Joying and adoring. 
O Lord! bless this day,
All my thoughts and doings,
And keep my heart away
From all vain pursuings. 
Shield me with Thy fostering wings,
From every wild temptation. 
Let the daily course of things,
Work for my salvation. 
O Lord I bless this day,
All my thoughts and doings,
And keep my heart away
From all vain pursuings. 
With the hymns of flowers,
And streams and fountains blending? 
I adore Thee,
And implore Thee,
Prayer and praise upsending.

Minette was in a great state of excitement whilst saying her hymn, and repeated it so energetically, and withal so feelingly, that the attention of Mrs Jones, Miss Gwynne, and Rowland was quite drawn towards her.  They did not, therefore, notice the still greater excitement of Mr Jones, as he was, professedly, looking at the hymn book to see whether the child repeated her task correctly.

‘Well done, my little niece,’ cried Rowland, catching her up in his arms, and giving her a hearty kiss.

‘Let me go, uncle.  Mr Jones, Mr Jones,’ screamed Minette, ’may I go with you to see the poor children, Mr Jones?’

Mr Jones did not even hear the entreating appeal of the little girl.  He was out of the drawing-room, book in hand, and in Gladys’ work-room, almost before the struggling Minette was released from her uncle’s arms, and forcibly caught by Miss Gwynne.

Gladys was sitting quietly at her work, humming low the air of the hymn Minette had been saying, when Mr Jones entered the room abruptly.

‘Gladys, tell me where you got this book?’ he said, putting the hymn book on the table before her.

He looked so nervous and excited that Gladys was almost frightened.

‘My mother gave it me, sir,’ was the reply.

‘And who wrote these names?’ he asked, pointing to the words written on the fly-leaf, which were, “Margaret Jones, from her affectionate brother, William Jones.”

‘My uncle, sir, I believe, who gave the book to my mother.’

‘And your mother—­your mother, who was she?’

‘The daughter of a clergyman, sir.’

‘I know that.  But where—­what—­who?’

‘That is what I don’t know, sir.’

‘Who did she marry?  For God’s sake tell me all, Gladys.’

’She ran away with my father, sir, an Irish soldier, a corporal named O’Grady.  She went abroad with him, and did not come back to Ireland for two years.’

‘And then—­and her father—­and—­and her brother?’

‘Her father was dead, sir, and nobody knew where her brother was.’

‘Where did her father live?’

’Alas! sir, I cannot tell that either.  We never talked to my poor mother about him, because it made her so unhappy, and as he was dead, I had no interest in asking for the address.  All I know was, that she was Welsh; and when she was dying, she told me to go into Wales and find my uncle.  I don’t think she quite knew what she was saying, but I came.’