to work to find some employment they could carry on at home.

Just when Dora was beginning to despair, she received a letter from her father's brother, who was bailiff on a small farm, in a remote part of Buckinghamshire. He said he did not think it right for two young girls to live alone in London, and that if they liked to come and look after him and his cottage, they were welcome to share his home so long as he had one. This generous offer Dora gladly accepted for herself and Cecilia, and on a pleasant spring day they found themselves in their new quarters. Their uncle was still engaged on some farm work; but the old dame who had hitherto attended to the bailiff's cottage, assured thom that they were expected, and that their uncle would soon be in.

Dora soon had her things off, and was busy helping to prepare the evening meal. Old Mrs. Gibbs was a kindly soul, but she had not much neatness nor thrift about her. There was a want of invitingness about everything, which Dora quickly perceived.

Very quietly and unobtrusively she set to work, placed the tea things in an orderly fashion on the table, cleared up the hearth, dusted the room, built up a small, bright fire, and, last of all, made two or three delicate slices of toast.

"Well, I'm glad to think your uncle'll have someone to look after his comforts a bit," Mrs. Gibbs remarked, goodnaturedly, as she tied on her bonnet, "for, poor soul! he's getting old now, and wants more doing for than I'm able to give him."

When the old bailiff came in from his afternoon's work, he was very gratified at the pleasant sight that greeted him. "I see we shan't want Mrs. Gibbs any more," he said, gleefully rubbing his hands together before the cheery blaze.

"She's a kind soul, as honest as daylight, but a bit of a muddle."

"Of course Cissy and I shall do everything you want now," Dora replied, readily.

"And can you scrub, and wash, and iron, and cook, my dears?" the old man asked, with a suspicious glance at Cecilia's delicate hands and flowing ringlets.

"Oh, dear, yes," laughed Dora, answering for herself. Cecilia did not reply.

Dora soon settled down in her new home, and made herself very happy and very useful there. She had everything in the brightest and neatest of order. Cecilia often wondered how Dora could do so much and never seem tired of it. For herself she missed the noise and bustle of her old surroundings. At times she would endeavour to help her sister, but it soon ended in weariness and disgust. Never in her life had she thought of doing anything that was disagreeable to her; and although she wished to be of some use to her uncle in return for his kindness, she was so accustomed to indulge herself that she could not break through the habit. She would talk sentimentally enough about being a burden on her uncle, and wish she could repay him; but the little things that came to her hand were quite beneath her notice. It is not to be wondered at that she found her life unbearably dull. The beauties of Nature had little attraction for her. There were no shops, and but few people to be seen, nothing to interest or amuse her, she said, grumblingly. And, indeed, in time, Cecilia's health began to suffer from the monotony of her life, and morbid hankering after what she could not have.

There was no fear of Dora coming to such a pass. Her life was as active and as full of interest as ever it had been in

the busy London home. Her uncle had never, since his mother's death, had his clothes so nicely mended, nor his cottage so neatly kept, never for many a long day enjoyed such well-prepared meals. Sometimes Dora would have been glad of a little help; for there was more than enough work for one pair of hands, especially as Dora was, or fancied herself, quite incapable of making a garment for herself without a great deal of assistance.

And yet Dora had found time to carry out a little idea of her own. She had sent to one of her former neighbours, a linen draper, and requested him to furnish her with any remnants of pretty stuff that he might have in his shop, at as cheap a rate as he could. The answer was a parcel of odds and ends of every description, measuring from half a yard to three or four. These she converted into all sorts and sizes of children's clothing. In this out-of-theway village such things had never been seen as Dora made from her recollection of the London shop windows. For six months she worked perseveringly, planning her little garments while she was about her work, cutting them out at all sorts of odd moments, and stitching them together when she could. When a goodly number were completed, Dora covered the parlour table with a snowy cloth and arranged her work upon it, over the chair-backs and on the old stiff-backed sofa. Then she fetched her uncle and Cecilia to see the show.

They stood and looked with open mouths, scarcely able to believe that Dora's hands could have achieved so much. "Do you mean to say all these came out of that bundle you had from Mr. Wilson?" Cecilia said, incredulously. "However much did they cost?"

"Not much: I got them so cheaply,"

Dora replied; "but I have spent every farthing of the money I had at father's death, and to get some more I must sell these things. Will you let people come here to buy them, Uncle William ?"

The old man consented, and then Dora unfolded her plan, which was to send word to all the farmers' wives round about, far and near, that there would be a sale of children's ready-made clothes at the cottage on three days in the following week, and ask them if they would not at any rate come and see the things.

