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THE CHANGE.

Six months have elapsed since Mr Carroll accepted the call to Y–. He has preached faithfully and labored diligently. That was his part. And he has received, quarterly, on the day it became due, his salary. That was according to the contract on the other side. His conscience is clear on the score of duty; and his parishioners are quite as well satisfied that they have done all that is required of them. They offered him three hundred a year and the parsonage. He accepted the offer; and, by that act, declared the living to be adequate to his wants. If he was satisfied they were.

“I don’t know how he gets along on three hundred dollars,” some one, more thoughtful about such matters, would occasionally say. “It costs me double that sum, and my family is no larger than his.”

“They get a great many presents,” would, in all probability, be replied to this. “Mr. A–, I know, sent them a load of wood some time ago; a Mr. B–told me that he had sent them a quarter of lamb and a bushel of apples. And I have, two or three times, furnished one little matter and another. I’m sure what is given to them will amount to half as much as Mr. Carroll’s salary.”

“This makes a difference, of course,” is the satisfied answer. And yet, all told, the presents received by the whole family, in useful articles, has not reached the value of twenty-five dollars during six months. And this has been more than abstracted from them by the kind ladies of the parish, who must needs visit and take tea with the minister as often as convenient.

Six months had passed since the Rev. Mr. Carroll removed to Y–. It was mid-winter; and a stormy day closed in with as stormy a night. The rays which came through the minister’s little study-window grew faint in the pervading shadows, and he could no longer see with sufficient clearness to continue writing. So he went down stairs to the room in which were his wife and children. The oldest child was a daughter, six years of age, named Edith from her mother. Edward, between three and four years old, and Aggy the baby, made up the number of Mr. Carroll’s household treasures. They were all just of an age to require their mother’s attention in every thing. As her husband entered the room, Mrs. Carroll said–

“I’m glad you’ve come down, dear. I can’t get Aggy out of my arms a minute. It’s nearly supper time, and I havn’t been able even to put the kettle on the fire. She’s very fretful.”

Mr. Carroll took the baby. His wife threw a shawl over her head, and taking an empty bucket from the dresser, was passing to the door, when her husband said–

“Stop, stop, Edith! You musn’t go for water in this storm. Here, take the baby.”

“I can go well enough,” replied Mrs. Carroll, and before her husband could prevent her, she was out in the blustering air, with the snowflakes driving in her face.

“Oh, Edith! Edith! Why will you do so?” said her husband, as soon as she came back.

“It’s as easy for me to go as for you,” she replied.

“No it isn’t, Edith. I am strong to what you are. If you expose yourself in this way, it will be the death of you.”

Mrs. Carroll shook the snow from her shawl and dress, and brushed it from her shoes, saying as she did so–

“Oh no! a little matter like this won’t hurt me.”

She then filled the tea-kettle and placed it over the fire. After which she set out the table, and busied herself in getting ready their evening meal. Meanwhile, Mr. Carroll walked the floor with Aggy in his arms, both looking and feeling serious; while the two older children amused themselves with a picture book.

As the reader has probably anticipated, the “living” (?) at Y–proved altogether inadequate to the wants of Mr. Carroll’s family; and faith, confidence, and an abstract trust in Providence by no means sufficed for its increase.