Hannah Brown packed a little basket for me, so that I should not need to buy anything at the refreshment rooms. A bottle of new milk, some home-made cake, a little packet of sandwiches—enough for me, and good enough for any one. The kind woman went with me to the station, on that frosty morning in early January, the crisp snow crunching beneath our feet and the stars glittering overhead, for it was hours before dawn. We had good two miles to walk, and the train started at six o'clock. On the road we met furniture vans, empty, but going to be filled with the contents of my old home, that they might be conveyed to the auctioneer's rooms and scattered at the fall of his hammer. Such a meeting was not likely to raise my spirits, but I made no remark, though my eyes filled. I was glad there was no stronger light for Hannah to discern my trickling tears. But I think her love made her conscious of them, for she whispered— "Keep a brave heart, Miss Lois, and trust still. God is faithful, and He is above all. I don't think He would have given you such a spirit as you have, or such a bright disposition, unless He had known they would be wanted. He has bestowed many grand gifts upon you, though He has taken some away. You have health, strength, youth, and a good firm will of your own, as well as a loving heart and the power to feel for others. It is always a comfort to one who has been about children to say, 'I never knew the tongue of that girl utter a lie, or her hand act one.' You were always true, Miss Lois. Be so still. In your talk with this gentleman you are going to meet, seem what you are, and be sure you undertake nothing but what you can do. And may God bless and speed you!" I had hardly time to answer; but the dear woman's words gave me fresh courage, and I felt my heart grow lighter and my hopes stronger as I sped on my way. It was bitterly cold, and it was a new thing for me to travel third class, but at any rate I was well wrapped, and as I looked at my fellow-passengers, I felt how many around me were far worse off than myself. There was an ill-clad mother, with such a young baby and another two-year-old child. I could spare a shawl to the woman and her infant, and I took the other child, a clean, wholesome little thing, upon my knee. Fed with a little of my cake and milk, and huddled beneath my cloak, this child had a peaceful sleep. So the time was whiled away and the long journey shortened for us all. We got out at the same large station, and I rejoiced to know that the mother and her little ones were near home, and to see them taken in charge by the waiting husband and father. The crowd of the passengers dispersed, and I stood alone, but not for long. A tall figure, whose dress bespoke the parson, and whose ruddy face suggested the country home, stepped forward and said, "Are you Miss Anstey?" I replied, "Yes; and you, I presume, are Mr. Barr."