perish, or bring forth fruit a hundred-fold.

The stranger saw the impression he had made. He would not interrupt
the workings of the child's soul by further words, and turning away
toward another part of the graveyard, he left the boy to his
self-communion.

After a while he returned, and found him still sitting on the grave
where all his treasure of love was buried; but he had ceased weeping,
and his countenance no longer wore the expression of despairing
sorrow; trust in God and faith in the promise of heavenly protection,
had strengthened his soul, and instead of the heart-breaking sense of
loneliness that had rested on him since the loss of his mother, he
felt the blessedness of assured protection from Him who has promised
to be the orphan's Father. He was holding the little rude sketch he
had made, to be treasured as a memorial of the spot so sacred, when
far away, and was gazing on it attentively when the stranger returned.

"Are you going to colour your sketch?" he asked in a kindly tone; "it
would make it more lively and natural."

"I have no colours, sir," replied William; "and do not know how to
paint. My father could paint, but he never wished me to learn; but
when I look on this little drawing, I can think of the bright roses
and the green grass here, and that will do."

"Give me your picture, my child; I will colour it for you," said the
stranger. "I am a painter, and have been staying for some days in the
village; come this evening to my room, No. 24, at the hotel, and I
will return your picture, and then you can tell me more of yourself