ort herself. She obtained a situation for Frederic in a store, where
he receives rather more than is necessary for his own wants; and,
removing to the country, she took a little cottage for the sum which one
room would have cost her in town. Frederic is able to pay her rent: and
when she is well, with the aid of our little Margaret, she can maintain
herself and her helpless children in tolerable comfort. Thus the orphan
has it in her power to repay the kindness shown to her, and by
exercising the noble virtue of gratitude, to rise daily higher in the
scale of being."

"Dear Aunty!" cried Amy, with all eagerness, "have you not been telling
us the story of _our_ Mrs. Norton, and that pretty little adopted
daughter of hers, with the large, deep blue eyes?"

"You have guessed my riddle, Amy," replied her aunt, smiling. "I called
there this morning while you were all out--while George was amusing
himself by falling into the pond--and heard the whole history from the
sick woman's lips. I felt so deeply interested in it, that I thought you
could spend an hour worse than in listening to the simple tale."

"Are you sure that you have not embellished it?" asked Mr. Wyndham, with
a smile.

"Quite sure: for, although I filled up a few gaps in the narrative by
using my very common-place imagination, I assure you that all the facts
are substantially the same. And I don't doubt that if I had witnessed
the scenes described, I should have been able to make my story far more
pathetic, and far more romantic, because it would then have been a
daguerreotype of the truth. I have talked with little Margaret herself,
and certainly I have never seen a more engaging and lovely child. At my
urgent request, she consented to lend me her precious medallion for a
few days--and here it is."

"What a spiritual, poetical face!" exclaimed Mr. Wyndham. "I declare it
reminds me of a portrait of Schiller which I once saw."

"And the mother, too--there is no doubt of that woman being a real
lady," said Ellen. "Did you ever see a sweeter, gentler countenance?"

"Never," replied Alice. "But, uncle, do you not know that I have an
idea? I guessed all along that Margaret Roscoe was _our_ little
friend--but I feel sure that rascal of a Smith was lying, when he said
he had seen her uncle's death in the paper. It's not very likely such a
fellow as he was, would object to telling an untruth! He only wanted to
get her trunks, and to quiet her, you may be sure.