The demure-looking little girl was generally a silent spectator of these attacks, but now and then she was forced to cry out, “O, mother! don’t!” which protest was generally met by a sharp box of the ear, and a “take that, Mary, and learn to be quiet!” If Mary Ray had learned any lesson, it certainly was to be quiet. She rarely spoke, and her footsteps were almost as noiseless as the fall of the winter snow. Daph soon found out that Mrs. Ray considered Mary especially guilty, in having presumed to live, when her brother, a fine healthy boy, had been snatched away by sudden disease. The loss of her husband, and consequent poverty, had somewhat soured Mrs. Ray’s temper, but her last bereavement seemed to have made her all acidity. She constantly reproached Mary for being a useless girl, always in her mother’s sight, when the dear boy, on whom she had hoped to lean, had been taken from her. Daph’s keen sympathies were soon warmly enlisted for little Mary, who had really begun to believe she was quite in fault for continuing to cumber the earth, when nobody wanted her here. Daph never passed Mary without a cheerful word, and she contrived to show the child many trifling acts of kindness, which went directly to her heart. At one time Daph, with her strong arm, lifted Mary’s heavy pail of water, at another, she took her pitcher to the milkman in a pouring rain; and one day, when she could think of no other way of showing her interest, she secretly bestowed on the little girl one of the few oranges which still remained of the store brought from the ship. Mary’s sorrowful face, Mrs. Ray’s harsh voice, the penetrating chill in the air, and the monotonous life she led in the single room, made it hard for Daph to bear up cheerfully, and, but for the children, she would have withdrawn to a corner, and moped all the time. She managed to keep up her spirits during the day, but when the little ones were asleep, she had her own sad, wakeful hours. More than a week had passed in this dreary way. Daph saw her treasured store of money fast diminishing, under the necessary expenditure for supplying the simple wants of her little establishment, and she already saw, too plainly, that the whole party must soon have a new outfit of clothing, or they would be disgraced by their rags and uncleanliness. The children were quietly slumbering near her; she had extinguished the candle, that it might not waste its feeble light, and, with her head on her hand, she began to consider seriously the situation in which she found herself. The present was dark enough, but what was she to think of the gloomy future! Where should she look for the work she would so willingly do? How could she leave her little charge, even if that work were found? A sense of utter helplessness came over the poor negro, and hot tears poured down her cheeks.