Poor boy, every bone in his body ached; but what was that in comparison with the anguish of soul he endured?  Conscience, that sure monitor, proclaimed with its still small voice, “Thou hast sinned against God;” and he longed for the hour when he could be alone, and, like erring Peter, “weep bitterly.”

It was Saturday evening, and work was left off at an earlier hour than usual.  And well was it for our hero that Jem Taylor was too much bent on the pursuance of his own low pleasures to remain a moment after the signal was given to cease work.  Perhaps more poison would have been instilled into the soul which had been found vulnerable; perhaps such a line of proceeding prompted as would have proved, if not ultimately successful, at least productive of much suffering; for the blessed Scriptures tell us that “transgression shall be visited with the rod, and iniquity with stripes.”

He was sitting alone in a corner of the shop when the shrill voice of Mrs. Walters was heard calling him to “go to Burton’s for milk.”  He obeyed, and wiping his streaming eyes, with an attempt to look cheerful, he entered the neat little room, where he found his friend Thomas, who had left the scene of strife unobserved.

“Sit down, Will,” said he, in a kindly tone, that, going straight to the boy’s heart, once more unlocked the fountain of his tears; “the old woman is taking her bread out of the oven, but she will be here in a moment.”

“I dare not stay,” replied the boy; “I must go home and come back rather than wait.  Mrs. Walters always scolds if I stay.”

“I will go with you and carry your excuse,” rejoined Thomas; “but there is one thing about which I have long wanted to ask you.  I never see you dressed clean on Sunday, or going to church.  Have you never been accustomed to hear the word of God preached on the Sabbath, or attended a Sunday school?  It is no wonder that falsehood dwells in the hearts of those who do not honour the ordinances of God; or that lies are spoken by such as do not know that ’He who is the Truth abhors the lying lips.’”

The tears of the orphan boy now flowed freely, and a deep blush mounted to his temples.  “O Mr. Burton,” he sobbed, “how gladly would I go to church and Sabbath school, as I did when my parents were living; but I fear I am growing wicked, for at times I have bad feelings, and to-day I told”—­he could not bring himself to say a lie—­“what was not true.”

“I know you did,” said Thomas; “I was in the back shop and saw you punished.  God grant you may never need another chastisement for the same cause.  But here is the old woman, and although I would like to talk to you a little, I must not suffer you to do wrong by staying a moment longer than necessary.  How would you like to go to church with me to-morrow afternoon?”

“If I only could,” replied William, “I would be glad; but I have a great deal to do on Sunday, and I am afraid Mrs. Walters will not like to spare me.”