"How long ago?"

"Not more than two or three weeks ago."

"You don't know the name of the author? There are lives of Washington written by different men."

"I don't remember who wrote this. I didn't mind much about what they were saying.'

"I can find out," added Abraham; and he did find out. He embraced the first opportunity to inquire of a neighbour, and learned that it was Weems's "Life of Washington" that Mr. Crawford owned.

"Can I borrow it?" he inquired of his parents, for he was very anxious to read it.

Perhaps he won't like to lend it," answered his mother.

"I shall find that out when I ask him,” said Abraham. "And you should tell him that you will not take it unless he is perfectly willing to let you have it." "Then I may ask him, may I?"

"If you are very desirous to read it.

66

'Well, I am, and I will go there to-night when I get through work."

Abraham was elated with the idea of getting hold of this new work. He viewed the character of Washington with admiration, and he would know what different biographers said of him. He was not a little impatient for his day's work to be done. He toiled as usual, however, with a good degree of interest in his work, until night, when he prepared himself to call on Mr. Crawford.

The family gave him a cordial welcome, and Mrs. Crawford said: "I wonder what has brought you out to-night. I haven't seen you here for a long time."

"Perhaps you won't be so glad to see me after you learn what I came for," replied Abraham.

"And what did you come for, that makes you think so?" asked Mr. Crawford.

"I came to borrow a book."

“A book, hey! That is a good errand, I am sure." "But I did not know as you would be willing to

lend it."

"What book is it?" asked Mr. Crawford. no doubt that I can accommodate you."

"I have

"It is the 'Life of Washington.' I was told that you had it, and I want to read it."

"I wish all the boys wanted to read it," said Mr. Crawford. "I will lend it to you, Abe, with great pleasure. I am glad to see that you like to read."

"I will not take it unless you are perfectly willing to lend it," said Abraham.

"If I did not want you should have it, I should tell you so. I am not one of those persons who are afraid to tell what they thinks. I am glad that I have the book to lend you."

"I will take good care of it, and return it to you all safe," responded Abraham. This was just like him. So considerate a boy would not ask the loan of a book without some diffidence, and when it was borrowed, he would feel that great care must be used to preserve it. He valued the few books which he himself possessed so highly as to lead him to think that other people held their volumes in equal estimation. It was really an excellent trait of character that caused him to use so much discretion in borrowing books, for the borrowing of this single article has been the occasion of much trouble in neighbourhoods. In consequence of thoughtlessness and less regard for the interests of others than their own, many persons have borrowed books and never returned them, or else returned them in a much worse condition than when they were received. Frequently books are lost in this way from Sabbath-school and other libraries. Borrowers do not return them. They

think so little of their obligations that the books are forgotten and lost. Book-borrowers are very apt to be negligent, so that when we see a lad so particular as Abraham was, it is worth while to take note of the fact.

"It will take me some time to read so large a work," said he, as he took it from Mr. Crawford. "Perhaps you will want it before I get through with it."

"Oh, no; you are such a great reader that you will finish it in short metre. Keep it as long as you want it, and I shall be suited."

"I thank you," Abraham replied, as he arose to leave. "Good night."

"Good night," several voices responded.

It was a very joyful evening to Abraham as he bore that Life of Washington home, and sat down about the middle of the evening to read the first chapter therein.

"Keep it nice," said his mother. "Remember that it is a borrowed book."

"I will try," he replied. "Mr. Crawford was perfectly willing to lend it, and I shall be none the less careful on that account."

Those were pleasant hours of leisure that he devoted to reading Weems's Life of Washington. Every evening, after his day's labour was completed, he read the work with absorbing interest, and at other times, when he could find a spare moment, it was in his hand. He had nearly completed it when the following mishap caused him many unpleasant thoughts and feelings.

A driving storm was raging, so that he could perform little labour except what could be done under cover. Of course his book was in his hand much of the time, and the whole of the dreary evening, to a

late hour, was his companion. On going to bed, he laid it down directly under a large crack between the logs, and, the wind changing in the night, the rain was driven into the house, and the book was wet through. The first sight that met Abraham's eyes in the morning was the drenched book, and his feelings can be better imagined than described.

"Oh, dear!" he exclaimed. "That book is spoiled!" And he could scarcely restrain the tears that welled up to his eyes.

"How did you happen to lay it there?" asked his mother.

"I never thought about its raining in there. But only look at it! it is completely soaked!" and he lifted it up carefully to show his mother.

"Oh, I am so sorry! it is ruined!" she said.

"I can dry it," answered Abraham, "but that will not leave it decent. See! the cover will drop off, and there is no help for it. What will Mr. Crawford say? I told him that I would keep it very carefully, and return it to him uninjured."

"

'Well, it is done, and can't be helped now," added his mother; " and I have no doubt that you can fix it with Mr. Crawford."

"I have no money to pay him for it, and I don't see how I can make it good to him. He ought to be paid for it."

"Of course he had, and he may want you to do some work for him, which will be the same as money to him. You'd better take the book to him to-day and see what you can do."

"I am almost ashamed to go. He will think that I am a careless fellow."

"Never be ashamed to do right, my son."

"I am not ashamed to do right. I was only say

ing how I felt. I told him that I would keep it nicely."

"And so you meant to; but accidents will happen sometimes, even if we are careful."

"He shall be paid for it somehow," continued Abraham. "I will see him to-day."

The volume was exposed to the heat of the fire that day, and when Abraham was ready to go to Mr. Crawford's in the evening, it was dry enough for transportation. The storm had passed away, and the stars were looking down from the skies, as he took the book, carefully wrapped in a cotton handkerchief, and proceeded to Mr. Crawford's. His heart was heavy and sad, and he dreaded to open the subject to him.

"Good evening, Abe! Got through with the book so quick?" said Mr. Crawford.

"Good evening," responded Abraham, in his usual manly way. "I have brought the book back, although I have not finished it."

Keep it, then, keep it,” replied Mr. Crawford, before the lad could tell his story. "I told you to keep it as long as you wanted it.”

Perhaps you won't want I should keep it when you hear what has happened to it." And he proceeded to untie the handkerchief in which it was wrapped.

"There," continued Abraham, exhibiting the book; "it is ruined. I laid it down last night where the rain. beat in and wet it through, and it is spoiled. I'm very sorry indeed, and want to pay you for it in some way."

Josiah Crawford was a hard man by nature, and an excess of whiskey made him harder. He was not a relative of Andrew Crawford, the teacher, although he was like him in one particular-he had an ungovernable temper. At sight of the ruined volume his countenance changed, and he snapped out in his wrath :