A tear trickled down the girl’s cheek, and fell upon her black dress.  A little figure stole up, and knelt beside her, and a timid voice said, “Don’t cry, please, Johnny’s sorry for you.”  Clemence raised the little form.

“Poor child,” she said, “you are early accustomed to sorrow.”  She parted the hair from off his forehead, with a mother touch, and noted the intelligence and sympathy in the great, thoughtful eyes.  “You are a good boy, dear, let me see if I have not got something to please you.”  She put her hand in her pocket, and drew out a tiny Bible, and wrote therein, before handing it to him, these words in pencil—­“John Brier, a gift from his Teacher.”

“There, Johnny,” she said, “keep that always, and promise me to read it every day, and try to follow its instructions, for, if you act in accordance with its precepts, you will have that peace and happiness that comes from a consciousness of having performed our duty.”

She leaned forward and rested her head upon her hand after a way she had when troubled.  Mrs. Brier’s uncalled for remarks had disturbed her.  Why should people say unkind things of her, when she was trying so hard to do right.  Surely, there could be no wrong in the act of comforting a dying woman with the promise that her only child should be cared for and protected.  She had not been eager to take upon herself this burden, but there was no one else, and it seemed almost as if God had intended her for the emergency.  There was but one thing left, to struggle on as hopefully as possible, and live down these adverse circumstances.

“Your room’s ready, Miss.” said her hostess coming back, suddenly, and only too glad of the opportunity, Clemence bid her good night, and retired immediately.

“Johnny!” called the sharp voice of Mrs. Brier, at the early morning light, “up with you, I tell you.  Do you hear?  For every minute you keep me, you’ll get an extra crack!” and, true to her word, there was presently a grieved cry from the child, upon whose slender shoulders at least a dozen blows were showered in rapid succession.

An hour after, when Clemence went down to breakfast, Johnny came in from the woodshed, with traces of tears on his face.

“What’s the matter with the young’un?” asked Mr. Brier, as they took their places at the table.  He seemed to have a little more self-control than his amiable spouse, and to be annoyed at such exhibitions before a stranger.

“The same old thing over again,” was the reply, “he wouldn’t get up in time to start the fire, and I took him in hand, and I’ll do it again, if he don’t get out of the sulks.”

“Why, I guess he means to behave,” said Mr. Brier, deprecatingly, “it’s natural for boys to be lazy, you know.”