"Well, but, my dear child, if the baby is not ill I do not think I can come, because I have many things to do at home." "Mother said I was to run down the street and find Mrs. Ray's, and ask Millicent to come up to see baby directly." "Then I suppose it is ill; is it crying?" "Oh! yes, dreadful." "But you are a stranger to me; are you newcomers?" "No; we only comed yesterday." Millicent smiled as she answered, "I should call that newly-come; however, tell me your name and where you live, and then run home and say I will come as soon as I can." 66 away. 'Very well," said the girl, turning slowly "But you have not told me your name nor where you live." "Our name be Ward, and we lives at the first of them houses by the mill." 66 Very well, I will be there,-I think I may say as soon as you," said Millicent, smiling again as the child, with a lagging step, moved towards the gate; "but you had better try and get home quickly, for if baby is ill you may be useful to your mother;" thus saying, Millicent entered the cottage, and in a few moments set the supper, and, eating a piece of crust only herself, prepared to go out and visit the sick baby. "What, some one want you as usual, my darling," said her old mother, looking up with a loving glance in the face of her good child. "Yes, dear mother; but I shall be as quick as I can, and if there is not much the matter I daresay I shall be back before you have finished supper,-at any rate, time enough to light your pipe, father. bye for the present." Good "Bless that girl! she be on the trot from morning till night and night till morning, I do declare.” "So she be, father; but what is it for, to do some good to some one allays; now ain't it, father?” answered the old woman. 66 Umph; well, yes, I spose so; but I can't bear my meals without her." "Well it ain't so pleasant-like, I'll own, but I always tries to think that as God has been pleased to grant us such a child, we ought to show our gratitude by encouraging her in making all the use she can of herself. I don't know if I rightly make myself understood, but what I mean to say is this,— seeing as she has got more sense like than others, why she ought to use it in the service of Him who gave it." "Ah! true, mother, true; she is a right good girl and a blessing to us." "And to all who know her," chimed in the doting mother; "and may God reward her!” While the fond parents are thus descanting on the merits of their child, she is hastening to the cottage where her services appear to be required. She knew the inhabitants of all the cottages in the row but one, and therefore felt sure that that must be the Wards'; it bore a desolate and untidy appearance, but Millicent thought that having only just arrived they had not got their place into order. She knocked at the door, and the little girl, who had come to fetch her, opened it. "Shall I come in?" asked Millicent, as the child stood staring at her. "Yes, please," said a voice from within; and Millicent entered the room. It seemed comfortless enough; but it was too dark to see much or make out the faces of its occupants, which consisted of a woman and man and an older girl than the one who had fetched Millicent. She, the former, was racing up and down the room with a child in her arms, between two or three months old, whose constant screams, added to the singing of the girl-who appeared trying to shout down the baby-prevented anything like conversatior being heard. "Is this the baby you want me to see?" asked Millicent. "Yes, if you please; she's been all on screaming like that this two hours, and I can't think what ails her." "Give her to me, my dear," said Millicent to the girl, who held the poor little screaming thing; and taking it tenderly in her arms, Millicent held it up to her chest, and cuddling the little hands and face up in her neck began to rock it backwards and forwards very gently. In a few moments the screams grew less violent, and sunk at last into a low, complaining cry; still Millicent kept on the rocking, accompanying it, now that the screams had ceased, with a low soothing song, till finally the poor worn-out little creature fell asleep. "There, Mrs. Ward," said Millicent, "you see there is nothing very much the matter, or your little one would not have gone to sleep." The woman, who had stared at Millicent in bewilderment at seeing her child so soon quieted, exclaimed, "Well! I never! but what have you done to it then?" 66 Why, you see all I have done-simply given her warmth and comfort, and soothed instead of irritated her. She was troubled with some little ailment which made her restless in the first instance, and then fanning her up and down the room and making her more cold increased her discomfort, the loud singing irritated her still more, and if some quieting plan had not been tried, you would have had a great deal of trouble with her; but she has a distressed expression about her face," continued Millicent, for the man had risen and lighted a candle, so that she could see the poor little wan face lying on her bosom; "do you suckle her or feed her?" "Why, both, bless you. She don't have half enough from me, she don't never seem satisfied,—it's crying from morning to night." "Then she can't be quite well, Mrs. Ward." eats well enough." "What food do you give her?" "Oh, anything, same as we ourselves." "Then I certainly don't wonder at her crying," answered Millicent: "how old is she?" "Turned of four months." "Is she really? she is very small, poor dear child! As have sent for you me, I suppose you don't mind my giving my opinion; and so I must tell you that you are very wrong in letting this child have anything yet but milk and water, and even that I should scarcely think is wanted; but if you really find |