tence, and this one of his own was an object of supreme
indifference to him; while upon the tiny boy, his heir and future
partner in the firm, he lavished all his interest, centred all his hopes
and affection.

After her mother's death, Florence was taken away by an aunt; and a
nurse, named Polly Richards, was secured for baby Paul. A few weeks
later, as Polly was sitting in her own room with her young charge, the
door was quietly opened, and a dark-eyed little girl looked in.

"It's Miss Florence, come home from her aunt's, no doubt," thought
Richards, who had never seen the child before. "Hope I see you
well, miss."

"Is that my brother?" asked the child, pointing to the baby.

"Yes, my pretty," answered Richards, "come and kiss him."

But the child, instead of advancing, looked her earnestly in the face,
and said:

"What have you done with my mamma?"

"Lord bless the little creetur!" cried Richards. "What a sad question!
_I_ done? Nothing, miss."

"What have they done with my mamma?" cried the child.

"I never saw such a melting thing in all my life!" said Richards. "Come
nearer here; come, my dear miss! Don't be afraid of me."

"I'm not afraid of you," said the child, drawing nearer, "but I want to
know what they have done with my mamma."

"My darling," said Richards, "come and sit down by me, and I'll tell you
a story."

With a quick perception that it was intended to relate to what she had
asked, little Florence sat down on a stool at the nurse's feet, looking
up into her face.

"Once upon a time," said Richards, "there was a lady--a very good lady,
and her little daughter dearly loved her--who, when God thought it right
that it should be so, was taken ill, and died. Died, never to be seen
again by anyone on earth, and was buried in the ground where the
trees grow."

"The cold ground," said the child, shuddering.

"No, the warm ground," returned Polly, seizing her advantage, "where the
ugly little seeds turn into beautiful flowers, and into grass, and into
corn, and I don't know what all besides. Where good people turn into
bright angels, and fly away to heaven!"

The child who had drooped her head, raised it again, and sat looking at
her intently.

"So; let me see," said Polly, not a little flurried between this earnest
scrutiny, her desire to comfort the child, her sudden success, and her
very slight confidence in her own powers. "So, when this lady died, she
went to God! and she prayed to