in his lap. The latter could speak the words, "papa," "mamma," and others. "Say Plutarch," said his father. James repeated it very distinctly. "Say it again," continued Mr. Garfield. James repeated it plainly, as before, and continued to repeat it. Look ing up to his wife, Mr. Garfield remarked, with a true father's love and pride, "Eliza, this boy will be a scholar some day!" Winter was approaching; and winter in the wilder. ness, especially when the stalwart arm upon which loved ones depend for support and defence is palsied in death, is not calculated to dispel gloom from a dwelling. Could human experience be more dreary than when a woman is left a widow, alone with her children, in a wilderness swept by wintry storms; and that affliction intensified by extreme poverty, so that economy and careful planning are needful to keep the wolf of hunger from the door? What a winter it was! The snow lay deep and heavy upon the earth, burying the sacred mound in the corner of the wheat-field out of sight, and the high wins moaned through the naked forests as if wailing for the dead. The howl of wolves and the cry of panthers never sounded so terrible as they did during those long, desolate, wintry nights. The children, realizing the loneliness of their situation, now that their strong protector was dead, would lie awake at night to listen tremblingly to the howls and cries of these hungry animals, at the very door of their cabin. Sometimes it seemed to them that the panthers knew their courageous father was lying dead in the wheat-field, and so they ventured to come to the very door to moan and cry, as famishing children cry for bread. Baby James, however, slept on, oblivious alike to the sorrows and perils of the hour. God was keeping him against the night of national danger, when he would listen to the yell of the wolves of plunder at the door of the republic. That winter, alone in the almost pathless forest, with the warring elements and beasts of prey uniting to make desolation more desolate, could not have had more sad thoughts, bitter tears, hours of loneliness, and blasted hopes, crowded into it than were the natural outcome of the direful situation. It seemed to the weary ones that spring would never return; but it did, after a long, never-to-beforgotten winter. And spring swept away the snow and ice, and the streams ran singing again, and the dead things of the field and forest returned to life, save only the dead in the corner of the wheat-field. There was no resurrection there; and so hope was not revived in the cabin, and a gloomy outlook made even spring-time sau. There was no money in the house, and there was a debt on the farm. Food, also, was running low; and the widowed mother might hear her children cry for bread. What could she do? Lea ing the children still at school, we will continue the story of her sufferings. CHAPTER II. BEFORE SCHOOL-DAYS. N her strait Widow Garfield sought the advice of neighbor Boynton, whose real kindness had been a solace to her heart. He said: "No woman with four children can carry on a farm like this alone, and support her family. I see no pos sible way out of your trouble except to sell your place and return to your friends." "And leave my husband in the wheat-field?" responded Mrs. Garfield. "Never; I can't do that." "But what else can you do?" continued the neighbor. Looking at the circumstances squarely, with her accustomed good sense and courageous spirit, she answered: "When I have sold, paid the debts and the expense of removal to my friends, I shall have little or noth ing left, and that, too, without a rod of land on which to raise corn to make a loaf." "Your friends could help you," suggested the neighbor. "I can never cast myself upon the charity of iends," Mrs. Garfield replied, with an emphasis hat showed she meant what she said. "So long as I have my health I believe that my Heavenly Father will bless these two hands so as to support my chil dren. My dear husband made this home at the sacrifice of his life, and every log in this cabin is sacred to me now. It seems to me like a holy trust, that I must preserve as faithfully as I would guard his grave." The heroism that came out through these words was worthy of a Revolutionary matron; and the woman's fortitude fairly drew tears from the eyes of the neighbor. "Then you would not sell your farm any way?" added the neighbor, inquiringly. "Not all of it," she replied. enough to pay the debt." "Part of it might go; "I never thought of that," answered the neighbor. "Perhaps that is the way out of your trouble. Better :hink that over, and I will. I'll look about, too, and see what can be done by way of selling part of it." The neighbor left, and Mrs. Garfield went immediately to a greater than he, where she had often been in her want and woe for counsel. On her knees in one corner of the cabin she laid her case before God. and promised to follow His guidance if He would only make duty plain. God did make it plain as day to her. She arose from her knees without a doubt in her heart. She was happier than she had been any time since death darkened her home. She felt like singing the twenty-seventh Psalm: "The Lord is my light and my salvation; whom shall I fear? the |