his is acceptable with God.'

"Now, Mammy, I did try to be patient with Lewie, and I gave him
everything I had, but I could not let him destroy that lock of papa's
hair. I am afraid I was rough then, I hope I did not hurt his little
hand. Mammy, do you think mamma loves me _any_."

"How could anybody help loving you, my darling!"

"But, oh! Mammy, if I thought she would ever love me as she does Lewie!
She never kisses me, she never speaks kind to me. No, Mammy, I do not
think she loves me; but how strange it is for a mother not to love her
own little girl."

"Well, darling, we will talk no more of that, or we shall be saying
something naughty; we will both try and do our duty, and then God will
bless us, and whatever our troubles and trials may be, let us go to Him
with them all. Now, darling, I must leave you."

"Mammy, will you please bring me my Bible; and my little hymn-book? I
want to learn the"

'I am never alone.'

"God is always by my side, isn't he Mammy?"

"Yes, love, and he says, 'I will never leave thee nor forsake thee.'"

When little Agnes was left alone in the great cold room, she walked up
and down the floor repeating to herself verses from her Bible and
hymn-book. Sometimes she stopped at the window and looked across the
country, towards a wooded hill, where just above the tops of the trees
she could see the chimneys of her uncle's house; and she thought how
happy her young cousins were in the love of their father and mother, and
she remembered how her own dear papa had loved her, and she thought of
the difference now; and the tears flowed afresh. Then she walked the
room again, repeating in a low voice to herself the words:

"Never alone; though through deserts I roam
Where footstep of man has ne'er printed the sand.
Never alone; though the ocean's wild foam
Rage between me and the loved ones on land.
Though hearts that have cherished are laid 'neath the sod,
Though hearts which should cherish are colder than stone,
I still have thy love and thy friendship my God,
Thou always art near me; I'm never alone."

Soon she grew tired of walking, and seating herself at the table, she
laid her head upon her crossed arms and was soon in a sweet slumber, and
far away in her dreams from the cold desolate north room, at "the
Hemlocks."

At the end of an hour the youthful widow was disturbed by the sound of
merry sleigh-bells, and she had only time to throw h