watches her mother's busy
fingers, and feels that she cannot help to lift the burden as she used
to do; then like an angel's whisper comes the remembrance of that which
cheered her the first day she started in business, "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 the brown eyes close, shutting up the
fast-gathering tears, and she trusts in her Heavenly Father with all the
fervour of her pure childish heart, sure that the "Lord will provide."

Then during the evening Nora comes in, and takes the little sufferer
upon her lap, and sings to her so beautifully that the child gazes up
into the girl's lovely eyes, now so calm and hopeful, with the dreamy
fancy that the angels must look like her. There is one song, an especial
favourite with them both, called "Beautiful Blue Violets;" and very
often, whilst listening to the sweet voice, Pollie falls asleep, soothed
by the melody.

Indeed, there is no lack of kind friends who love the little girl. Mrs.
Smith brings up all sorts of nice things to tempt the child's
appetite--sweet oranges and baked apples--even her brother, the butcher
at whose shop Pollie's first purchase of meat was made, sent a piece of
mutton, "with his respects to Mrs. Turner, and it was just the right bit
to make some broth for the little gal."

The good doctor (the same who was present when crippled Jimmy died),
though far from being a rich man, would accept no fee for attending her,
so that if kindness and love could have called back her lost health,
Pollie would soon have been well; but she is very, very ill, and day by
day grows weaker and weaker. Her poor mother watches each change in the
little face so precious to her, and when she lifts her in her arms feels
how light the burden is becoming; she dreads to think that God will
take her only treasure from her; her lips tremble as she says, "Thy will
be done." But the poor have no time for repining; every idle moment is
money lost, and money must be earned to buy food for the dear ones who
look to them for bread; so Mrs. Turner was compelled to work on, though
her heart was sick with sadness, and many a time gladly would she have
laid it aside to take her suffering child in her arms, and soothe the
languid pain as none but a mother can. The little girl seemed to guess
the thought those anxious eyes revealed,