And she lifted up a cloth which she had placed over the sweet flowers to prevent them fading too quickly. "Oh, how sweet they are!" exclaimed Lizzie Stevens, and she stopped, and putting her heavy bundle down on a door-step, bent her pale face over the flowers to inhale their perfume. When she raised her face it was whiter than before, and on the violets something was glistening. Pollie at first thought it was a dew-drop, but when she looked up into her neighbour's eyes she saw they were full of tears--_one_ was resting on the flowers! "Why are you crying?" asked the child softly; "are you ill?" "Oh no, Pollie," she sobbed forth; "but those sweet flowers recall the time when I was a little girl like you, and gathered them in the lanes near my happy home--before mother died." "Is your mother dead, then? Oh dear, I am so sorry," said the child with earnest pity. "Yes, I am all alone in the world; no one to love or care for me," she exclaimed passionately. "Ah, I wish I was dead too." "Don't say so," said Pollie soothingly; "God cares for you, and loves you dearly." "I sometimes think even He forgets me," moaned the poor girl, "when I see rich folks having all things they desire, and such as me almost starving, working night and day for a mere crust." "I once said so to mother," remarked the child, "but she opened our Bible, and bade me read a verse she pointed out. Shall I tell you what it was?" "Yes," was the reply. Pollie folded her hands, and repeated-- "Give me neither poverty nor riches; feed me with food convenient for me, lest I be full and deny Thee, and say, Who is the Lord? or lest I be poor and steal, and take the name of my God in vain." And then she turned to another to comfort me, and this is it-- "Be careful for nothing; but in everything by prayer and supplication with thanksgiving let your requests be made known unto God. And the peace of God, which passeth all understanding, shall keep your hearts and minds through Christ Jesus." When the child ceased speaking, she looked up into the face of her listener, whose head was bent in reverence to God. "O Pollie!" she said at last, as again taking up her heavy load she proceeded slowly onwards, "I wish I had a good mother." "Come over to us sometimes," said the child, eagerly. "Will your mother let me?" was the question. "Yes, I am sure she will; she is so good," was the reply. And then the two friends went on up Drury Lane, not speaking much; but as they were parting Lizzie stooped down, and kissing the child lovingly, said softly-- "Good-bye, and thank you, little Pollie." "Would you like a bunch of violets?" she asked. "I can divide the other between mother and Mrs Flanagan." The poor seamstress was unable to speak from emotion, but held out her hand with trembling eagerness for the flowers.