INSTEAD of obeying her angry master and leaving the house, Bridget went down stairs to the parlors, where a scene of confusion met her eye, such as would have carried dismay to the heart of her young mistress. Her resolve was taken at once to bear and forbear, if she might be allowed to stay, for the sake of the desolate child-wife so far away from all her friends. She ran up to the attic to lay aside her bonnet and shawl, and looked in upon Gertrude to say: "Be aisy, ma'am; Bridget McCarty's not the girl to lave ye whin ye need a stout arm and a willing heart." "I tried to go down," faltered the young wife, "but I grew giddy at once." It was when she was left alone that, supporting herself by a chair, she walked to the window and looked down into the street. Just passing were two young girls, whom she had often watched during the winter as they merrily wended their way to school; their books under their arms. She sighed as she reflected, "They are just my age; and I might have been going to school, as happy and free from care as they, if it had not been for my obstinacy and self-will. Now I am far away from all who love me, with not one, but a poor servant girl, to speak a word of sympathy or affection." A merry burst of laughter from a group of younger children grated harshly on her ear; and she murmured: "How long it seems since I was merry! Oh, Hannah! Oh, Edward! you're prophecies have come true! I am sorry I did not heed your advice. I deserve to be miserable." With these sad reflections she sank into the lounging chair and burying her face in her hands, sobbed as I have described at the commencement of the last chapter. In a few minutes her grief had exhausted itself and lying there, with her eyes fixed on the clear, blue sky, her thoughts went backward to Rose Cottage. Though ignorant and unaccomplished, Hannah had carefully taught her the sacred truths revealed in the word of God. She knew that man alienated from his Maker, could never experience perfect joy. She knew that the love of the Father had provided a way whereby his sinful children might secure, not only temporal, but eternal good. Every Sabbath she had heard of Christ's love to fallen man; again and again she had listened to the words, "'Come unto me, all ye that labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest.'" "'For the Son of man is come to seek and save that which was lost.'" These gracious promises had indeed often fallen on her ear as they were repeated in church by her good pastor; but never till now did they seem so full of meaning. For the first time in her young life she felt the need of an almighty Friend; for the first time, the prayer went up from her heart as well as from her lips: "O, God, do help me!" Poor child! in her deep sorrow she was beginning to seek the Lord, "if haply she might feel after him, and find him, though he be not far from every one of us."