother!' he would say,
glaring at me; 'I didn't send for her. I wish
she'd kept herself to herself, I'm sure!' 'And
I wish she had too,' I once answered; ' I wish
you'd been let die in the fever— I do! and an
excellent job too!'

"The moment, I had said it my conscience
smote me. Was that the spirit my master had
tried hard to teach us? But it was too late to
unsay it, and I saw from the evil look in his
eyes that he would not forget the speech.

"After fever generally comes famine— it proved