tly dark; but on looking up with a smile of
greeting, expecting only to see Pollie, she was surprised to see her
hesitate on the threshold, apparently clutching some one tightly by the
dress: but directly she saw her mother, she seemed to feel she might let
go her hold, her charge was safe; so running in, she threw her arms
around her neck and whispered--

"O mother, darling, this poor lady has no home; let her stay here
to-night."

The widow rose from her seat in some surprise, but before she could say
a word, trusty Sally Grimes led in the woman, and then in a moment Mrs.
Turner comprehended it all. She saw a poor lost girl, and she thought of
her own innocent little one; then came into her heart those merciful
words--

"Neither do I condemn thee; go, and sin no more."

With womanly tenderness she took the poor shivering creature by the
hand, seated her close to the fire, saying gently--

"God help you, my poor child, you are welcome here."

Then the flood-gates of the unhappy girl's heart were opened, and
leaning her head on the widow's shoulder she sobbed aloud.

Meanwhile Pollie, assisted by her faithful friend, was busy getting the
tea ready, thinking it would refresh their strange visitor; and whilst
Sally cut some bread-and-butter the child arranged her violets in a cup,
to make, as she said, "the table look pretty." But the stranger was
unable to partake of the simple meal; she seemed utterly worn and weary,
for, leaning her head upon the arm of the chair, she lapsed into an
apathetic sleep, as though completely exhausted.

Whilst she thus slept, Sally Grimes (who had been invited to remain)
told Mrs. Turner in a whisper all that had taken place that evening.

"May God bless you, my dear," said the widow fervently; "you are indeed
a good girl."

"But Pollie helped me," exclaimed the warm-hearted girl.

The mother looked at her delicate little child, and smiled to think of
those tiny hands doing their part in saving this woman.

Then she turned for counsel to Sally.

"I have but this one bed," she said hesitatingly, "and--and--I should
not like her to sleep with Pollie; what shall I do?"

"Let us make her a nice bed on the floor," suggested the child.

"That's the thing!" assented Sally, and the widow agreeing to the plan,
they soon had a comfortable bed ready for the stranger. The poor
creature suffered them to remove her hat and dress, then they laid her
down, and she rested, thankful for the