iced, however, and she was thoughtful all the
afternoon. How must it feel, she wondered, to be alone among strangers.
As they were returning home toward night, she whispered to her
particular friend:--

"Do you know, Mabel, I can not help thinking of that girl we met this
morning."

"What girl?" asked Mabel Willis, with a slightly puzzled air.

"Why, the one that Margaret said lived in the little cottage you know."

"O yes. What about her?"

"Why she looked at us so wistfully, and I never see her with anyone; she
must be lonely."

"Well?"

"You know what the Bible says," slowly: "'I was a stranger and ye took
Me not in.' This girl is a stranger and don't you think we might apply
that?"

"Just what are you thinking of, Nellie?"

"I was thinking that we might call on her and ask her to join our
Sabbath school class, and that might open the way."

Mabel laughed. "You always were a regular missionary, Nellie; but I
hardly believe I care to go with you," with a shrug of her shoulders.

Nellie was disappointed, but she said no more for she had learned the
uselessness of arguing with Mabel, so she determined to make her call
alone.

Nellie felt a little timid as she presented herself at the tiny home the
next afternoon. The girl herself answered her rap, and invited her into
the wee living room. In an easy chair at one side of the fireplace
reclined a delicate, sweet-faced woman.

[Illustration: "'_I thank you, my dear,' said the woman_."]

"My name is Nellie Ross, and I have noticed you and thought you were a
stranger here," began Nellie in the winning way that had always won her
many friends, "and so I thought I would call and ask you to join our
Sabbath school class. We have such good times, and Mrs. Allen, our
teacher, is so interesting."

"I would like to go," the girl faltered; "but they are all such
strangers to me, and"--

"That will not matter," declared Nellie. "I will come for you and will
introduce you to the rest of the girls."

"I thank you, my dear," said the woman, before the girl could answer
again. "I am sure Edna will be glad to go. It has been rather a trying
time for her, I fear, since we came here, although she has never
complained, for fear it might worry me.

"She was always in church and Sabbath school work at home. But my health
failed, and the physician said a winter here might save my life.

"My husband could not come with me, for he must work at home to get
money to pay ou