from her mother, and, turning to look at the clock, exclaimed,

"It is past seven, and the train ought to have been in by half-past six. Do you think, mother, any accident can have happened on the railroad? I wish Mary had not settled to come by it."

"It takes three quarters of an hour to get here from the railroad station," was her mother's reply. "And as to accidents, we are as much under the care of Providence in a railway-carriage as in a stagecoach or waggon. The Almighty watches over us all, by night and by day, at home and abroad; and it always strikes me there is a special Providence over the orphan and unprotected."

Bessy asked, "What do you mean by a special Providence, mother?"

"I mean that I think God takes under His own more especial care those whom He has seen fit to deprive of their natural earthly protectors, their parents, and who are consequently left to make their way early in life for themselves.

cares for us all, I hope and trust.

Not but that He
But to the orphan

and unprotected, God is more particularly the Parent and Guardian. The Bible says, 'When my father and my mother forsake me, then the Lord will take me up.'1 'Leave thy fatherless children, I will preserve them alive." But come, Bessy, you had better light the candle, and get something to do. They will not be here the sooner for your standing idle."

Bessy, roused by these words, was soon at her needle-work, seated by a table near her mother's own arm-chair in the chimney corner. They were presently joined by Bessy's elder sister Jane, who had been engaged in some household employment above stairs. They had not been very long thus occupied, when the sound of wheels attracted their notice. “Hark!” said Bessy, "there they are! I am

sure that is the sound of father's cart."

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Yes," said Jane; "it is stopping at the gate." And, hastily pushing aside their needle-work, the two girls hastened down the brick-paved walk crossing the little garden, which lay between the farm-house and the lane.

Soon they were again assembled in the same room, with the addition of two to their party. From the kindness of the warm, hearty welcome shown to their guest, and the many careful attentions, it could scarcely have been imagined that she was a stranger to them all, except by name and relationship. Many were the inquiries respecting her health and about her journey. And all were desirous of making her comfortable.

"Sit you down there, Mary," said her uncle, drawing her towards his own chair by the fire, opposite to that of his wife, "and make yourself warm, child, for there is a cold north wind to-night, and a sharp frost, which will come rather severe on my young lambs."

Mary Fielding was four or five years older than

her eldest cousin, Jane, who was but just eighteen.

Bessy was nearly two years younger.

Mary had lost her mother whilst still quite a child. She remembered having at the time of that sad event seen her uncle. He was very fond of his sister, and went for the purpose of one more interview with her before she died. He remained till the funeral was over. Since that time, Mary had never met any of her mother's relations. But on the death of her father, Farmer Thorpe offered her a home with his family at Linden Grange, which offer she gratefully accepted for the present, till she should obtain a situation as servant in some respectable family. She was anxious to earn a livelihood for herself; and she had some kind friends, who she knew would assist her in so doing. Foremost among these, were the clergyman of her own village home, and his daughter. Her father's illness had been long, and she had been in constant attendance upon him. Now suffering under the grief of her recent loss, her heart warmed with gratitude towards those kind relations who had given her such a cordial welcome; and when she retired to rest in the small neat room prepared for her, looking from its cleanliness the picture of comfort (without cleanliness there is no comfort in the midst of the greatest splendour), she felt she had much cause for thankfulness to the Giver of all good, the Author of all blessings; and most earnestly did she pray that God, who had raised up these friends to her, would bless them for the kindness they had shown her, making

the orphan's heart less sad, under the bright influence of cheering words and friendly looks.

The next day was Sunday. It was a clear frosty morning; and Mary was asked whether she could walk a good mile to church and back; "for the poor girl looks pale and ill," her uncle said. Mary replied, that before she went to London she was a very stout walker, and though she had not walked so much lately (for besides attending on her father she took in plain work), she was quite sure she could walk twice that distance.

"Ah! we'll soon get the colour back to her cheeks with the fresh air of the country," said her aunt, with a kind smile.

"We'll do all we can to amuse you, cousin," said Bessy. "You shall see all over the farm and the dairy, to-morrow.”

"And not only see, but make myself useful, I hope," said Mary; "for though I know more of a garden than a dairy, yet I dare say, if I try, I shall be able to help you sometimes. A willing heart often makes a ready hand."

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Oh, you must not think of work yet!" said Jane. "We have a great deal to show you of our country, first."

"And in the town of ," added Bessy, "the Bishop is to hold a Confirmation in the great church, next month; and Jane and I are both going to be confirmed."

The family started early for church, as Mrs.

Thorpe was but a slow walker, for she suffered much from rheumatism.

On their way back, they were joined by Mr. and Mrs. Thorpe's son Richard, who was married, and rented a small farm close to his father's. He and his wife always ate their Sunday dinner with the farmer and his family. During dinner, the younger members of the family were planning a walk to the barracks, that they might hear the band play on returning from church, for there was a regiment quartered near the town.

"Do you go to church there?" asked Mary.

"Oh, no! we could not get there in time. Besides, we never go to afternoon church," was the reply.

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But, of course, you are going too, Mary?" said Richard.

"No, thank you," said Mary. "I have been always accustomed to go to church twice on Sunday, and it seems, therefore, so natural to me, that I would rather do that than anything else; and I shall very easily find my way there by myself, having been with you all, this morning."

Richard was inclined to be offended at Mary's refusal to join their party, and tried to make her change her purpose, by ridiculing her fancy, as he called it; but Mary remained firm, and bore all Richard's jokes and teasing with great good-humour. At last Mrs. Thorpe said,

"You are quite right, Mary; and I wish all