e, a great yearning had seized upon her
for an object in life, for some pursuit, some interest that would
remain to her when everything else was lost; and she prayed to God
earnestly that He would show her where to go and what to do, or give
her something--something which at last resolved itself into something
to live for.

Then one day there came a little resolute tap at the door, and Beth
walked in without waiting to be asked, and seeing in a moment with
that further faculty of hers into the old lady's heart that it was
sad, she went to her impulsively, and laid her unkempt brown head
against her arm in an awkward caress, which touched the old lady to
tears. Beth was lonely too, thought Aunt Victoria, a strange, lonely
little being, neglected, ill-used, and misunderstood, and the question
flashed through the old lady's mind, if she left the child, what would
become of her? The tangled brown head, warm against her arm, nestled
nearer, and Aunt Victoria patted it protectingly.

"Do you want anything, Beth?" she asked.

"No, Aunt Victoria. I just wanted to see you. I was lying on the
see-saw board, looking up through the leaves, and I suddenly got a
fancy that you were here all by yourself, and that you didn't like
being all by yourself. _I_ feel like that sometimes. So I came to see
you."

"Thank you, Beth," said Aunt Victoria, with her hand still on Beth's
head as if she were blessing her; and when she had spoken she looked
up through the window, and silently thanked the Lord. This was the
sign. He had committed Beth to her care and affection, and she was not
to think of herself, but of the child, whose need was certainly the
greater of the two.

"Have you nothing to do, Beth?" she said after a pause.

"No, Aunt Victoria," Beth answered drearily--"at least there are
plenty of things I could do, but everything I think of makes me
shudder. I feel so sometimes. Do you? There isn't a single thing I
want to do to-day. I've tried one thing after the other, but I can't
think about what I'm doing. Sometimes I like to sit still and do
nothing; but to-day I don't even like that. I think I should like to
be asked to do something. If I could do something for you
now--something to help you----"

"Well, you can, Beth," Aunt Victoria answered, after sitting rigidly
upright for a moment, blinking rapidly. "Help me to unpick an old
gown. I am going to make another like it, and want it unpicked for a
pattern."

"Can you make