to tell you both. I know you like stories."

"Come, I'll go, for a story when I came back," said Rhoda; "but I meant
to take Phoebe. Can't she wipe her eyes and come?"

"Then I shall not tell you a story," responded Mrs Dorothy.

Rhoda laughed, and ran off. Mrs Dorothy let Phoebe have her cry out
for a short time. She moved softly about, putting things in order, and
then came and sat down by Phoebe on the settle.

"The world is too great for thee, poor child!" she said, tenderly,
taking Phoebe's hands in hers. "It is a long way from thy father's
grave; but, bethink thee, 'tis no long way from himself, if he is gone
to Him that is our Father."

"I know he is," whispered Phoebe.

"And is the Lord thy Shepherd, dear child?"

"I know He is," said Phoebe, again.

"`Mon sort n'est pas a plaindre,'" softly repeated Mrs Dorothy.

"Oh, it is wrong of me!" sobbed Phoebe. "But it does seem so hard.
Nobody cares for me any more."

"Nay, my child, `He careth for thee.'"

"Oh, I know it is so!" was the answer; "but I can't feel it. It all
looks so dark and cold. I can't feel it!"

"Poor little child, lost in the dark!" said Mrs Dorothy, gently.
"Dear, the Lord must know how very much easier it would be to see. But
His especial blessing is spoken on them that have not seen, and yet have
believed. 'Tis an honour to thy Father, little Phoebe, to put thine
hand in His, and let Him lead thee where He will. Thine earthly father
would have liked thee to trust him. Canst thou not trust the heavenly
Father?"

Phoebe's tears were falling more softly now.

"Phoebe, little maiden, shall I love thee?"

"Thank you, Mrs Dorothy, but people don't love me," said Phoebe, as if
it were a fact, sad, indeed, but incontrovertible. "Only dear father
and Perry."

"And thy mother," suggested Mrs Dorothy, in a soothing tone.

"Well--yes--I suppose so," doubtfully admitted Phoebe. "But, you see,
poor mother--I had better not talk about it, Mrs Dorothy, if you
please."

Mrs Dorothy let the point pass, making a note of it in her own mind.
She noticed, too, that Phoebe said, "Dear father" and "poor mother"; yet
it was the father who was dead, and the mother was living. The terms,
thought Mrs Dorothy, must have some reference to character.

"Little Phoebe," she said, "if it should comfort thee betimes to pour
out thine heart to some human creature, come across the Park, and tell
thy troubles to me. Thou art but a young trave