leave him, girl, I say; but don't you be coming troubling me any more, do you hear?" said he, rising and opening the house door. Mary paused and lingered, still holding James's hand. Now that her plans for him had apparently succeeded to the full extent of her wishes, she felt as if she could not bear to part with him. There was something about the place and the people so very different from what they had been used to in their own clean, neat home, with their dear mother, that her heart sunk at the thought of leaving him. James, too, began to cry, but her irresolution was soon ended, for her uncle taking her by the shoulder, pushed her to the door, and scarcely allowing her to say good bye to her poor little brother, slammed it behind her.

She walked slowly and sorrowfully down the yard, and stopped before she went out into the street to try to recover herself, and to wipe away her tears. At last, having comforted herself with resolving to come again very soon to see whether he was happy, she went with her work to the glove-manufactory.

She saw Mr. Walker himself, and giving the parcel into his hand, said, "I have brought back the gloves, Sir, that Mrs. Mason had last."

He opened the parcel, and said, after examining the work, "They are not nearly so well done as usual, and she has kept them a very long time."

"Yes, Sir," replied Mary, "she was so ill that she could not do them well, or get forward with them, and she died before they were finished."

"Who did finish them, then?"

"I tried to do them, Sir, as well as I could." "Very well," said Mr. Walker, "I am to pay you for them, then?"

"If you please, Sir."

While Mr. Walker was opening a drawer to take out the money, Mary was endeavouring to summon courage to ask him for some more work, and as he put her mother's last small earnings into her hands, she said, "I should be very glad, Sir, of a little more work, if you thought I could do it.”

"I cannot trust you with gloves of this quality," answered Mr. Walker, "but I have no objection to try you with some of an inferior kind, if you like."

"Whatever you please, Sir," said Mary; and Mr. Walker called to his foreman in the cuttingroom for some gloves of a commoner sort, which

E

Mary received with a curtsey, and carried away with her.

When Mary reached Malvern again in the evening, she had much to relate to her good friend, Mrs. Lee, who took almost a mother's interest in the affairs of the poor orphans. Before she went up into her little loft for the night, she gave Mrs. Lee all the money she had received from Mr. Walker, saying, that she hoped it would be enough to supply all her wants till she had been able to earn some more.

The next day being Sunday, Mary went, as she had regularly been accustomed to do, to church. On entering the gates, she passed Dr. and Mrs. Kirby, and their daughter Constance, who were lingering outside till the ringing of the little bell should announce that service was about to commence. As she passed them, she raised her eyes, and made a respectful curtsey.. "The very little girl, mamma, that we were speaking of," said Constance, smiling; "shall I stop her?"—" She is gone into church already, love," said Mrs. Kirby, "we must try to find her again as we come out."

They all followed into the house of prayer. The pew into which the Kirbys, as strangers, were shewn, was in a part of the church which

gave them a sight of the benches where the Sunday-school children were placed, and the quick eye of Constance soon discovered Mary seated at the end of one of the forms.

Constance had felt very much interested in this little girl ever since the day of the funeral, and she had a little plan for assisting her, which occupied her thoughts a good deal. This may, perhaps, be some excuse for her, if it is confessed that her eyes frequently wandered from her own prayer-book, to watch the manner and deportment of her little friend. She soon discovered, by Mary's lowly and reverent behaviour, that she well knew in whose holy house and presence she was standing, and her interest in the poor little orphan grew stronger and stronger.

When service was over, the Sunday-scholars remained standing in their places, while the rest of the congregation passed down the aisle. Dr, and Mrs. Kirby, and Constance, waited outside the church till they came out, and watched with pleasure the little procession pouring out of the venerable building. As Mary passed, Constance touched her on the shoulder; the little girl, surprised, stopped, and Constance leading her a little off the path, out of the way of the children

who were following her, said, "May I ask what your name is, my little girl?"

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My name is Mary Mason, Ma'am."

"Your father and mother are dead, are not

they?"

"Yes, Ma'am."

"Then whom do you live with, Mary?"

"I live with Molly Lee, Ma'am.”

"Is she some relation to you?"

"No, she's only a neighbour, Ma'am." "And where does she live?"

"Her cottage is up that lane, beyond the turning there that you see to your right hand, past the ash tree.”

"Well," said Mrs. Kirby, who with the Doctor had been listening to all that was said, "we shall try to find it to-morrow morning. Will you be at home, little girl? for we want to know whether you can do something for

us.'

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Yes, Ma'am, I shall be at home," said Mary, with a curtsey.

"Then good day now, my little lass. Tomorrow morning we shall see you again."

Thus dismissed, Mary ran off home, her thoughts full of wonder what that nice lady and gentleman, and the beautiful young lady who