than that of Widow Lawrence, and it was as neat and clean as it was pretty. When hard-working Ben Lawrence died of the typhus fever, three years before this story begins, the villagers shook their heads, and said that poor Mrs. Lawrence would never be able to get along with her six children, and one of them a cripple too. And some even went so far as to advise her to give up her home and go into the workhouse. But the widow had a stout heart within her, and, in humble faith on God's promise to befriend the fatherless and the widow, she aroused herself, after the first heavy shock of her great grief, and determined to put her shoulder to the wheel, and do what she could for her fatherless children. The eldest boy, Ben, was engaged as ploughboy at Farmer Hall's, and earned three shillings a week. Mrs. Lawrence herself went every Tuesday to the rectory to assist in the washing. This brought her in two shillings. Added to this, the parish agreed to allow her half a crown a week, which made a total of seven-and-sixpence. And as she was a first-rate needlewoman, she hoped that what she and Katie could earn by plain work, in addition to the above, would enable her, with strict economy, to pay her way and keep out of debt. It was often a hard struggle, but Mrs. Lawrence managed still to keep her ground; and her cottage, although one of the poorest in the village, was, as we said before, one of the neatest and prettiest. Her husband had been very fond of gardening, and had taken great pains with the little piece of ground. It was well stocked with fruit-trees, and produced sufficient potatoes to last the family for the year. Ben had been accustomed to assist his father, and was now able to take the entire charge of the garden, which it was his pride and pleasure to attend to of an evening, after he came home from work. He was the eldest of the family, and was just fourteen years old. Poor little Nelly had been a cripple from an infant. She had had a fall which injured her spine, and for several years had not been able to put her foot to the ground. Some medical men expressed their opinion that the little girl would become stronger as she grew older, and that she might yet be able to earn her living by needlework, or some simple occupation. But up to the present time, she had lain on her back, and could not move without great pain. She required more nourishing food than her mother could afford to give her, and it was one of Mrs. Lawrence's greatest trials to feel she could not get Nelly all that she required. She was a patient, even a cheerful child. God had mercifully, in her case, 'tempered the wind to the shorn lamb,' and whilst giving her a contented spirit, had also blessed her with a capacity for enjoying any little happiness within her reach. A simple daisy-chain, a bunch of buttercups, the first primrose, were like 'treasures of silver and gold' to the poor lame girl. Willie and Tom came next to Nelly. They were two merry little urchins of six and eight years of age, and went regularly to school. Esther, the "baby" of the family, was a rosy, laughing little girl of three, always getting into mischief, but warm-hearted and affectionate. Katie worked on steadily for some little time after her mother left home that morning. Then she washed up the breakfast-things, and put them away, and swept up the hearth. She had washed her hands, and was about to sit down again to work, when the thought struck her that she would just take one turn—just one—round the garden, that beautiful spring morning. She should feel so fresh after it, and would be able to work twice as fast when she came back. So catching up little Esther in her arms, she ran with the child down to the end of the garden. A clear running stream separated it from an adjoining meadow, which was already quite yellow with cowslips. "I must just gather a bunch for Nelly, she is so fond of them," thought Katie, as she sprang across the little brook. Once in the meadow, she and Esther were soon busy filling their pinafores with sweet cowslips. The time slipped away unheeded. "I will just make Nelly 'one' cowslip ball," thought Katie. And sitting down on the root of an old tree under the hedge in the meadow, she took out of her pocket the reel of cotton with which she had been working, and began to make a cowslip ball. This is a rather tedious thing to do—the first one she attempted she spoiled, it was not a nice shape. Then she had not quite enough flowers for the second, so she left Esther sitting on the old tree, whilst she ran to gather some more. She was more successful in her next attempt, but it had taken her a long time, and she had scarcely finished it, when she heard the voices of her little brothers who had come home from school, and were calling for her. "Dear me, how late it must be!" cried Katie, as she hastened back through the meadow. When she reached the stream, Willie and Tom were both standing on the opposite bank in the garden. "Why, Katie, where have you been?" said they. "Nelly says we are to take Ben his dinner, but it is not warmed yet, and it is time we went." "Oh dear, dear, how tiresome!" said Katie. "I'm sure I never thought I had been so long." When she reached the cottage, it was nearly half-past twelve o'clock. Poor Ben's dinner had to be sent, cold as it was, and then Katie had to hurry and see about peeling the