ought not to be trusted to a
child of your age.'

"At the moment of setting out, the poor little fellow said timidly to
the good dame, as he took off his cap to her: 'Will you let me kiss you,
ma'am?'

"His eyes were full of tears of gratitude. There was heart in that
child. This scene of popular charity gave me delightful emotions. As
long as I could, I followed with my eyes the tall young man and the
child, who now could hardly keep up with the pace of the horse, rendered
suddenly docile by fear of the whip.

"Yes! I repeat it with pride; man is naturally good and helpful.
Nothing could have been more spontaneous than this movement of pity and
tenderness in the crowd, when the poor little fellow exclaimed: 'What
will become of me? I have no father or mother!'

"'Unfortunate child!' said I to myself. 'No father nor mother. In the
hands of a brutal master, who hardly covers him with a few rags, and
ill treats him into the bargain. Sleeping, no doubt in the corner of
a stable. Poor little, fellow! and yet so mild and good, in spite of
misery and misfortune. I saw it--he was even more grateful than pleased
at the service done him. But perhaps this good natural disposition,
abandoned without support or counsel, or help, and exasperated by bad
treatment, may become changed and embittered--and then will come the age
of the passions--the bad temptations--'

"Oh! in the deserted poor, virtue is doubly saintly and respectable!

"This morning, after having (as usual) gently reproached me for not
going to mass, Agricola's mother said to me these words, so touching in
her simple and believing mouth, 'Luckily, I pray for you and myself too,
my poor girl; the good God will hear me, and you will only go, I hope,
to Purgatory.'

"Good mother; angelic soul! she spoke those words in so grave and mild
a tone, with so strong a faith in the happy result of her pious
intercession, that I felt my eyes become moist, and I threw myself on
her neck, as sincerely grateful as if I had believed in Purgatory. This
day has been a lucky one for me. I hope I have found work, which luck I
shall owe to a young person full of heart and goodness, she is to take
me to-morrow to St. Mary's Convent, where she thinks she can find me
employment."

Florine, already much moved by the reading, started at this passage in
which Mother Bunch alluded to her, ere she continued as follows:

"Never shall I forget with what touching interest, what delicate
b