had told her to keep her in good humour, lest she
should tell her aunts that Harris seldom walked with her; so that way
they went. They had scarcely got to one end of the long row of trees
when they saw a plain-dressed woman coming to meet them from the other.
Evelyn uttered a joyful cry, and began to run towards her; Fanny ran,
too, but the little girl quite outstripped her.

"It was nurse who was coming; she had been forbidden the house; but she
had often come to the lodge, and often walked a part of the way along
the avenue, if it were only for a chance of seeing her child.

"Nurse was a widow, and had only one child living. He had a good
situation in the school on the London road, which anyone may see at the
entrance of the town. So nurse then lived alone, in a small house on
that road.

"How joyful was the meeting between Evelyn and her nurse! how eagerly
did the little girl rush into those arms which had been the cradle of
her happy infancy!

"After the first moments of joy were past, they sat down on a fallen
and withered bough, between the rows of trees, and talked long and long
together; so long, that Evelyn was almost too late to be taken to her
aunts at noon. They talked of many things; and the good nurse forgot
not to remind Evelyn of what she had taught her by the desire of her
mother; especially to remember to give; to be civil to all persons; to
speak when spoken to; to say her prayers; and not to be proud and
haughty.

"The nurse also took care to tell Evelyn, that when she talked of
giving, she wanted nothing herself, being in her way quite rich,
through the goodness of Mr. Vaughan.

"'So don't give _me_ anything, my precious child, but your love.'

"This meeting with nurse served the purpose of keeping alive all the
simple and best feelings of Evelyn. The little one told her how her
lamb had left her, and that they had been looking for it that very
morning.

"'Well, my dear,' said the nurse, 'the poor creature is happier in the
fields, and with its own kind, than you can make it; and if you are not
too young to understand me, I would advise you to learn, from this loss
of your lamb, henceforth not to give your heart and your time to dumb
creatures, to which you can do little good, but to your own
fellow-creatures, that you may help. Now, to make what I say plain,
there is, at this very time, at the lodge, a pretty orphan boy, maybe
two years of age, who has been taken in for a week or so by