"P stands for Pollie," cried out impetuous Sally, in her eagerness
almost upsetting her basin of raisins upon the floor. "Perhaps it's
that."

There was much merriment over Sally's guessing, and much amazement too
on the part of Mrs Grimes, who was utterly astonished at her "gal's
larning;" but still Nora shook her head. No, that was not the word
intended.

Many were the conjectures hazarded, till at last Pollie resolved to try
no more, but wait until the entire word or phrase was finished, both
children promising not to look until at a given signal from Nora they
should know it was completed. Then they resumed their employment,
waiting very patiently for the time. At last it came.

"Now," said Nora, and she held it up so that all could see, then she
gave it into Pollie's hand.

The puzzle was solved.

"Peace on earth," read the child aloud.

There was a silence, each one occupied with thoughts those words
suggested. Tears filled the eyes of the two widows, for they clearly
understood what was in the girl's heart when tracing those letters.
_Her_ head was bowed; they could not see her face, but her hands were
very trembling as she clasped them together as if in silent prayer.

Pollie broke the silence.

"Nora, dearie," she half whispered, "I wish we could get in the other
beautiful words, 'Glory to God in the highest,' because it is He who
gives us this sweet peace, and I should so like to thank Him."

CHAPTER XII.

IN THE SPRING-TIME.

Christmas had come and gone, even the New Year was becoming old; for
three months had slipped by, and March winds were preparing to usher in
April showers.

The London shopkeepers were exhibiting their spring goods, hoping that
the few gleams of sun which had contrived to make themselves seen were
indeed heralds of the coming "season," which "season" was supposed to
bring an increase of business with it, and, of course, as the homely
adage says, "more grist to the mill."

But as yet the streets were wet and sloppy, the bleak winds whistled
round the corners, and London looked very dull and cheerless, even at
the West End, where it is always brighter than in the busy City.

Far away in the country, it is true, the birds were twittering, joyfully
busy in making their nests, flying hither and thither in search of
materials to form their tiny homes.

There were sheep, too, in the meadows, cropping the fresh young grass,
whilst the lambs skipped merrily about their