w nothing of the burden which they carry; God help them! Let us
thank him if we have light hearts ourselves; and let us remember that
each load that we lighten leaves one less sad face and heavy heart in
the world about us.

[Illustration]

CHAPTER IV.

THE FRIEND.

A week passed, and Mr. Smith saw nothing more of Madge. Raymond had
become worse, and she never left him.

It was Saturday evening, about five o'clock, when Mrs. Smiley was called
up from the kitchen by hearing that a gentleman wanted to speak to her.
She came up, smoothing down her apron with her hands, which were not of
the cleanest.

"Do two children of the name of Leicester live here?"

"Yes, sir, surely; at least there were two of 'em a couple of hours ago,
but I can't rightly say whether the lad's alive yet."

"What! is he so ill, then?"

"Ay, ay, sir, ill enough, I warrant."

"I will go up to them."

"Very well, sir; I'm sure if you're a friend that'll do something for
them, I'm right glad to see you, for they sorely need one."

Mr. Smith, for it was he, followed Polly's guidance to Raymond's room,
then thanking her, he knocked at the door himself, and entered.

Madge was leaning over the sick boy, holding a glass of water to his
lips; and as she looked round, Mr. Smith thought he had never seen a
face so strangely and sadly altered as hers. It had lost nearly all its
childishness--it looked so old, and womanly, with a weight of care in it
that was pitiable to see; and yet, with all this, it was so calm and
still, so composed, that any one would have imagined that her one
thought was how to nurse her patient. And so it was. Madge felt that a
great deal depended upon her fortitude and self-control. Had she lost
this, she could not have attended upon Raymond; and though she was only
a weak little girl in herself, God gave her the strength she needed. She
did not spend her time in idly fretting, or in gloomy thoughts about the
future; she just did the duties that came in her way, one by one, and
left the rest trustfully to God.

One glance was sufficient to show Mr. Smith how ill the boy was. The
wildness of the fever was past, and he had sunk into a state of almost
complete lethargy.

"Madge," said the artist, "I came to see why you had not come again to
me."

Madge only pointed to Raymond's sharpened features resting on the
pillow; it was excuse enough.

"He is very ill," said Mr. Smith. "I never saw any one looking more