A girl was hired, to work under me, and things were left pretty much in my hands, except that I never knew when mother would or would not give orders just opposite to what I had planned. It was well I had learnt to cook, for father was growing very particular in his eating, and mother gave no help, and the girl was idle and ignorant. There was no making her do things. After a while the girl was sent away, and an older servant was got in her place. She knew better what she was about, but she pleased herself as to what she did, and she was not at all a nice woman. I missed grannie sorely those days. There was no one any longer to speak loving words to me; and there's nothing one misses like loving words, when one is used to them. Mother had never cared for me; and father was always grumbling. Some days the weight on me seemed more than I could bear. There was no rule or order in the house; and how could there be? Mother took no heed to her duties as mistress; and the servant would not do as I wished. Everything was left to me, and I was blamed if things went wrong, and yet I had no power to make them go right. I did so long for grannie back again. Life seemed dreary and sad without her. I remember one day meeting Mr. Scott, and his stopping to talk to me. He said so kindly, "Ah, it's a sad loss for you, poor girl!" And when I could not help crying, he took my hand and said, "But there is another Friend always at hand." "But it does not seem as if I could be good without grannie," I said. "And I can't keep things straight. Nothing goes right now." "She was one to help others," he said. "But there is nothing like looking to the Master Himself, Phœbe. Perhaps you didn't do that while you had her." No; I did not, and I said so. I had always looked to grannie. "I don't say that is why she was taken," he said. "I think God took her because He wanted her with Him in heaven. But now she is gone, I am quite sure He does want you to learn that lesson. Why should you not?" "I don't seem to know how," I said, sobbing. "Try—just try," he said. "Your grandmother was always near you, and always ready to help you. But there is One still more near, and still more ready. You turned to the one in every trouble; now turn to the Other just in the same way. And don't fear to trouble Him. Nothing that you care for is too small to pray about." And then he said, "Your father has not been to Church lately." "No," I said, and I blushed for him. "I can't get him to go, and he won't let me speak." "Or your mother?" "Mother doesn't seem to care," I said, and I hung my head. "Don't let them keep you from God's House," he said. "I do go in the evening," I answered. "Mother wants me at home all the morning. Father likes a hot dinner, and if I didn't see to it things wouldn't be right for him. Grannie never would do it, but mother makes me now."