THE LAME BOY. 43

road, and reached the little green cottage. Under the
porch, covered with creepers and honey-suckles, quite
shaded from sight, on a low bench, sat Nurse Burton
with a Bible on her lap.

“Ah, my dear child,” she said, as she saw Maurice,
“T thought you would come to-day. You are just in
time for us to read our evening lesson together, as we
used to do at home. And who is this young gentle-
man?’’ she asked, looking tenderly at lame Louis. “I
recollect I saw him the day I first called on you at the
school.”

“Tt is Louis Tarleton—one of my best friends,
nurse,” answered Maurice, “and I know you will love
him. But first we will read together, and then we will
_ talk a while.”

Maurice seated himself by his old nurse, and they
read through a chapter alternately, Nurse Burton often
stopping to explain and comment on different verses as
they read. There was, indeed, a striking contrast be-—
tween the stooping, worn-out form, the wrinkled face,
and the trembling voice of the old nurse, and the
youthful figure, glowing countenance, and musical
tones of Maurice, as they sat there together pondering
the blessed Word of Life—the help and strength of the
aged, the guide and counsellor of the young. ~The
descending sun gleamed through the fresh creeper and
honey-suckle, and fell with its golden light across their

faces—an emblem of the blessed Sun of Righteousness,