and earn a lot of money, which he intended giving to mamma."

Frank was going for a sailor; "that is," added the dear fellow, "if mamma won't cry; but she sometimes says she should break her heart with crying if I did; and you know, sir, I could not do anything to make mamma unhappy."

"God bless you! my brave boy; may you always think thus," cried I, as I patted his bonny brown curls. "And what is my Nellie going to be?" enquired I, turning to my little favourite, who as usual was nestled close to my knee.

"Oh! I shall be a lady."

"Very true," thought I, "sure enough thou wilt ever and always be a lady, in whatever station of life God may see fit to place thee."

At length these pleasant times came to an end. The term of my visit was expired, and I must bid farewell, not only to my brother and his wife, but little friends over the fence.

to my

We had a long walk on this our last day together. And when the sun was sinking to rest behind the distant hills, we sat upon the rustic seat in the garden, wondering if we should ever be permitted to meet again in this world. Even Waddles looked

extra sober, or perhaps we only thought so; at any rate, I know we all felt very sad at the thought of parting; for these little ones had begun to look up to me for advice, in any of their little difficulties; and I well, yes! I loved them all very, very dearly: from my favourite Nellie, down toWaddles!

CHAPTER III.

T was many months ere I saw my little friends again; and what I am going to tell

you now, I learned afterwards. Mary, the eldest girl, and little manager as I called her, was always a careful, steady child. It did one good to see her help to wash and dress baby. But I must not forget you are anxious to hear what I afterwards heard about these little people.

At first Mr. Richards' letter, enclosing money for their mamma, came regularly, then more seldom; and at last, month after month flew by, and never letter came.

Poor Mrs. Richards! this was a terrible blow for her. Not only had she to bear all the suspense of not knowing whether her husband was alive or dead; but she had no money left with which to support her little family. Tom had to give up his cherished hope of going to college. They had left the pretty cottage where I had first became ac

quainted with them, and gone to live in lodgings. Mrs. Richards' health, too, began to fail: she was confined to her bed.

Mary proved herself a loving, trusty daughter in this time of trial. It was really wonderful to see how well she managed; keeping the one poor room so tidy, and ekeing out the little loaf of bread; reserving the smallest share for herself. Poor little Mary! hers seemed a hard lot. But I think it did her good, for to use her own words, "It made her trust in Jesus."

The winter was over-a hard winter it had been too. Tom and Frank had begun to get out of doors again, trying to earn a few coppers by carrying parcels, or holding a horse, "anything," poor Tom said, "so long as he came honestly by it." Then again, he always fancied he did not feel so hungry out of doors as in the house. Poor fellows! I am afraid they were often hungry at this time-a penny loaf being often all they had to divide amongst them for one meal. And out of that, Mary said, "Tom always would divide his share between himself, and his pet Waddles."

CHAPTER IV.

HINGS were looking very black now, as poor Mary said. "Dear mamma got

worse; what with anxiety about papa preying on her mind, and insufficient food: she was too weak to get up, even in the evenings. Only," said she, "I was always thinking of those beautiful words

'Behind a frowning Providence

He hides a smiling face.""

Brave little Mary! I wish every little girl, aye! and boy too, would strive to be like her.

It was now nineteen months since any news had been heard of papa. Even Nellie, who had never missed one morning watching for the postman, hoping to be the first to get the letter, had begun to despair.

"It's no use watching this morning," she began to say; "I know he won't bring dear mamma a letter."