you ill?"

"Oh no, Pollie," she sobbed forth; "but those sweet flowers recall the
time when I was a little girl like you, and gathered them in the lanes
near my happy home--before mother died."

"Is your mother dead, then? Oh dear, I am so sorry," said the child with
earnest pity.

"Yes, I am all alone in the world; no one to love or care for me," she
exclaimed passionately. "Ah, I wish I was dead too."

"Don't say so," said Pollie soothingly; "God cares for you, and loves
you dearly."

"I sometimes think even He forgets me," moaned the poor girl, "when I
see rich folks having all things they desire, and such as me almost
starving, working night and day for a mere crust."

"I once said so to mother," remarked the child, "but she opened our
Bible, and bade me read a verse she pointed out. Shall I tell you what
it was?"

"Yes," was the reply.

Pollie folded her hands, and repeated--

"Give me neither poverty nor riches; feed me with food convenient for
me, lest I be full and deny Thee, and say, Who is the Lord? or lest I be
poor and steal, and take the name of my God in vain."

And then she turned to another to comfort me, and this is it--

"Be careful for nothing; but in everything by prayer and supplication
with thanksgiving let your requests be made known unto God. And the
peace of God, which passeth all understanding, shall keep your hearts
and minds through Christ Jesus."

When the child ceased speaking, she looked up into the face of her
listener, whose head was bent in reverence to God.

"O Pollie!" she said at last, as again taking up her heavy load she
proceeded slowly onwards, "I wish I had a good mother."

"Come over to us sometimes," said the child, eagerly.

"Will your mother let me?" was the question.

"Yes, I am sure she will; she is so good," was the reply.

And then the two friends went on up Drury Lane, not speaking much; but
as they were parting Lizzie stooped down, and kissing the child
lovingly, said softly--

"Good-bye, and thank you, little Pollie."

"Would you like a bunch of violets?" she asked. "I can divide the other
between mother and Mrs Flanagan."

The poor seamstress was unable to speak from emotion, but held out her
hand with trembling eagerness for the flowers.

How glad was the child in being able to give a pleasure to her lonely
neighbour. She felt more joy in seeing Lizzie Stevens' glad smile than
even in the magnificent sum of money wrapped in her handkerchi