had been long ailing did not survive the shock many hours. They left behind two children; the eldest, Esther, was about ten years old, gentle, good, and wise for her years, but inheriting her mother's delicate health; the other, a boy of six. Joseph was strong and healthy; but a year before his father's death he had become blind, and ever since had clung to his sister as his guide and helper, while she, in her turn, devotedly loved the little brother whose sturdy limbs and active feet would, without her help, have been almost useless to him.

The sad procession came in sight, wending slowly over the frozen fields. Close behind, in her little black frock, walked Esther, leading her blind brother. He was too young to understand much of the mournful ceremony in which he was taking part, but Esther's face bore a look of sad intelligence beyond her years as she checked her own sobs to soothe and care for her charge. When the minister repeated with earnest feeling the words, "In sure and certain hope of a joyful resurrection," Esther looked up, and almost a smile came into her face as she thanked God in her heart that through the mercy of Christ in whom they trusted, her dear father and mother were safe in God's home above. The service was over and many of the neighbours left the churchyard, while some gathered round the two orphans, who still stood by the open grave.

"Come, Joseph, we must go home," said Esther.

"I don't want to go home," the little boy answered; "it is so lonely there, and even old Nancy went away this morning, you know."

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and

Just then the clergyman, Mr. Maxwell, came up, taking a hand of each of the children, he said: You shall come with me at present, and then we will think over what is best to be done."

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Well, neighbour," said one of the women, as Mr. Maxwell led Esther and Joseph away, we ought to consider what is to become of these children. I don't like the idea of letting them go to the workhouse."

"Nay, indeed!" said another, "that would shame us all. What would neighbour Evans have said to think of his children in the poor-house?"

"That's very fine talk," said a third, "but for my part I find it hard enough to get bread for my own children without cumbering myself with other folks' bairns. I call it a tempting of Providence. Let them go to the poor-house, say I."

But no one seconded this last remark; the other women turned away from the speaker and continued their talk among themselves. "I could take Joseph," said the motherly-looking woman who had first spoken, "but I am sore afraid he would never settle away from his sister; 'tis wonderful how he clings to her.”

""Tis a pity Esther is so young and so weakly," said another; "she's not strong enough for field or farm-work." "Esther has good notions of doing things; her mother taught her right well, but she's too small to earn aught or to be much use I fear--more's the pity," said a third.

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We

'Well," said the first again; "I'll make bold to go down this afternoon to Mr. Maxwell, and hear what he says. all know it's not much he can do, for I take it he is pretty nigh as poor as any of us; but I'll be sure of a kind word and good advice."

Let us

"That's the best thing you can do, Mrs. Brown. know what you settle, and we'll all do what we can to help" and thus the kind neighbours parted and went to their homes.

When the cows were milked, and the house cleared up that evening, Mrs. Brown set out to the minister's house. Esther and Joseph were still there, for Mrs. Maxwell intended to keep them that night, not being able to bear the idea of the two orphans returning alone to their desolate home. After a talk with Mr. Maxwell in his study, Esther and Joseph were called in. "Esther," said he, "you are old enough to understand something of the heavy sorrow which has fallen upon you. The house in which your father lived is not yours any longer, and we are anxious to find you a home amongst those who will be kind to you; tell me if you have thought at all about this?"

"Oh no, sir!" said the little girl, with a burst of tears; "but I remember that when father was brought home dying, he said to mother that he hoped she would be able to keep us from the poor-house, but mother is gone too."

"We don't wish you to go to the poor-house, my child, and we will think what is to be done for you. God has put it into the heart of your kind friend here, Mrs. Brown, to be willing to take little Joseph, and care for him like one of her own; we must hope that some such way may be made for you also."

Joseph had stood by holding his sister's hand, and seeming as if he paid no attention to what was going on, but so

soon as Mr. Maxwell spoke of giving him a home separate from his sister, he turned very white, clung fast to her dress, and cried; "Oh, Esther, you will not let them take me away from you, will you ?" Mr. Maxwell tried to explain to the little fellow that Esther had now no home to which she could take him, and Mrs. Brown kissed and tried to comfort him by telling him of his new playfellows, and promising him the sole possession of a little tabby kitten; but he scarcely listened, only clung to his sister, and with tears and sobs implored her not to leave him.

"Hush, Joseph, hush!" said Esther; and then turning to Mr. Maxwell, she asked, "Would they let us be together in the poor-house, sir?"

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No, my dear; you would see each other but seldom there, I fear," answered the curate.

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If you were but a bit bigger, Esther, so that you could earn your keep, I'd take you and Joseph both," said Mrs. Brown; "but I've nine of my own, and I am afraid it wouldn't be right by them to offer to board you both;" and the woman looked doubtfully at Mr. Maxwell.

