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"God feeds the little birds, and the ravens, auntie," he would sometimes say, "and surely he won't let us starve. He has promised that they that trust in the Lord shall be fed;' that their 'bread shall be given them, and their water shall be sure.' I learned those texts from Miss Rose."

"But Willy, how is it the promise does not come true to us ?"

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'Well, auntie, it has so far; we have had bread and water, you know, when we have had nothing else. And perhaps we have not trusted enough, auntie; we must try and trust more. And who knows what we shall have to-morrow? Perhaps uncle will get work, or perhaps somebody will give us some money. Don't fret, dear aunt; God will help us."

Willy's remark, child though he was, comforted his aunt. She caught a little of his hopeful spirit, and tried in her turn to speak cheerfully to her husband. He was sadly cast down. He had been forced to sell two or three of their best pieces of furniture, in order to pay some of the money owing for rent, or they would have been turned out of the house; and it was a sore trial to part with them. Day after day passed away, and he scarcely got a single job of work. And it is very hard for a busy man to have nothing to do but to sit at home with his hands before him, at a time when his wife and children are in want of his earnings. It would have lightened his trouble if he had had Willy's loving faith to support him under it; but although he went oftener to the house of God than formerly, and

thought more about good things, he had not yet learned to feel that God was his Father and friend. And that makes such a difference in every state of life.

One day, there was really nothing in the house for tea, and his aunt thought that the poor children must go hungry to bed, as Tom's wages were not due till to-morrow. Willy was out. He was gone to carry home a little box which his uncle had made, but which was already paid for. So there was nothing to expect from that. He came back so pleased. "Look, aunt," he said, eagerly, as he held out a large home-made loaf towards her, "look what I have got; Mrs. Edwards gave it me. She was going to pay me for the box, and she asked me how much it was, and when I told her that uncle had already had the money, she said, 'Well, you must not go back empty-handed; do you think you could carry this loaf to your aunt? it is one of my own baking.' And I said, 'Oh yes, it is not a bit heavy, ma'am.' And she said, too, that if you like to send one of us with a jug, she had plenty of skimmilk to-day, and she would give us some. Shall I run back, aunt ?"

'No," said Emma, jumping up, "I will go this time." Emma was a little less selfish than she used to be. She had begun to be ashamed of her conduct, when she compared it with Willy's. She went for the milk, and the whole family had their hunger satisfied.

But Mrs. Edwards did not send home-made loaves and milk every day; and sometimes they

were really obliged to go without a meal; for Willy's uncle would not run into debt at the shops; and he was too independent, perhaps too proud, to ask relief from of his rich neighbours.

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Willy would have told Miss Rose about their troubles, with the hope that she or her grandfather might in some way have assisted his uncle; but Mr. Wilson's health had obliged him to go abroad for some months for change of air, and Rose went with him. He had one letter from her, or rather a tiny scrap of one, written at the end of a letter which was sent to the servant left in charge of the pouse, and that was all he heard. The postage cost too much for Rose to write many letters, or else she had not forgotten her little lame friend. How sorry she would have been, had she known all that he had to endure during her absence.

Willy wished he could work, and get some money for his aunt and uncle, but there was nothing that he could do. Harry had once or twice got twopence for carrying a parcel from the railway station for some old lady, but Willy was not strong enough even for that. He could only pray to God for help, and he often did that. "Give us this day our daily bread," was the petition that came every morning from his heart as well as from his lips. "Pray send uncle some work, that he may get money to buy what is wanted." Sometimes, as he rose from his knees, something seemed to whisper to him, "There is no answer to your prayer, Willy.” "Not yet, but there will be," said Willy's faith.

Willy often thought about little Nelly. He had

missed her very much, and he still fondly remembered her; but he was glad now that she was safely sheltered from all care and trouble in the Saviour's loving home. "It would have been so bad for her to have been hungry," he would say to himself; "she could not have understood it, poor little thing, nor yet have borne it so well as we can do. She is better off than we are; she has all she wants in heaven."

His mind was busy with thoughts such as these as he was going along the streets one morning, on a little errand for his aunt. Willy felt rather hungry himself then, for his breakfast had been a very poor one, and the fresh keen air sharpened his appetite. In the midst of his sorrowful musings, some one tapped him on the shoulder, and a quick, pleasant voice said, "Can you tell me the way to the Park Road, little boy ?"

Willy looked up, and saw a stout gentleman, with a cheerful-looking face, waiting for his answer.

"Yes, sir," he replied; "if you take the third turning to the right, and then go down the second turning to the left, you will come to the canal bridge, and after you have crossed that

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'Stop," cried the gentleman, laughing, "I cannot remember so many turnings. Suppose you go with me and show me the way, if you are not in a hurry about anything else?"

"Oh no, I have plenty of time, sir," said Willy. Willy was not a very quick walker, neither was the stout gentleman, so they suited very well together. The gentleman talked to him as they went