"Are you? We thought that frost was dreadful in London, because it made things so hard for the poor—they don't feel the wet so much as long as it's mild, but when it's cold and frosty, the distress is terrible. Last winter, not far from where we lived, a poor old woman was found dead on a doorstep; I couldn't sleep for nights afterwards for thinking of her." "How shocking!" exclaimed Rose, in an awe-struck voice. "Had she no home?" "No. There are hundreds and hundreds of people in London without homes. Mother knew a great many poor people, and it used to make her so sad when she couldn't help them. Often they'd come and tell her their troubles, because, you see, being poor herself, she could understand better than if she had been rich," Mavis explained, with a wisdom beyond her years. "Were you, then, very poor, Mavis?" Rose inquired, wonderingly. "Yes," nodded Mavis; "but we always had enough to eat, though sometimes it was only bread-and-butter. Once we couldn't pay our rent, and mother was in great trouble about that, but Miss Tompkins was very kind, and said she would willingly wait for it. And then, mother had a good engagement to nurse a rich old gentleman for a few weeks, so Miss Tompkins hadn't to wait long." "Why didn't your mother write to father for some money, Mavis?" asked Rose. "I am sure he would have been very pleased to send her some." "I am sure he would, too, now I know him. I don't know why she didn't write to him; perhaps she did not like to bother him, yes, that must have been it." "Father says Aunt Margaret has been a wonderful woman to do as she has done, with no one to help her," remarked Rose. "God helped her," said Mavis, simply; "mother says He helps all who trust in Him." "You tell Him all your troubles, don't you, Mavis?" Rose asked. Then, as her cousin nodded assent, she said, "I don't mean only great troubles, but little ones?" "Oh yes." "Well, I don't. I just say my regular prayers twice a day, and that's all. I don't feel God's my Friend, like you do." "Don't you? Oh, but you should. I'd tell Him everything, if I were you." "What, that mother's vexed with me for being slow at school, for instance?" "Yes. God knows you do your best, Rosie, if Aunt Lizzie doesn't. I'd ask Him to make her believe it, if I were you. Mother says when we've told God our trouble, we oughtn't to worry about it any more, but just leave it to Him, and He'll be sure to put it right." "Do you really think that?" "Of course I do. He has promised to bear our troubles, and you know it says in the Bible, 'there has not failed one word of all His good promise.' I'll show you the verse, if you like." "It astonishes me that you should be so religious," Rose observed, after a few minutes' thought, "because you're such a merry little soul as a rule, always singing about the place and ready for any fun, and I thought religious people were generally very solemn."