rk a moment, and strokes his
little thin cheeks, and thinks what a laughing, happy little fellow he
once was, till she has not a heart to reprove him. And all this day she
has toiled with a sick and fretful baby in her lap, and her little
shivering, hungry boy at her side, whom Mary's patient artifices cannot
always keep quiet; she has toiled over the last piece of work which she
can procure from the shop, for the man has told her that after this he
can furnish no more; and the little money that is to come from this is
already portioned out in her own mind, and after that she has no human
prospect of support.

But yet that woman's face is patient, quiet, firm. Nay, you may even see
in her suffering eye something like peace. And whence comes it? I will
tell you.

There is a Bible in that room, as well as in the rich man's apartment.
Not splendidly bound, to be sure, but faithfully read--a plain, homely,
much-worn book.

Hearken now while she says to her children, "Listen to me, dear
children, and I will read you something out of this book. 'Let not your
heart be troubled; in my Father's house are many mansions.' So you see,
my children, we shall not always live in this little, cold, dark room.
Jesus Christ has promised to take us to a better home."

"Shall we be warm there all day?" says the little boy, earnestly; "and
shall we have enough to eat?"

"Yes, dear child," says the mother; "listen to what the Bible says:
'They shall hunger no more, neither thirst any more; for the Lamb which
is in the midst of the throne shall feed them; and God shall wipe away
all tears from their eyes.'"

"I am glad of that," said little Mary, "for, mother, I never can bear to
see you cry."

"But, mother," says little Henry, "won't God send us something to eat
to-morrow?"

"See," says the mother, "what the Bible says: 'Seek ye not what ye shall
eat, nor what ye shall drink, neither be of anxious mind. For your
Father knoweth that ye have need of these things.'"

"But, mother," says little Mary, "if God is our Father, and loves us,
what does he let us be so poor for?"

"Nay," says the mother, "our dear Lord Jesus Christ was as poor as we
are, and God certainly loved him."

"Was he, mother?"

"Yes, children; you remember how he said, 'The Son of man hath not where
to lay his head.' And it tells us more than once that Jesus was hungry
when there was none to give him food."

"O mother, what should we do without the Bible?" say