e with, and what is it you are to do?'

I then related all that had passed the preceding day between Mrs. Dawson
and the strangers.

'Well,' said Mr. Sanders, 'I will call this evening upon the overseers,
and hear what they say of these people. I hope they are respectable, and
will be kind to you; and, my dear child, pray remember my advice, be
honest and obliging; do not let any temptation lead you to take what is
not your own; and never give a saucy answer, even though you should be
found fault with unjustly. Will you think of my advice, and act by it?'

'I will, indeed I will,' replied I. 'And now, sir, if you please, let me
once more look at my father's picture, for, you know, when I am in
London, I cannot come to you then to look at it.'

Mr. Sanders, taking it from the drawer, gave it into my hand. I gazed at
it, pressed it to my lips, and wept over it; and, at last, when Mr.
Sanders desired me to give it him back, I begged of him to let me take
it with me to London.

'If you take it to London,' said he, 'you may, perhaps, lose it, or it
may be taken from you. The picture is valuable on account of the gold
and pearls about it, and may tempt bad people to steal it. You had much
better leave it with me.'

'I will hide it so securely,' replied I, 'that nobody shall ever see it,
or know that I have it.'

'How can you hide it, my dear?'

'I will hide it in my bosom; but I am going to Nurse Jenkins, and she
will fasten it inside my stays, so that it cannot be seen, and people
will not think that I have a picture. Do, pray, sir, let me have it.'

'Well,' said Mr. Sanders, after a little pause, in which he seemed to
consider whether it would be safe to grant my request or not; 'I will
entrust it to your care, but be sure never to let it be seen, nor to
tell anyone that you have such a picture in your possession.'

Most fervently I promised to take every possible care of this beloved
portrait, and was about to take my leave when Mr. Sanders said:

'Stay, my dear, here is sixpence for you.'

'No, thank you, sir,' said I. 'I have the sixpence you gave me when I
left my nurse.'

'What! have you not spent that yet?'

'No, sir.'

'And why not, pray?'

'Because you gave it to me, sir, I shall never spend it.'

'Then you are keeping it for my sake, I suppose. Well, do so, my dear,
but take this sixpence, and mind you spend it.'

I took it with a curtsey, and tried to say 'Good-bye,' but the words
seemed to