a great, good God he is to send you here--bright little creatures
that you are. How pleasant it will be down by the brook-side when the
sun comes out, and you and I and the blue violets and the dandelions have
our visiting-time together! Never a little girl had such joy as I have!"
And Alice put her face close to the pane, and looked up into the sky to
thank her kind heavenly Father for sending her such blessings. It seemed
as if she could see him bending graciously down towards her, as her
Sunday-school teacher had often represented him to her; and then she
thought of Him who was upon the earth, and who took up little children in
his arms and blessed them; and she put out her hands towards the heavens,
saying earnestly, "Me, too, dear Saviour: bless me too!"

So absorbed was she that she didn't hear anybody enter the room until a
timid voice said,--

"Who were you speaking to, Alice?"

There was such a woful figure by the door as she turned her head--no
bonnet, no shoes, and a tattered frock, all draggled with dirt and rain,
and the long, uncombed locks straggling about the child's shoulders, and
such a blue, pinched look in the thin face!

"Oh, it's you, Maddie, is it?" said Alice, jumping from the window and
taking the hand of the new-comer. "But it was a pity to get so wet. I'm
glad you've come. We'll keep house together till it clears away, and
then maybe we'll have a nice walk. First we must dry your clothes,
though." And she put some sticks in the fireplace, and putting a match
to them, stationed Maddie before the blaze, while she held the skirt out
to dry.

"Isn't it pleasant here?" asked Alice, with a beaming smile.

Maddie looked around, with a half shrug, upon the cheerless room, with
its bit of a table and the one chair and the low, curtainless window, and
then her eyes fell upon the scantily-clad little girl by her side; and
then she shivered, as the dampness of her clothes sent a creeping chill
through her frame; but she didn't say it was pleasant.

"Aren't you afraid to stay here so much alone, Alice?" she asked, giving
another glance about the room.

"But I never stay _alone_, Maddie!" answered the dear child. "I have
plenty of company--'Tabby,' and the flies, and now and then a spider, and
everything that goes by the door, and the clouds and the sunshine and the
leaves and the--oh dear! so many things, Maddie, that I can't begin to
tell you." And she stopped short for want of breath.