THE clock upon the tower of a neighboring

church tolled forth, slowly and solemnly, the

knell of the departed hour.

As the last sound died away, Willie, who was

sitting on the carpet at his mother's feet, lifted

 his head, and looking earnestly in her face, 


"Mother, what did the clock say?"

"To me," said the mother sadly, "it seemed

to say, 'Gone, gone, gone, gone!' "

"What, mother, what has gone?"

"Another hour, my son."

"What is an hour, mother?"

"A white-winged messenger from our Father

in heaven, sent by him to inquire of you,

of me what we are doing, what we are saying,

what we are thinking and feeling."

"Where is it gone, mother?"

"Back to Him who sent it, bearing on its

wings, that were so pure and white when it

came, a record of all our thoughts, words and

deeds, while it was with us."