d 'for this child one of her own, inquiring for
herself in like circumstances. 'Come nearer here, my dear Miss! Don't be
afraid of me.'

'I am not afraid of you,' said the child, drawing nearer. 'But I want to
know what they have done with my Mama.'

Her heart swelled so as she stood before the woman, looking into her
eyes, that she was fain to press her little hand upon her breast and
hold it there. Yet there was a purpose in the child that prevented both
her slender figure and her searching gaze from faltering.

'My darling,' said Richards, 'you wear that pretty black frock in
remembrance of your Mama.'

'I can remember my Mama,' returned the child, with tears springing to
her eyes, 'in any frock.'

'But people put on black, to remember people when they're gone.'

'Where gone?' asked the child.

'Come and sit down by me,' said Richards, 'and I'll tell you a story.'

With a quick perception that it was intended to relate to what she had
asked, little Florence laid aside the bonnet she had held in her hand
until now, and sat down on a stool at the Nurse's feet, looking up into
her face.

'Once upon a time,' said Richards, 'there was a lady--a very good lady,
and her little daughter dearly loved her.'

'A very good lady and her little daughter dearly loved her,' repeated
the child.

'Who, when God thought it right that it should be so, was taken ill and
died.'

The child shuddered.

'Died, never to be seen again by anyone on earth, and was buried in the
ground where the trees grow.

'The cold ground?' said the child, shuddering again. 'No! The warm
ground,' returned Polly, seizing her advantage, 'where the ugly little
seeds turn into beautiful flowers, and into grass, and corn, and I don't
know what all besides. Where good people turn into bright angels, and
fly away to Heaven!'

The child, who had dropped her head, raised it again, and sat looking at
her intently.

'So; let me see,' said Polly, not a little flurried between this earnest
scrutiny, her desire to comfort the child, her sudden success, and her
very slight confidence in her own powers.' So, when this lady died,
wherever they took her, or wherever they put her, she went to GOD! and
she prayed to Him, this lady did,' said Polly, affecting herself beyond
measure; being heartily in earnest, 'to teach her little daughter to
be sure of that in her heart: and to know that she was happy there and
loved her still: and to hope and try--Oh, all he