"Davy sauntered away, and before my friend came back with the children, I had lost sight of him; but at my request we moved on slowly till we should find him again. Nor had we gone far, before I saw him sitting in the middle of a group of little children. He was showing them the pictures on his pocket-handkerchief. I had one sixpence in my purse--it was the last I had, Mr. Smith." Here, from some impulse or other, Mrs. Bloomfield addressed me. "But I wasn't so poor but I could borrow, and it was a small price to give for what I had got; and so, as I was not able to leave the carriage, I asked my friend to take it to him, and tell him that Blessed Father had sent him that to buy a kite. The expression of childish glee upon his face, and the devout God bless you, Lady, upon his tongue, were strangely but not incongruously mingled. "Well, it was my last sixpence then, but here I and my husband are, owing no man anything, and spending a happy Christmas Day, with many thanks to Colonel and Miss Cathcart." "No, my good Madam," said the colonel; "it is we who owe you the happiest part of our Christmas Day. Is it not, Adela?" "Yes, papa, it is indeed," answered Adela. Then, with some hesitation, she added, "But do you think it was quite fair? It was _you_, Mrs. Bloomfield, who gave the boy the sixpence." "I only said God sent it," said Mrs. Bloomfield. "Besides," I interposed, "the boy never doubted it; and I think, after all, with due submission to my niece, he was the best judge." "I should be only too happy to grant it," she answered, with a sigh. "Things might be all right if one could believe that--thoroughly, I mean." "At least you will allow," I said, "that this boy was not by any means so miserable as he looked." "Certainly," she answered, with hearty emphasis. "I think he was much to be envied." Here I discovered that Percy was asleep on a sofa. Other talk followed, and the colonel was looking very thoughtful. Tea was brought in, and soon after, our visitors rose to take their leave. "You are not going already?" said the colonel. "If you will excuse us," answered the schoolmaster. "We are early birds." "Well, will you dine with us this day week?" "With much pleasure," answered both in a breath. It was clear both that the colonel liked their simple honest company, and that he saw they might do his daughter good; for her face looked very earnest and sweet; and the clearness that precedes rain was evident in the atmosphere of her eyes. After their departure we soon separated; and I retired to my room full of a new idea, which I thought, if well carried out, might be of still further benefit to the invalid. But before I went to bed, I had made a rough translation of the following hymn of Luther's, which I have since completed--so far at least as the following is complete. I often find that it helps to keep good thoughts before the mind, to turn them into another shape of words.