“I think I can afford to dress my girl as well as Grant does his.  Get a new hat and coat, child, and any little notions you fancy.  Miss Bat’s economy isn’t the sort I like;” and Mr. Bemis looked at his wristbands again, as if he could sympathize with Molly’s elbows.

“At this rate, I shall have more clothes than I know what to do with, after being a rag-bag,” thought the girl, in great glee, as she bravely stitched away at the worst glove, while her father smoked silently for a while, feeling that several little matters had escaped his eye which he really ought to “see about.”

Presently he went to his desk, but not to bury himself in business papers, as usual, for, after rummaging in several drawers, he took out a small bunch of keys, and sat looking at them with an expression only seen on his face when he looked up at the portrait of a dark-eyed woman hanging in his room.  He was a very busy man, but he had a tender place in his heart for his children; and when a look, a few words, a moment’s reflection, called his attention to the fact that his little girl was growing up, he found both pride and pleasure in the thought that this young daughter was trying to fill her mother’s place, and be a comfort to him, if he would let her.

“Molly, my dear, here is something for you,” he said; and when she stood beside him, added, as he put the keys into her hand, keeping both in his own for a minute,—­

“Those are the keys to your mother’s things.  I always meant you to have them, when you were old enough to use or care for them.  I think you’ll fancy this better than any other present, for you are a good child, and very like her.”

Something seemed to get into his throat there, and Molly put her arm round his neck, saying, with a little choke in her own voice, “Thank you, father, I’d rather have this than anything else in the world, and I’ll try to be more like her every day, for your sake.”

He kissed her, then said, as he began to stir his papers about, “I must write some letters.  Run off to bed, child.  Good-night, my dear, good-night.”

Seeing that he wanted to be alone, Molly slipped away, feeling that she had received a very precious gift; for she remembered the dear, dead mother, and had often longed to possess the relics laid away in the one room where order reigned and Miss Bat had no power to meddle.  As she slowly undressed, she was not thinking of the pretty new gowns in which she was to be “as gay as a butterfly,” but of the half-worn garments waiting for her hands to unfold with a tender touch; and when she fell asleep, with the keys under her pillow and her arms round Boo, a few happy tears on her cheeks seemed to show that, in trying to do the duty which lay nearest her, she had earned a very sweet reward.

So the little missionaries succeeded better in their second attempt than in their first; for, though still very far from being perfect girls, each was slowly learning, in her own way, one of the three lessons all are the better for knowing—­that cheerfulness can change misfortune into love and friends; that in ordering one’s self aright one helps others to do the same; and that the power of finding beauty in the humblest things makes home happy and life lovely.