I HEARD this morning of two children feeling very bad, and crying bitterly; and I would like to tell my young friends the causes of their sorrow.

In the first place, I will say that I am a teacher in two Sunday-schools, one a church, the other a mission school. Yesterday some of my scholars were absent, and this morning I thought I would inquire after them.

I went first to a wretched tenement house, and after going up two pairs of stairs, knocked at the door of a dark room (lighted by only one little window) which Johnny Wilder called his home.

Mrs. Wilder opened the door. The first thing she said was, "O Miss A! Johnny said that he was afraid you would be here this morning."

"Afraid!" said I. "Didn't he want to have me come?"

"Oh, yes, ma'am!" she replied;" only I suppose he did not like to have you know why he was not at Sunday-school. The poor boy cried about it half the day, and several times last week, too, because I would not let him tramp every night."

"Tramp!" said I. "What do you mean?"

"The boys tramp bran," she replied.

But that I did not understand; so I asked her to explain. And then she told me that at this busy season, they were sending off great quantities of grain from the depot, and when they came to load up bran, they hired little boys to get into the car and tramp on the bran as it was poured in; thus making the car hold about four times as much as it otherwise would. For this they were paid ten cents an hour; and it was only done in the evening.  I can assure you that tears quickly came to my eyes when I heard that Johnny did this; for I knew that he worked hard all day at the match factory, and that, when he came home at night, he had to cut wood for his mother, or more often hunt about the streets and alleys to gather chips and blocks for her to burn. And then to think that, after his meager supper, instead of going to a night's sleep (which, happily, is just as sweet to a poor as to a rich boy), he would walk a mile, and for four and sometimes six hours tramp bran! I pictured to myself how hard it would be to stand in the cold, night air, tramping, tramping, and the fine particles of dust constantly rising, filling throat and lungs; and this for a tired, growing boy, after a hard day's work! Yet Johnny cried because his mother would only allow him to go every other night. She knew if he went oftener he would soon be ill.

Mrs. Wilder explained the need of "his going.” She said that it was only by the pay received from extra night-work that he was able to get suitable clothing for Sunday school. "When he has worked two nights more," she said, "he can get a pair of boots; so you will see him next Sunday."

When I see him, don't you think I shall remember at what cost he came? While thinking of this dear boy's love and willing sacrifice for the Sunday school, I walked to a distant part of the city to the beautiful, elegant home of Mabel Ward.

When I inquired of Mrs. Ward the reason of her daughter's absence, she said, "To tell the truth, Mabel cried so about going, that I allowed her to stay at home. I had told her that she should have a new hat and sack for Sunday; but they did not come as they were promised; and so the poor child cried herself into quite a fever, and I told her she need not go."

Just then, Mabel came in from school, dressed handsomely, as she always was. 

After a few words of greeting, I said to Mrs. Ward aside, "Why could not Mabel have worn this beautiful school-suit yesterday?"

"Oh! That would never do," she replied; the girls all dress so much now a-days! And I can assure you that it is getting to be really a burden to me."

I could not but tell her that the gay, fine dress of the present day was a heavy burden to many a Sunday-school teacher; that they were often pained to find that the attention of the scholars was not given to the lesson, but to the new and beautiful costumes they saw; and that the appearance of one little fashionable miss would often set at naught the most earnest and prayerful efforts of a teacher.

Tears came to both Mrs. Ward's and Mabel's eyes when I told them why Johnny Wilder cried; and when I left Mabel, she put her arms around my neck, and said, "I hope I shall not be so foolish and wicked again."  I pray God she may not forget this Monday morning's lesson. 

Child at Home.