“She sent a trifling gift just to assure her dear child of her loving remembrance, and she inclosed ten dollars, fearing her purse might be low (she had not forgotten how it was with herself in the days when she was an apprentice and getting nothing but her board for her work); and if Floy did not like to take it as a gift, as she would be only too glad to have her do, then let it stand as a loan.” “How kind, how very kind!” thought Floy. Yes, her purse was very low, and such a loan from such a source was very acceptable. Ah, here was Espy’s name! He had been called home to see his mother die; she had had a stroke of paralysis, but the case was not hopeless; she might linger a good while, and perhaps get about again. Floy breathed more freely. There were just a few more lines. “Dear child, sorrow and care will sometimes press heavily; you will sadly miss the old loves; but take heart: ‘He careth for you,’ He who loves you with a greater, tenderer love than a mother’s, and hath all power in heaven and in earth.” “Good news, I see! and I’m real glad for you, poor child!” said Hetty softly, as she handed Floy a cup of fragrant tea and a slice of hot buttered toast, and in so doing caught the look of sweet peace and joy in the dewy eyes lifted from the letter to her face. “Good news? oh, yes indeed! that I’m not forgotten, that I’m loved and cared for still by--” “Ah, yes, don’t I know how nice it is to be remembered by home friends when you’re far away!” Hetty put in quickly, as the low, tremulous tones faltered and fell, and Floy hastily drew out her handkerchief to wipe away the tears she could not keep back. “I too,” said John, buttering his toast and taking a sip of tea; “a fellow gets awfully homesick sometimes at school, and a letter such as you, for instance, dash off once in a while, Het, does him a world of good.” “News from home,” whispered Floy to herself, as she laid her weary head upon her pillow; “yes, from my Father’s house; a sweet message from my Elder Brother on the throne, reminding me anew that He cares for me; how strange that, knowing that, I can ever be sad and anxious!” It was the last waking thought. But, alas! what a pang of remembrance came with the first moment of returning consciousness! One year ago how loved and cared for, to-day how lonely and forsaken! Ah no, not that! “He careth for you,” sweetly whispered the Comforter to her aching heart, and she was comforted. A few quiet tears dropped upon her pillow, but they were not all of sadness. A faint rustling sound came from the bed on the other side of the room, then a whisper from Hetty. “Merry Christmas, mothery! how are you this morning?” “Oh, I’m splendid! I’m going to say everything’s splendid now. Merry Christmas to you too. I wish I had a million to give you.” “A million of what, mothery?” laughed the girl. “Dollars, to be sure! But what is it Shakespeare says?”