"Dearest mother, do not grieve for me, it breaks my heart."

The sweet, sad voice of the speaker quivered with unshed tears, as she
knelt before the grief-bowed figure on the sofa, and took one of the
little, shrunken, tear-wet hands in both her own, with the devotion of a
lover.

"Have you not often told me of the sin of distrusting the All-wise
Being, who has cared for us all our lives thus far? Let us put our trust
in Him, and He will 'never leave nor forsake us.' Can you not trust Him,
precious mother?"

"My child, I could bear it for myself; but you, my all of earth, my
heart's dearest treasure, to be exposed to poverty and toil for your
daily bread--who have been so delicately reared that the winds of heaven
have not been permitted to blow too roughly upon you! My poor,
fatherless darling, how can you bear it?"

"'God is our father.' We are not friendless, nor alone. 'He who
tempereth the wind to the shorn lamb,' will guide and guard me. Let us
commit ourselves to His care."

She knelt down, and the sunshine, stealing in at the window that May
afternoon, circled her young head like a glory. Faint and tremulous rose
the sweet voice in prayer, and little widow Graystone's sobs ceased, and
a kind of awe stole over her as she listened. And a sweet peace filled
her soul, for "angels came and ministered unto her." Up from the
mother's heart went a pleading cry. "God keep my darling from harm!" and