potatoes for their own meal. Little Esther had wetted her feet sadly coming back in such a hurry across the brook, so her socks and shoes had to be dried, and by the time that was done, it was dinner-time. Katie was cross with herself and with everybody. Nelly had thanked her heartily for the cowslip ball, but had told her that she would willingly have gone without the flowers, sooner than Katie should be behindhand with the shirt she had promised her mother to get finished. "I shall have plenty of time this afternoon, Nelly," said Katie, pettishly; "so you need not trouble yourself about me." By the time the dinner-things were cleared away, and her little brothers sent off to school, it was past two o'clock. Katie sighed as she washed her hands and again prepared to sit down to work. "Everything seems to go wrong with me to-day," said she; "why, where can my cotton be? I'm sure I had it in my pocket this morning." "Katie had cotton in a field," lisped little Esther. "Oh, what shall I do?" cried Katie, bursting into tears. "There's the cotton lost now; it's all those tiresome cowslips. I'm sure I wish—" Katie was quite wrong. It was not the cowslips that were in fault; "all" the day's misfortunes—the wasted morning—Ben's cold dinner—the lost cotton—all arose from the simple fact of Katie's yielding to the first temptation to idleness. There was no harm whatever in her taking a walk in the garden, or gathering cowslips at the proper time. Had she sat steadily to her work in the morning, she would have finished it early in the afternoon, and might have enjoyed herself in the meadow as well. But, as her mother said to her, "duty first, pleasure afterwards." Katie had a duty to perform; she had promised to do it, and she was now suffering the penalty which all must pay, sooner or later, when they leave "undone those things which they ought to have done." "Leave Esther with me, Katie," said Nelly, "and go and look for the cotton in the meadow; don't you recollect where you sat down?" "Yes, I know the place exactly, but I am afraid I lost the cotton when I ran so fast on hearing Willie calling to me. I know it was in my lap the minute before." Katie hastened into the field, and went first of all to the old tree under the hedge. There was no cotton to be found. She then began to search for it amongst the grass, but it was so thick and tall that there was little chance of so small a thing as a reel of cotton being recovered when once lost in it. At length, after nearly an hour's ineffectual search, she returned to the cottage. What should she do? The lost reel of cotton was the only one her mother possessed. Mrs. Gordon had sent several reels of cotton with the shirts, as she was most particular as to the cotton that was used; and Katie had heard her mother say she hoped there would be sufficient to finish the set, as she could not get any more like it in the village. Katie hunted in her mother's work-bag, but there were only two balls of very coarse common cotton, such as she could not possibly use for the fine linen shirt. "What shall I do? What shall I do?" she cried, as, sitting down on a stool, she hid her face in her pinafore and sobbed bitterly. "Perhaps Mrs. Graham, at the rectory, has some cotton like it, Katie dear," said Nelly, "and I am sure she will give you some if you ask her, she is so very kind." "But what will mother say, Nelly?" Her sister did not tell Katie she should have thought of that in the morning, and it would have saved her much sorrow. But Katie's own conscience told her as much, and even more. And when right-thinking little Nelly suggested that the fear of what mother would say ought not to keep Katie from doing all she could to make up for the evil, she took her sister's advice, and prepared to go at once to the rectory, and confess all to her mother. It was already four o'clock when Katie set out on her journey. The rectory was quite a mile distant, and as she walked along through the quiet, peaceful meadows, she had ample time for reflection. She felt vexed with herself, and formed many hasty resolutions for the future. It is to be feared, however, that the thoughts of her mother's anger affected her far more than any real sorrow for her disobedience. Mrs. Lawrence was quite alarmed when she saw Katie, fearing that some accident had befallen one of the younger children. And grieved as she naturally felt at her daughter's conduct, it was a relief to her to find that nothing more serious was the matter. Katie told the whole truth to her mother, and did not attempt to spare herself in any way. And Mrs. Lawrence went at once to Mrs. Graham, to see if she could lend her some cotton. Mrs. Graham willingly gave her a reel, and having heard of Katie's trouble, she sent for her into the drawing-room, and spoke kindly to her on the necessity of making an effort to conquer her present bad habits. "You must pray to God, my dear child, to give you strength to resist temptation; of your own self you can do nothing, and I fear you have relied too much on your own strength, and have forgotten that text 'Let him that thinketh he standeth take heed lest he fall.'" "Indeed, ma'am, I did really mean to finish the shirt," said Katie, with tears in her eyes. "Very likely," said Mrs. Graham, "but that very fact should, in itself, be a lesson to you for the future." Katie thanked Mrs.