This was carried out, and on the day appointed three matrons made their appearance, accompanied by numerous small fry. The work was overhauled and commented upon with surprise and admiration. At first the women seemed a little afraid of the London young lady, as they called Dora; but her pleasant manner, her willingness to alter anything for them, the trouble she took to find exactly what suited each little child, soon set them upon good terms with her, and, after their purchases were made, a cup of tea and a slice of home-baked bread and butter sent them away full of content. On the second day ten people came, the three visitors of yesterday having told every one they met of the little excitement that was going on, for in a country village such an affair was indeed quite an event. The third day was still more successful, and as on the fourth and fifth days people still continued to come, Dora not only sold the greater portion of the things she had made, but received some urgent requests to make others, for the farmers' wives declared that if they made them themselves they would cost as much, and not be half so pretty.

In this way Dora brought about what she had all along had in her mind, which was to obtain a connection as a children's

dressmaker; this she thought she could attend to without forfeiting her other occupations, and being pretty, and less laborious than ordinary dressmaking, might interest Cecilia as well.

"It's just your luck," Cecilia said, gloomily, as she watched Dora's cooking operations one morning when the sale was over. "You always were so clever. Nothing seems to be any trouble to you."

"It's no good making trouble of anything," Dora replied, cheerfully. "I often used to get tired of the work, and think that after all my trouble perhaps no one would buy them; and then sometimes the pieces were awkward that I couldn't think how to make up; but I persevered, for I kept on thinking if anything happened to uncle, what would become of us? Now I see the way before me of being able to keep myself."

"I suppose uncle must have saved some money, living alone all these years," Cecilia said, ponderingly. "And there's

no one else to have it but us."

"I think we ought to be able to do something for ourselves," Dora replied.

"Well, it's nice to be independent," Cecilia replied, with a yawn. "I wish you'd think of something I could do to earn money."

"You can help me," Dora replied, readily.

"Oh, that's such hard work for me! I hate my needle. Now, if we could only get a machine, I do believe I should like that." And Cecilia spent the next few days in dreaming of what she would do if only she had a machine.

The winter that followed Dora's sale was cruelly severe, and for three months William Hope was laid by with rheumatism. Now Dora's time was so fully occupied that she had but little time for her work, and the little family were entirely dependent upon the savings of the old man, which rapidly diminished as the long winter wore on. When at last the bailiff got about again, it was evident that his working days were over. The illness had left him a decrepit, infirm invalid.

Of course William was no longer entitled to his cottage, but was obliged to move into one in the village, for which rent must be paid.

The old days of plenty were gone by for ever. They were obliged to live very sparingly, and Dora's earnings were often required to make ends meet. If she had not begun her business in her more prosperous days she would have had no chance of doing so now, for unhappily the very poverty that creates our want is the greatest bar to commencing an occupation that might be a means of support.

Plenty of people have discovered and appreciated Dora's happy industry, among them a young farmer, who would like to transplant it to his own home, only that Dora will not leave her kind uncle while he has need of her.

In the meantime, Cecilia is still dreaming about what she will do when she can get a sewing machine, but she is also trying to do something in Dora's business, for she begins to fear that if she does not learn to depend upon herself a little, a time may come when she will have no one else to lean on.

You will see from the expression "Thy people" that this prayer has reference to the people of God. Some persons might say, "Why, this collect is partly about withstanding the temptations of the world, the flesh, and the devil; surely these are the very things from which God's people have escaped, and, therefore, why should they pray against them? We can understand the last part of this prayer, where they ask that they may be enabled 'with pure hearts and minds to follow the only God,' but surely the first part has much more to do with wicked people than with the children of God."

But any one who said this would do so because of not knowing the true state of the case as regards the people of God. The position of God's people is not one of freedom from assault, not one of perfection, not one of peace as regards Satan. There is peace with God, for all condemnation has passed; but no peace with Satan, indeed less peace than ever there was before. So far from becoming free from Satanic trial when we give ourselves to God, we become still more exposed to it, for Satan never gives himself so much trouble about us as when we are escaping from his power; never have we so much to withstand from him as then.

Some people seem to think that when a man becomes a child of God, in really giving himself to Him, he must needs

little know how sorely he is then tempted, and perhaps instead of making great advance in the spiritual life, it will give him as much as he can do just barely to hold his ground.

The Christian is here represented as a man against whom there comes a great rush, and he has to stand against that rush.

Grace, then, is needed by the people of God simply for holding their ground. There is reminding grace. How much we need this! In ourselves, we are very likely to forget that we have the old enemies to contend with. Perhaps when first we turn to God really, we make little of them. We think, "Oh, now I am clean escaped from my old foes, I need think of them no more!" Ah, that is just what would suit them, for then they will come down upon us, and take us unawares, and throw us. Very heavy falls have Christian men got in this way, after they had given themselves to God for some little time, and Satan had let them alone so as to throw them off their guard.

It is an exercise of God's grace towards us when we are reminded to be watchful. Many have fallen, simply because they were not on their guard. To be kept in a state of recollection is a great help, and this will come from reminding grace.

Then there is helping grace, when God shows His kindness to us by actually putting forth His power within us. When we are hard pressed, and almost inclined, perhaps from very weariness, to give in; or when a temptation comes upon us, when to yield would be very sweet, then when things seem likely to