little bit of meat and drink she's
given her--with a grudge, as I hear from the neighbours. Well, well,
it's a queer world."

Mrs. Ford promised to try to find out a good place for Nelly, and
early next morning she made her appearance, having taken the long walk
on one of her busiest days, in order to "talk over Nelly's business,"
as she said. She proposed to take the orphan into her own family, for
a time at least, until some more permanent situation should turn up.
"We'll never miss the little she'll want," she said; "and if we did,
I've been often thinking of late that we've been too much taken up
with doing the most we could for this world, and been caring too
little for the poor that our Saviour says are to be always with us. So
my mind would be easier if I were doing this much, at any rate, and
the poor thing'll be more likely to get a good steady place if I take
her in hand and teach her a bit myself."

So it was settled, and Nelly, to her surprise and delight, found
herself an inmate, for a time at least, of Mill Bank Farm, though she
was made to understand that the arrangement was not a permanent one.
The present comfort and happiness were enough for her, however, for
she was not given to spoiling the enjoyments of to-day by thoughts
about the morrow; and she certainly had never, so far as her
recollection went, been half so happy as she now was under Mrs. Ford's
motherly care, with Bessie for a half-companion, half-teacher, and
removed from the sound of the harsh words and tones which had so long
been the constant accompaniments of her life.

One of Mrs. Ford's first cares was to provide her with some needed
clothing from Bessie's outgrown garments, which otherwise would have
been stowed thriftily away for little Jenny. Lucy added her
contribution for the same object, and it was considered a good
opportunity for teaching her what she so much needed to learn--plain
sewing. Mrs. Ford, who was a capital seamstress as well as housewife,
undertook to make Nelly a good needlewoman, if she would be diligent
in trying to learn; and she was too grateful, and too anxious to
please, not to try her best, though the long, tedious seams often
tried her restless, active spirit. When she found herself getting so
impatient that she felt as if she could not sit still any longer, or,
at any rate, could not force herself to do the work with patience and
care, she would remember the injunction to "tell Jesus" her troubles
and