serable. I am going to make
myself as contented and happy as I can, with my work and my children."

Here Mary Erskine suddenly laid her head down upon her arms again, on
the little work-table before her, and burst into tears. After sobbing
convulsively a few minutes she rose, hastily brushed the tears away
with her handkerchief, and went toward the door. She then took the
water pail, which stood upon a bench near the door, and said that
she was going to get some water, at the spring, for tea, and that she
would be back in a moment. She returned very soon, with a countenance
entirely serene.

"I have been trying all day," said Mrs. Bell, "to think of something
that I could do for you, to help you or to relieve you in some way or
other; but I can not think of any thing at all that I can do."

"Yes," said Mary Erskine, "there is one thing that you could do
for me, that would be a very great kindness, a very great kindness
indeed."

"What is it?" asked Mrs. Bell.

"I am afraid that you will think it is too much for me to ask."

"No," said Mrs. Bell, "what is it?"

Mary Erskine hesitated a moment, and then said,

"To let Mary Bell come and stay here with me, a few days."

"Do you mean all night, too?" asked Mrs. Bell.

"Yes," said Mary Erskine, "all the time."

"Why, you have got two children to take care of now," replied Mrs.
Bell, "and nobody to help you. I should have thought that you would
have sooner asked me to take Bella home with me."

"No," said Mary Erskine. "I should like to have Mary Bell here, very
much, for a few days."

"Well," said Mrs. Bell, "she shall certainly come. I will send her,
to-morrow morning."

CHAPTER VI.

MARY BELL IN THE WOODS.

Mary Erskine had a bible in her house, although she could not read
it. When Albert was alive he was accustomed to read a chapter every
evening, just before bed-time, and then he and Mary Erskine would
kneel down together, by the settle which stood in the corner, while he
repeated his evening prayer. This short season of devotion was always
a great source of enjoyment to Mary Erskine. If she was tired and
troubled, it soothed and quieted her mind. If she was sorrowful, it
comforted her. If she was happy, it seemed to make her happiness more
deep and unalloyed.

Mary Erskine could not read the bible, but she could repeat a
considerable number of texts and verses from it, and she knew, too,
the prayer, which Albert had been accustomed to offe