an unexpected source--even through the ministrations of an old,
partly blind, and half-simple woman.

Mrs. Bell from the first took a fancy to Cecile, and liked to have
her about her. She called her Mercy, and Cecile grew accustomed to
the name and answered to it. This delusion on the part of poor old
Mrs. Bell was great torture to Lydia Purcell, and when the child and
the old woman were together she always left them alone.

One afternoon Mrs. Bell said abruptly:

"Mercy, I thought--or was it a dream?--I thought you were safe away
with Jesus for the last few years."

"No, Mistress Bell," answered Cecile in her slow and grave tones,
"I've only been in London these last few years."

"Now you're puzzling me," said Mrs. Bell in a querulous voice, "and
you know I hate being puzzled. Lydia Purcell, too, often puzzles me
lately, but you, Mercy, never used to. Sit down, child, and stitch at
your sampler, and I'll get accustomed to the sight of you, and not
believe that you've been away with my blessed Master, as I used to
dream."

"Is your blessed Master the same as Jesus that you thought I had
gone to live with?" asked Cecile, as she pulled out the faded sampler
and tried to work the stitches.

"Yes, my darling, He's my light and my stay, the sure guide of a
poor old woman to a better country, blessed be His holy Name!"