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Ah,' he sighed, my little Fanny was just about her size when she had to go, as her mother had done before; and now they are both angels in Heaven, and I am left alone!'

At last he spoke to the child, and asked her why she came there so often; where she lived; and so on. Meg's story was simple enough. She had lost both her parents, and was now under the care of an aunt, who had not much time to give to her little niece, as she went out washing, and was always busy with household work when she came home at night.

Neither was she rich enough to send Meg to school; so the child wandered about pretty much where she would all day, and, heing a good child, she kept out of mischief, and managed to be contented and happy.

'Only I liked the pretty flowers in the country where I used to live, and to see the lambs. skipping about in the meadows,' she said one day, when Tom Carter was questioning her as to her new home.

My Fanny liked them too,' thought the blacksmith, and he made up his mind to give the little orphan a treat.

'What do you say to going a walk with me in the fields next Sunday?'

'I go to church with aunt in the morning,' said Meg; and then there's the Sunday-school of afternoons.'

Then we won't start till school is over,' returned Tom. You ask your aunt; and I'll be at the school-door as you come out. I'll put a bit of bread and cheese and a bottle of milk in my pocket, and so we shall do very well for tea.'

Meg was delighted; and the next Sunday the two set off and rambled away into the green fields and lanes, plucking bunches of wild flowers as they went. And the child chattered away to the man, and he had

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shooting. It's a bit lonesome all by myself in the house with nothing to do.'

Tom thought of the child's lonely life, and remembered a certain book full of stories and coloured pictures which his little daughter used to love, but which had been put away with her other things in a box upstairs, where it still was. Meg would like it, he thought; but the thought went no further. The volume was a treasure, as having belonged to his lost darling, and so not lightly to be parted with.

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"Yes,' was the cheerful answer; but she's not just like mother. I do miss mother now and again. But she said that it was naughty to fret over things which are God's doing; so I try not.'

The little girl, without knowing it, was teaching a lesson to her companion. Tom Carter knew that he had been rebelling ever since his child's death against the will of God: that he had brooded sullenly over his loss, and refused to be comforted. Meg's simple words found their way into his soul; and that night he lifted up his voice to God in the earnest prayer-Help me to say, "Thy will be done."

What makes little Meg's sweet face so sad as it gazes in at the smithy window? Tom Carter catches the expression, and in a pause from his hammering calls out:What ails thee, lassie?'

'Oh, it's nothing much,' Meg answers; ' only I'm to stop more at home, and mind the house, Aunt Betsy says.'

Don't fret, little one,' Tom says; I'll tell you what I'll do. I'll give you something as will make indoors seem pleasant to you. There's my Fanny's book. She'd like you

to have it, I'm sure, for you've been a little comforter to her father; and he'd like to give you a bit of pleasure in return.'

And Tom fetches the book, and puts it in Meg's hand. It is a welcome gift, indeed, and it gave the child many a happy hour, that otherwise she would not have had; for though her cheerful temper made her contented in her lot, her aunt was often cross and ailing.

The winter came at last, bringing with it sharp rheumatic pains for Aunt Betsy, and scant food and hard work for the orphan child. She seldom went now to the smithy, and Tom Carter missed her more than he liked to own even to himself. A whole week had gone by without her coming near, and he was beginning to think he would call to ask about her, when raising his eyes from his work he saw Meg standing at the door, looking quite forlorn.

'What is it, little one?' he asked anxiously.

'Aunt is dead, and I'm to go to the workhouse, they say,' was the piteous reply.

Tom flung down his hammer, To the workhouse!' he exclaimed. 'Nay, they shall never take thee there. Don't cry, deary.

Thou shalt come and live with me.'

Meg clung to him in loving trust, and her sobs grew less and less. And from that hour Tom Carter found a new interest and hope in life; a new motive in his work. His home was no longer cheerless; it resounded once again to a child's happy laughter. His heart was no longer desolate; for little Meg filled up his lost Fanny's empty place. And no fond father. ever gave to daughter greater tenderness and care; no daughter ever repaid father with deeper gratitude and love.

'We mustn't forget as we are bound for a better country, lassie,' he would say, 'because we are so happy here.'

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Published for the Proprietors by W. WELLS GARDNER, 2 Paternoster Buildings, London.

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