child Phebe is a pear of another tree." To this I
readily assented, as I had no inclination to hint either the identity of
the tree or the affinity of the fruit.

One day I was walking with little Phebe (who had now attained her
seventh year, and exhausted the last penny of the hundred pounds) in my
own little garden--we were quite alone, when the girl all at once
stopped her playfulness (for she was now a very lark), and, taking a
hold of my hand, pulled me gently, nothing loath, into an adjoining
little arbour: after I was seated, and Phebe had taken her wonted
station betwixt my knees, reserving either knee for future convenience,
the little angel looked up in my face so innocently and so sweetly,
saying--

"You are Jessie's pa, are not you?"

"Yes," I replied, "my dear child, I am."

"But where is my pa? have I no pa? Gardener says you know all about it."

I regretted exceedingly that anything should have passed betwixt the
foster-parents and their charge upon the subject; but, since it was so,
I judged it best at once to tell the child the truth, the whole truth,
and nothing but the truth. Phebe looked me most intently in the face as
I proceeded; and when I had finished by kissing her, and assuring her
that whilst I lived she should never want a pa, the poor dear burst into
tears, exclaiming, in an accent of complete misery--

"No pa! no ma! Everybody has pa's and ma's but Phebe. Dear, dear
minny"--a term by which she still addressed me--"can you not tell me
anything about my own ma?"

I assured her that I could not, having not the least information on the
subject.

"Maybe she's dead"--and here again her feelings overcame her, and she
laid her head on my knee, with all its luxuriant tresses; and I felt the
tears warm on my person.

From this day Phebe Fortune became a different child. Even at an
early age she had learned to think; but had been hitherto very averse to
learning, or school education. She was henceforth diligent and
attentive, making rapid progress in reading, writing, and accounts. Her
foster-mother taught her sewing; and little Phebe, by the time she was
eleven years old, was quite accomplished in all the necessary and useful
parts of a female education. But, alas! the instability of human
affairs!--poor Phebe caught a fever, which she communicated to her
foster-mother, and which occasioned _her_ death in a few weeks, whilst
Phebe slowly recovered. The gardener's heart was broken--he had