The Wide, Wide World. Warner Susan

your mother were here, and could do for you what you want, would you doubt her love to do it? would you have any difficulty in asking her?"

      "Oh no!"

      "Then do not doubt his love who loves you better still. Come to Jesus. Do not fancy he is away up in heaven out of reach of hearing; he is here, close to you, and knows every wish and throb of your heart. Think you are in his presence and at his feet even now and say to him in your heart, 'Lord, look upon me I am not fit to come to thee, but thou hast bid me come take me and make me thine own take this hard heart that I can do nothing with, and make it holy and fill it with thy love I give it and myself into thy hands, O dear Saviour!' "

      These words were spoken very low, that only Ellen could catch them. Her bowed head sank lower and lower till he ceased speaking. He added no more for some time, waited till she had resumed her usual attitude and appearance, and then said

      "Ellen, could you join in heart with my words?"

      "I did, Sir I couldn't help it all but the last."

      "All but the last?"

      "Yes, Sir."

      "But, Ellen, if you say the first part of my prayer with your whole heart, the Lord will enable you to say the last too do you believe that?"

      "Yes, Sir."

      "Will you not make that your constant prayer till you are heard and answered?"

      "Yes, Sir."

      And he thought he saw that she was in earnest.

      "Perhaps the answer may not come at once it does not always; but it will come, as surely as the sun will rise to-morrow morning. 'Then shall we know, if we follow on to know the Lord.' But then you must be in earnest. And if you are in earnest, is there nothing you have to do besides praying?"

      Ellen looked at him without making any answer.

      "When a person is in earnest, how does he show it?"

      "By doing every thing he possibly can to get what he wants."

      "Quite right," said her friend, smiling; "and has God bidden us to do nothing besides pray for a new heart?"

      "Oh yes, Sir, he has told us to do a great many things."

      "And will he be likely to grant that prayer, Ellen, if he sees that you do not care about displeasing him in those 'great many things?' will he judge that you are sincere in wishing for a new heart?"

      "Oh no, Sir."

      "Then, if you are resolved to be a Christian, you will not be contented with praying for a new heart, but you will begin at once to be a servant of God. You can do nothing well without help, but you are sure the help will come; and from this good day you will seek to know and to do the will of God, trusting in his dear Son to perfect that which concerneth you. My little child," said the gentleman, softly and kindly, "are you ready to say you will do this?"

      As she hesitated, he took a little book from his pocket, and turning over the leaves, said

      "I am going to leave you for a little while I have a few moments' business downstairs to attend to: and I want you to look over this hymn and think carefully of what I have been saying, will you? and resolve what you will do."

      Ellen got off his knee, where she had been sitting all this while, and silently taking the book, sat down in the chair he had quitted. Tears ran fast again, and many thoughts passed through her mind, as her eyes went over and over the words to which he had pointed

      "Behold the Saviour at thy door;

       He gently knocks, has knock'd before,

       Has waited long, is waiting still,

       You treat no other friend so ill.

      "Oh, lovely attitude! he stands

       With open heart and outstretch'd hands:

       Oh, matchless kindness! and he shows

       This matchless kindness to his foes.

      "Admit him for the human breast

       Ne'er entertain'd so kind a guest;

       Admit him or the hour's at hand

       When at His door, denied, you'll stand.

      "Open my heart, Lord, enter in;

       Slay every foe, and conquer sin.

       Here now to thee I all resign

       My body, soul, and all are thine."

      The last two lines Ellen longed to say, but could not: the two preceding were the very speech of her heart.

      Not more than fifteen minutes had passed when her friend came back again. The book hung in Ellen's hand; her eyes were fixed on the floor.

      "Well," he said, kindly, and taking her hand, "what's your decision?"

      Ellen looked up.

      "Have you made up your mind on that matter we were talking about?"

      "Yes, Sir," Ellen said, in a low voice, casting her eyes down again.

      "And how have you decided, my child?"

      "I will try to do as you said, Sir."

      "You will begin to follow your Saviour, and to please him, from this day forward?"

      "I will try, Sir," said Ellen, meeting his eyes as she spoke. Again the look she saw made her burst into tears. She wept violently.

      "God bless you, and help you, my dear Ellen!" said he, gently passing his hand over her head; "but do not cry any more you have shed too many tears this morning already. We will not talk about this any more now."

      And he spoke only soothing and quieting words for a while to her; and then asked if she would like to go over the boat and see the different parts of it. Ellen's joyful agreement with this proposal was only qualified by the fear of giving him trouble. But he put that entirely by.

      CHAPTER VIII.

      Leaves us in the Street.

      The going over the boat held them a long time, for Ellen's new friend took kind pains to explain to her whatever he thought he could make interesting; he was amused to find how far she pushed her inquiries into the how and the why of things. For the time her sorrows were almost forgotten.

      "What shall we do now?" said he, when they had at last gone through the whole "would you like to go to your friends?"

      "I haven't any friends on board, Sir," said Ellen, with a swelling heart.

      "Haven't any friends on board! what do you mean? Are you alone?"

      "No, Sir," said Ellen, "not exactly alone; my father put me in the care of a lady that is going to Thirlwall; but they are strangers and not friends."

      "Are they _un_friends? I hope you don't think, Ellen, that strangers cannot be friends too?"

      "No, indeed, Sir, I don't," said Ellen, looking up with a face that was fairly brilliant with its expression of gratitude and love. But, casting it down again, she added, "But they are not my friends, Sir."

      "Well, then," he, said smiling, "will you come with me?"

      "Oh yes, Sir! if you will let me and if I shan't be a trouble to you, Sir."

      "Come this way," said he, "and we'll see if we cannot find a nice place to sit down, where no one will trouble us."

      Such a place was found. And Ellen would have been quite satisfied though the gentleman had done no more than merely permit her to remain there, by his side; but he took out his little Bible, and read and talked to her for some time so pleasantly that neither her weariness nor the way could be thought of.

      When he ceased reading to her, and began to read to himself, weariness and faintness stole over her.