ne there, and if not,
why, she'll soon get used to going without it."

Before Mary could reply, Billy whispered in her ear "Never mind, Mary;
you know that little cart that I draw mother's wood in, the cradle
will just fit it, and to-morrow afternoon I'll bring it to you, if it
doesn't rain."

Mary knew that he meant what he said, and smiling on him through her
tears, climbed into the rickety wagon, which was minus a step, and
taking Alice in her arms, she was soon moving away. In striking
contrast to this, Ella, about five minutes afterwards, was carefully
lifted into Mrs. Campbells handsome carriage, and reclining upon soft
cushions, was driven rapidly towards her new home.

Will their paths in life always continue thus different? Who can tell?

CHAPTER V.

THE POOR-HOUSE.

How long and tiresome that ride was with no one for a companion except
Mr. Knight, who, though a kind-hearted man knew nothing about making
himself agreeable to little girls, so he remained perfectly taciturn,
whipping at every cow or pig which he passed, and occasionally
screaming to his horse, "Git up, old Charlotte. What are you 'bout?"

Mary, who had seldom been out of the village, and who knew but little
of the surrounding country, for a time enjoyed looking about her very
much. First they went down the long hill which leads from the village
to the depot. Then they crossed the winding Chicopee river, and Mary
thought how much she should love to play in that bright green meadow
and gather the flowers which grew so near to the water's edge. The
causeway was next crossed, and turning to the right they came upon a
road where Mary had never been before, and which grew more rough and
stony as they advanced.

On the top of a steep hill Mary looked back to see if Chicopee were
yet, visible, but nothing was to be seen except the spire of the
Unitarian Meeting-House. About a quarter of a mile to the west,
however, the graveyard was plainly discernible, and she looked until
her eyes were dim with tears at the spot where she knew her parents
and brother were lying. By this time Alice was asleep, and though the
little arms which held her ached sadly, there was no complaint, but
she wished Mr. Knight would speak to her once, if it were only to ask
her how she did!

At last, concluding there would be no impropriety in making the first
advances herself, she said timidly, "Is it such a very bad place at
the poor-house?"

"Why, no, not so