king of to
let you?"

"There was no one else, ma'am, and father had to have his medicine
regularly," Agnes replied gravely. "Even when Doctor Evans did send a
nurse, she used to fall asleep at night, and forget poor father."

Mrs. Mittens took off her spectacles, wiped them carefully, put them on
again, and looked earnestly at the child seated opposite to her. But
either her eyes or the glasses were dim again in a moment. That poor,
fragile little creature up at night, ministering to the wants of a dying
man! It seemed incredible, and yet the child's face and voice and words
bore the living impress of truth.

"How old are you, my dear?"

"Twelve last birthday. I know I'm very little and weak, and my back
aches dreadfully sometimes; but Doctor Evans said rest and care would do
wonders for me. I never had much rest at home, and I was always very
anxious about poor father; ever since my darling mamma died, four years
ago, I had to take care of him."

"Dear heart alive! Why did you never write to your uncle?" Mrs. Mittens
cried, holding up both her hands.

"I never knew I had an uncle till after father's death; then Doctor
Evans told me, and sent me here. He was very, very kind, and so was my
Aunt Amy. Was it not strange to have an aunt in London and never know
it? But she came at once, and took me away to her house--ever so much a
finer house than the one we lodged in, but not nearly so fine or
beautiful as this; and she made my black frocks, and took me to dear
father's funeral in a carriage. Aunt Amy was very kind, and kissed me
very often, and said she wished she could keep me always, but Uncle
Clair said it was best for me to come to Riversdale. Do you think it was
best?"

"Yes, my dear, of course. Certainly it was best for you to come," the
old lady replied briskly.

"And do you think my cousins will love me?"

"I'm quite sure of it, Miss Agnes. They are the best and dearest boys in
the world."

"And Uncle Hugh?" Agnes added wistfully.

"Well, my dear, your uncle is not quite like other people. He suffers a
great deal with his nerves, and he has had a many sorrows, which he
keeps all to himself; but he's the most just and most generous gentleman
in the world, and I'm sure he will be very kind to you; only you must do
just what he says, my dear. All the troubles in the world came of
disobedience, I think, and have done so since the Garden of Eden. If
poor Mr. Frank had only----but there, what is the use