wasn't for a small inheritance that Maud and Blanche have from their
grandmother, and, of course, they couldn't be expected to divide that
with you, and deny themselves every comfort; so I don't see any help for
it but for you to get a place in some store or millinery shop, or
something. We have to move in a smaller house next week."

The week had nearly gone by, and Mildred was growing desperate.
Unfitted for most work, either in strength or education, she scarcely
knew for what to apply, and went from one place to another at her aunt's
recommendation, feeling like a forlorn little waif for whom there was no
place anywhere in the world.

One afternoon she sat by her window, looking out on the early April
sunshine, trying, with the hopelessness of despair, to form some plan
for her future. "Why didn't I have a grandmother to leave me an
inheritance like Blanche and Maud?" she thought, bitterly.

Then her thoughts flew back to the day on shipboard, when she had heard
of the old house in Chester and the inscription in her companion's
wedding-ring. "And she told me to take that motto for my own," she
whispered through her tears. "'God's providence is mine inheritance!' If
it is, the time has certainly come for me to claim it, for I have never
been in such desperate need."

The few times that winter that Mildred had gone to any service, had been
in the church in the next block. Its gray stone walls, with masses of
overhanging ivy, reminded her of the one she had loved at home. God had
seemed so very far away since she came to Carlsville. She prayed as she
had always done before, but her prayers seemed like helpless little
birds, unable to rise high enough to carry her pleadings to the ear of