Year: 1868

| 1es, my daughter, you nave eVery yVnlDg
to be proud of and thankful for in your
father, notwithstanding that he will have
but little beyond supportand an education
to give you" ..
Chapter III.


| Very, very happily had the life of Mary
Forrest glided on in her simple home; she
had been examined and admitted to the
high school. This was her first introduc-
ton to girls of her own age, save two or
three children of her mothers friends, and
never did young heart beat higher with
pleasure and hope than did this girlish
heart. But sorrow and trouble too often
steal in upon the footsteps OF hope and Joy,
and Mary Forrest was to be no favored
exception.


A severe cold settled into pneumonia, and
in six short days of agonized dread she was
motherless. None but God kAeweth the
utter loneliness, the aching desolatlon, the
bitter agony of young girls heart when
a loved and honored parent is laid in the
cold silent grave; but when that parent is a
fond, true mother, wsiling anguish sinks
into the desolate heart, and takes with it a
dark, hopeless despair which makes life so
weary, so hard.


John Forrest felt that the light had gone
out fl ON his life for all his remaining days;
but his fond paternal heart grieved more
for his orphaned children than for his own
loss. He has tasted of life in all its fresh
ness, and in many of its joys, and was look
ing calmly forward to the life beyond the
grave, where he would rejoin the wife of his
love; but his two girls how sadly would they
need that loving, gentle, firm mothers care.
How sorely Mary must grieve for her he
knew by his own bereaved heart.


my beloved child, come to me-" And
he folded Mary in his arms, and drew her
poor aching heart down to throb upon his
own bleeding breast.


my love, in God is comfort for even this
great woe. Go there with your suffering
spirit, and remember that from this hour
am both father and mother, Come to me
my darling with your every thought and
feeling, and you will ever find interest and
sympathy. must take you from school.
No servant must have the care OF Willie
and little Ella. You know how your
mother would have raised them; you must
assume that holy duty. shall endeavor to
make amends to you by redoubling my own
attentions to your education, and by hiring
a servant you will have time to devote to
the little ones as well as your books. What
do you say to it my love ?"'


| That it is duty, and mother ever taught
me that duty should be our pleasure"


John Forrest proved indeed the two in
one to his motherless children, and Mary
SOON made unto herself another idol and
worshipped him. This might not be, and
God sent forth his messenger of death TO
summon her idol from earth. Indeed, John
Forrest had slowly declined since the day
that death claimed the wife who had
rested in his strong spirit for twenty years


As his physical strength gave way he was
forced to neglect work, and business drop
ped from the shop. Then came long months
Of confinement to bed. Mary would not de-
sert his sick bed to work, as long as a dollar
could be raised. First one household com
fort and then another went, until, save in
the sick room, the house was bare. Then,
last of all, went the shop tools, and when
| John Forrest was laid to rest in the church
yard beside Sarah, his wife, almost nothing
remained to the orphans. Mary saw at once
she must force her grief deep down into
her poor quiyering heart, and give her mind
to providing the means of support for the
two little ones dearer far to her, in their
helpless bereavement, than life itself


But six hours mad elapsed since she turned
her weak, trembling steps from the grave
of him who had been her only earthly guide
and support, and already the landlord had
been in to say that on the third day from
then the house must be given up to other
| parties. And now she sat, pressing
her throbbingu temples between her
hands, trying to think what she
1 could do, when lady living
not far from them entered the room, Mary
knew that she was very rich, and that her
two Oldest daughters, in days gone by, had
snubbed the blacksmith's daughter as they
played upon the same banquette. This she
knew and nothing more; and as here eyes
met the coarse, cold face before her, she
slightly recoiled, forced back the falling
tears, and in quiet dignity waited for her to
speak.


Well, Mary, suppose you will have to
go out TO work, and rhave come to make
you an offer. want house girl and win
give you eight dollars. l reckon you know
very little about keeping such house as
mine, but think I can teach you.'


al have my brother and sister to support
and can not work for that madam"


Pray, what does a girl like you expect
to get guess thatis full as much as you
can earn.n


No madam, know that wherever 60
l shall earn far more than can get.n


What do you askl'


What am to dogn .


keep the house in order, dress the
children, and do the family mending; in
fine / wish you to do everything, except
cook, wask, and irons eA


cam to keep the diningroom alsog"


"Oh certainly.s


"Then it is more than i can DO. can
not take the place At any price,


.i'As to the dinlneroOm suppose the
cook might = that, except setting
and waiting upu table,