“Little girl, have you heard from your brother lately?”

“Not very lately, sir.”

“What is he doing?”

“He is in a store.”

“I apprehend you are mistaken.  He has lost his place.  He has been turned away,” said the deacon, with satisfaction.

“Frank turned away!  Oh, sir, you must be mistaken.”

“Mr. Pomeroy told me.  He found out yesterday when he went to the city.”

Poor Grace! she could not longer doubt now, and her brother’s misfortune saddened her even more than her own.

“Probably you will soon see your brother.”

“Oh, do you think so, sir?” asked Grace, joyfully.

“Yes,” answered the deacon, grimly.  “He will find himself in danger of starvation in the city, and he’ll creep back, only too glad to obtain a nice, comfortable home in the poorhouse.”

But Grace knew her brother better than that.  She knew his courage, his self-reliance and his independent spirit, and she was sure the deacon was mistaken.

The home for which Grace was expected to be so grateful was now in sight.  It was a dark, neglected looking house, situated in the midst of barren fields, and had a lonely and desolate aspect.  It was superintended by Mr. and Mrs. Chase, distant relations of Deacon Pinkerton.

Mr. Chase was an inoffensive man, but Mrs. Chase had a violent temper.  She was at work in the kitchen when Deacon Pinkerton drove up.  Hearing the sound of wheels, she came to the door.

“Mrs. Chase,” said the deacon, “I’ve brought you a little girl, to be placed under your care.”

“What’s her name?” inquired the lady.

“Grace Fowler.”

“Grace, humph!  Why didn’t she have a decent name?”

“You can call her anything you like,” said the deacon.

“Little girl, you must behave well,” said Deacon Pinkerton, by way of parting admonition.  “The town expects it.  I expect it.  You must never cease to be grateful for the good home which it provides you free of expense.”

Grace did not reply.  Looking in the face of her future task-mistress was scarcely calculated to awaken a very deep feeling of gratitude.

“Now,” said Mrs. Chase, addressing her new boarder, “just take off your things, Betsy, and make yourself useful.”

“My name isn’t Betsy, ma’am.”

“It isn’t, isn’t it?”

“No; it is Grace.”

“You don’t say so!  I’ll tell you one thing, I shan’t allow anybody to contradict me here, and your name’s got to be Betsy while you’re in this house.  Now take off your things and hang them up on that peg.  I’m going to set you right to work.”

“Yes, ma’am,” said Grace, alarmed.

“There’s some dishes I want washed, Betsy, and I won’t have you loitering over your work, neither.”

“Very well, ma’am.”

Such was the new home for which poor Grace was expected to be grateful.