"No, I won't laugh, I am going to be serious. You will allow me to
preach a short sermon to-night, the last for some time, you know, and
mine shall be but a text, or a very little more, and then 'good night.'
Will you try to love that boy for a few weeks? _really_ try, and see if
he does not turn out better than you expect. If he do not, I will
promise you that you will be the better for it. Love is never wasted,
but remember, Fred, it is wicked and sad to hate one another, and it
comes to be a serious matter, for 'If any man love not his brother whom
he hath seen, how can he love God whom he hath not seen.' Good night."

"Good night, Miss Schomberg, you have taught me to like you," and oh,
how I did dislike you once! thought Fred, but he did not say so.

Miss Webster's foot got well at last, but it was a long time about it.
The lodgers went away at the end of the six weeks, and aunt Agnes and
Emilie were quietly settled in their little apartments again. The piano
was a little out of tune, but Emilie expected as much, and now after her
six weeks' holiday, so called, she prepared to begin her life of daily
teaching. Her kindness to Miss Webster was for some time to all
appearance thrown away, but no, that cannot be--kindness and love can
never be wasted. They bless him that gives, if not him that takes the
offering. By and bye, however, a few indications of the working of the
good system appeared. Miss Webster would offer to come and sit and chat
with aunt Agnes when Emilie was teaching or walking; and aunt Agnes in
return taught Miss Webster knitting stitches and crochet work. Miss
Webster would clean Emilie's straw bonnet, and when asked for the bill,
she would say that it came to nothing; and would now and then send up a
little offering of fruit or fish, when she thought her lodgers' table
was not well supplied. Little acts in themselves, but great when we