en she began to talk of Mrs. Ormonde, and Thyrza encouraged her to
tell all she could about that lady.

'I tell you what, Thyrza,' said Bessie, confidentially, 'when Nelly
gets old enough to keep things straight and look after father, do you
know what I shall do? I mean to go to Mrs. Ormonde and ask to be took
on for a housemaid. That's just what 'ud suit me. My chest ain't so bad
when I'm there, and I'd rather be one of Mrs. Ormonde's servants than
work anywhere else. But then I perhaps shan't live long enough for
that. It's a great thing for carrying people off, is a weak chest.'

Both grew excited as the train neared their destination. Bessie
recalled the stations, and here and there an object by the way. It was
Thyrza who felt herself the child.

The train entered the station. Bessie had her head at the window. She
drew it back, exclaiming:

'There's Mrs. Ormonde! See, Thyrza! the lady in black!'

Thyrza looked timidly; that lady's face encouraged her. Mrs. Ormonde
had seen Bessie, and was soon at the carriage door.

'So here you are again!' was her kindly greeting. 'Why, Bessie, you
must have been spending all your time in growing!'

She kissed the child, whose thin face was coloured with pleasure.

'This is Miss Trent, mum,' said Bessie, pointing to her companion, who
had descended to the platform. 'She's been so kind as to take care of
me.'

Mrs. Ormonde turned quickly round.

'Miss Trent?' She viewed the girl with surprise which she found it
impossible to conceal at once. Then she said to Thyrza: 'Arc you the
young lady of whom I have heard as Mr. Grail's friend?'

'Yes, ma'am,' Thyrza replied modestly.

'Then how glad I am to see you! Come, let us get Bessie's box taken to
the carriage.'

Mrs. Ormonde was not of those philanthropists who, In the midst of
their well-doing, are preoccupied with the necessity of preserving the
distinction between classes. She always fetched the children from the
station in her own unpretending carriage. Her business was to make them
happy, as the first step to making them well, and whilst they were with
her she was their mother. There are plenty of people successfully
engaged in reminding the poor of the station to which Providence has
called them: the insignificant few who indulge a reckless warmth of
heart really cannot be seen to do appreciable harm.

'Mrs. Ormonde, mum,' whispered Bessie, when they were seated in the
carriage.

'What is it, Bessie?'

'Woul