shelter so cheerfully given,
humble though it was.

She was still very beautiful. Her golden brown hair, released from its
massive braids, fell in rippling waves around her; the long black
lashes, now that the eyes were closed, lay like a silken fringe upon the
pale and wasted cheeks. Yes, she was very beautiful; and as the good
Samaritans stood looking at her (the children with wondering pity), the
widow thought of the time when this lost girl was tenderly loved by
parents, who perhaps were even now sorrowing for their erring child.

It was getting late, and as it was Pollie's bedtime the mother and child
prepared to read their evening chapter. Sally, too, sat down by the fire
to listen, wondering in her own mind what they were about. It was all so
strange to this poor London waif, this cleanly, peaceful home, this
simple worship.

The appointed chapter for this evening was the parable of the Good
Shepherd, and the girl's attention was riveted by those words of Divine
love and mercy.

"And other sheep I have, which are not of this fold: them also I must
bring, and they shall hear My voice; and there shall be one fold, and
one shepherd."

Would _she_ be gathered into that fold also? could there be room for
_her_? Yes; the seed was sown on that hitherto rugged soil; it would
take root and bring forth fruit for the Lord of the harvest.

* * * * *

Just as Sally had put on her time-worn shawl, and was bidding her kind
friends "good-night" before going home, heavy steps were heard ascending
the stairs, and soon the portly form of Mrs. Flanagan entered the room.

"Well, here I am again," she exclaimed, "and right-down tired, I can
tell you; why don't cooks know what they want, and order things in the
morning? Dear, dear! what a walk I've had, to be sure--all the way to
Grosvenor Square, and with such a load too!"

"Hush, please," whispered Mrs. Turner, pointing to the sleeper.

"Who have you got there?" she asked in surprise.

In a few words, spoken in a subdued voice, the widow told the sad tale,
and also of the two children's brave conduct.

"What be she like?" was the natural question; "is it right to have her
here, think ye?" she added.

Then, as if to satisfy herself on the first point, she stole softly to
where the poor wanderer lay sleeping. The light on the table was but
dim, not sufficient to enable her to see distinctly, so that she was
compelled to kneel down to scan