else than this pleasant hour at the parsonage. Meanwhile
Carrie had opened the piano, and sang low and softly one or two
hymns; and when she looked round, wondering why Lucy had moved from
her side, she saw her on the sofa with her face hidden. She rose, and
sitting down beside her, put her arm about her, and whispered
gently,--

"My poor child, what is it?"

"Mamma, Miss Goldthwaite," sobbed Lucy. "She used always to sing to
us on Sunday evenings just so, and it makes me feel dreadful to think
she never will any more."

"Yes, Lucy, I understand," said Carrie; and the very sound of her
voice soothed the child's troubled heart. "But you know who has
promised to comfort the mourning heart if we will but ask Him? Our
God is 'the Father of mercies, and the God of all comfort.'"

A quick smile broke through Lucy's tears. "If it were not for that,
Miss Goldthwaite," she said simply, "I should have died when mamma
did."

"And just think, dear," went on the sweet voice, "of the glad time
coming when we shall all meet, please God, in a happier world than
this. We shall not remember these sad hours then, shall we, Lucy? I
know, my dear, how lonely and sad and strange you feel here now; but
God can make us happy anywhere."

"Yes, Miss Carrie, I know it," returned the child simply and
earnestly; "only I am so troubled sometimes about Tom. Mamma was
often troubled about him too. He is so passionate and quick and
proud. Oh, I don't know how he is to get on with Uncle Joshua and
Aunt Hepsy!"

"We will hope for the best," said Miss Carrie cheerfully; "and
by-and-by, perhaps, a way may be opened up for him to get his heart's
desire.--Would you like to see my pets, Lucy? I have chickens, and
pigeons, and dogs, and kittens, and all sorts of things. Frank says
the yard is a menagerie."

"Yes, I would like it very much. There are some pretty chickens and
kittens at Aunt Hepsy's, but she won't let me pet them."

In the delight of examining Miss Goldthwaite's menagerie sadder
thoughts flew, and the evening sped on golden wings. The time came at
last for the two to bid a regretful good-bye to the parsonage and
turn their faces homewards. The minister and his sister accompanied
them half across the meadow, and bade them good-night, with many
promises of future meetings.

Tom and Lucy walked on in silence till they reached the paddock, and
then the lad said abruptly, "It will not be so hard to live here,
Lucy, if we can see them s