"Is it work?" said Esther, turning to Mrs. Brown; "I know I could work, I used to help mother, and I'd sew, and scrub, and wash, night and day, to keep with Joseph. Mother bid me take care of him."

"Poor child! poor child!" said the woman. "Well, go with him you shall, and we'll see what work can be found for you; 'tis nature you two should want to keep together, and you the only ones that are left."

"God bless you, Mrs. Brown," said Mr. Maxwell, “and he will bless you, and not let you suffer for that which you do for these little orphans. He is the Father of the fatherless."

Before the next night, Esther and Joseph were in their new home; they had often been there before, and yet now they both felt strange and lonely, and longed for the familiar room and the dear faces they might never see again.

After a while Joseph grew cheerful and even merry once more, for he was too young to feel grief long; but Esther still kept her pale thoughtful face and quiet ways. Every morning she used to read to Joseph a chapter in their mother's Bible and teach him a verse. Joseph will never be able to read for himself," she said; "and it will be so good if he can learn to remember the holy words and say

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them to himself when there is no one to read them to him." Soon one or two of Mrs. Brown's younger children used to join the reading, and before long it became a regular thing for Esther to teach the three youngest and Joseph for an hour or two every morning, while Mr. Brown delighted to hear her read to him in the evenings. Thus little Esther became a help and sunbeam in the house, though not in the way which she had at first fancied. She was ever on the watch to do all that lay within her power, running errands, feeding fowls, weeding in the garden, and sewing. Still she could not help knowing that in Mrs. Brown's house there were hands enough for all the work; she could only do that which would otherwise have been done by one of the other children, and her heart was often very heavy and sad because she was too young to work for her dear brother, and help the kind neighbour who was so good to them, and she constantly asked God that in his own right time he would show her some way in which she could earn money, and help to support her brother and herself.

Three or four months went by, when one day in early spring little Joseph came to her, and said, "Sister dear, do you think you could take me into Burnage Wood this afternoon, if the sun shines ?"

Surely, dear; but why would you go there?"

""Tis a secret, but I'll tell you," said Joseph. "I know a place there where the very earliest violets grow, and I want you to tell me if they are out, and to gather some for me to take to Mrs. Maxwell, she loves flowers so much." The violets were found, and the two children went together to Mrs. Maxwell, with a large bunch of early violets; she was very pleased, and after she had thanked them and taken the flowers, stood thinking for awhile. "Joseph," she said at length, "I think you used to know where all the flowers grew about here."

He nodded his curly head with an emphatic "Yes, ma'am."

"Esther, I have been thinking that it might be a good plan if you were to carry a basket of flowers to Burton now and then to sell; there are but few gardens there, and you would soon find customers. It is a long walk; could you manage the five miles there and back, do you think?"

Esther's pale face flushed with delight; she thought nothing of the difficulties, so great was her pleasure in the

hope of being at length able to earn a little and lessen the burden on their kind friends.

"You may come here sometimes for flowers, Esther-I can often give you roses; and you must try and grow a few at home in Mrs. Brown's little garden."

It was not long before Esther set out on her first expedition with a market basket of Mrs. Brown's well-stocked and tastefully arranged bunches of blue and white violets, primroses, and anemones, and other spring flowers. Her store met with a ready sale; her modest manner and eager look, and the bright smile with which she thanked those who bought, interested the passers-by, and she was soon able to return home with a light basket, and quite a store of coppers in her pocket; fifteen pennies she counted into Mrs. Brown's lap when she returned.

Esther continued to make these expeditions, according to her store of flowers fit for sale, and seldom returned without having sold the greater part of her basketful.

One day, as she was passing a house which stood about two miles from the village and had long been empty, she saw to her surprise that the doors were open, and blinds in the windows, while two or three gardeners were busy among the overgrown lawn and beds in front. Just as she was passing the gate, a young lady came out; she caught sight of Esther's basket, and stopped to ask, "What have you there, little girl?"

"Lilies of the valley, please miss," said Esther.

"I thought they were lilies," said the young lady, "where do you find them? We have none in all this garden, I must have some;" and she selected Esther's largest bunch.

The next time Esther passed she saw the young lady. Miss Morgan called to her, and said: "Stop a minute; the lilies that I bought last time you were here were for a gentleman who is ill and cannot leave his sofa, and he was so delighted with them that he has sent you this," and she held up a bright new shilling.

"But if you please, miss, you paid me for them," said Esther.

"Yes, but this is a present; you have no more lilies today, I see." Esther was too astonished at the gift to do more than make her best curtsey, and send her humble thanks to the kind gentleman.

Next day, she and Joseph collected a very large bunch