was as beautiful as she had enjoyed in the past; and it seemed utterly
impossible for her to imagine that there was anything in the future
that could compensate her for the trials she had endured.

In her girlhood Mrs. Mulford had been surrounded with the luxuries of
life; and after her marriage her surroundings were but a trifle less
magnificent. In such an air of luxury and ease, her children were
being reared when suddenly a great change came.

Mr. Mulford was a rash speculator, and on that memorable "Black
Friday," the idol he had worshiped, the god of gold, proved itself to
be nothing but clay, and was as dust in his hands. He could not rally
from the shock; pride, ambition, courage, were all annihilated; and
Mrs. Mulford, to whom beggary seemed worse than death, could only
mingle her tears with his in speechless agony.

Arthur, the eldest child, a boy of fourteen, endeavored to comfort his
grief-stricken parents.

"I will work for you, father. I can easily get a place in a store."

"My boy! my boy!" said the poor man, clasping his son affectionately
in his arms; "stay by your mother, and the girls, they will need you,
dear boy!" And he imprinted a kiss on the glowing cheek, that had in
it a father's blessing and farewell.

The next morning Mrs. Mulford was a widow, and her children
fatherless. A trifle the creditors allowed her was all she had to
depend upon, the money she had inherited from her father having been
swept away by the financial tornado.

She had taken a little place in the country, and with Arthur's help,
and Bridget's,--who had followed the fortunes of her mistress--had
succeeded in making things look quite cozy and attractive.

"Sure, ma'am," said Bridget, in her homely attempts to comfort her
mistress, who dragged herself about like a sable ghost, "if ye'd only
smile once in a while ye'd be surprised at the comfort ye'd get!"

"Ah, Bridget," Mrs. Mulford replied, with a long-drawn sigh, "my
smiling days are over. I try to be patient, but I cannot be cheerful."

"Ah, but, it's the cheerful patience that brings the sunshine; and ye
really shouldn't grieve the children so."

"Do they mind it, Bridget?"

"Sure, an' they do! Master Arthur, bless the boy! says it's just like
a tomb where ye are; and Miss Minnie and Maud have their little hearts
nearly torn out of them; and they are such wee, little birdies!"

But Mrs. Mulford could not be easily beguiled from her sorrow,
especially as s