Other comfort was given to her also. The Silvers had been told of the death, and Mrs. Silver and Rachel came and sat with Blade-o'-Grass. At first she shrank from Mrs. Silver, but no person could long resist the gentle tenderness of that good woman. 'She is truly your friend,' I said. 'I know it, I know it,' whispered Blade-o'-Grass humbly; 'but I'm not--not good enough.' I repeated these words to Mrs. Silver, and with a beautiful smile she embraced the poor girl and kissed her. 'Will you not kiss me, my child?' Mrs. Silver asked. The sobs that came from Blade-o'-Grass came from a heart overcharged with gratitude. But she was most at home with Rachel, and the two girls sat by the bed, while Mrs. Silver busied herself about the room. She stopped until the evening, and when she and Rachel were preparing to go, I saw an imploring look in Blade-o'-Grass's eyes. I stepped to her side. 'What is it you want, my dear?' She made no reply, but she looked at Rachel most wistfully and yearningly. I saw the thought and the wish that she was too humble to express. 'Let Rachel stop with her tonight,' I said to Mrs. Silver. For one moment only did Mrs. Silver hesitate; her child had never slept away from her home. 'Rachel, my dear,' she said, 'will you stop to-night with Blade-o'-Grass?' 'O yes!' answered Rachel with cheerful willingness; 'I shall be glad to stop.' With a gasp of joy Blade-o'-Grass caught Rachel's hand, and fondled it and kissed it again and again. Rachel released her hand, and placed her arm round Blade-o'-Grass's neck. The head of Blade-o'-Grass drooped to her breast, but Rachel's was lifted in simple trustfulness and love. We left to Mr. Merrywhistle the task of seeing to Rachel's comfort for the night. 'I shall be here very early in the morning,' said Mrs. Silver, as she kissed her child. She kissed Blade-o'-Grass again also, and went out of the room with Mr. Merrywhistle. I lingered behind for a moment or two. With Rachel's hand in mine I could not help saying to her, 'You gladden my heart, my dear.' She flushed slightly, and trembled. 'I am glad you are pleased with me, Mr. Meadow. Good-night.' 'Good-night, my dear.' We left Mr. Merrywhistle in Stoney-alley; he expressed his intention of sleeping in the house, and I saw Mrs. Silver home. 'How shall I thank you, dear madam,' I said as I stood with her in Buttercup-square, 'for the confidence you place in me?' 'Do you know what I have been thinking of as we walked along, Mr. Meadow?' 'No.' 'That it was a fortunate day for me when I wrote to ask you to assist us in our children's holiday. If it had pleased God to have given me a son of my own, I should have wished him to resemble you.' I cannot resist writing these words here, for they were very pleasant to me.