money securely in the corner of her clean
pocket-handkerchief, and with a light heart proceeded towards "home,"
which was situated in the neighbourhood of Drury Lane.

It was a long way for so young a child to traverse alone; but the
children of the poor early learn to be self-reliant. Therefore she
heeded not the dangers of the London streets, but threaded her way
along; and if at times she felt afraid of a crossing, or some hurried
foot-passenger hustled her roughly, a sweet text, taught by her
dearly-loved mother, came to her mind, bringing a feeling of safety
along with it.

This was little Pollie's comfort--"Fear thou not, for I am with thee; be
not dismayed, for I am thy God: I will strengthen thee; yea, I will help
thee; yea, I will uphold thee with the right hand of My righteousness."
And so she pursued her onward way, in her child's faith, trusting in Him
to safely guide.

As she was turning up Drury Court she met Lizzie Stevens, a young woman
who lived opposite to them, and who earned a scanty living by working
for cheap tailors. Often had the child looked from the window, and
across the Court watched the poor girl bending her pale face over her
work, never pausing to rest, but for ever stitch, stitch. However, the
young seamstress had seen her little neighbour watching her, and once or
twice had nodded to her, and so a sort of acquaintance had sprung up
between them; indeed, on several occasions they had met, and the child's
prattle had cheered the lonely work-girl.

"Where have you been, Pollie?" she asked as they went up Drury Court
together, the poor girl staggering under the weight of a huge
bundle--the child kindly keeping pace with her, though longing to run
home with her budget of good news to mother.

"I've been selling violets. Mrs. Flanagan got them for me, and I've sold
them all but two bunches--see!"

And she lifted up a cloth which she had placed over the sweet flowers to
prevent them fading too quickly.

"Oh, how sweet they are!" exclaimed Lizzie Stevens, and she stopped, and
putting her heavy bundle down on a door-step, bent her pale face over
the flowers to inhale their perfume.

When she raised her face it was whiter than before, and on the violets
something was glistening. Pollie at first thought it was a dew-drop, but
when she looked up into her neighbour's eyes she saw they were full of
tears--_one_ was resting on the flowers!

"Why are you crying?" asked the child softly; "are