“How shall poor Daph show the way to heaven; she don’t know it jus zactly herself,” said the poor creature, and the momentary gleam of hope faded from her face as she spoke. “Jesus Christ has opened the door of heaven wide, for all that love Him and trust Him,” said Rose, eagerly; “His blood, shed on the cross, can wash away the sins of the whole world. The great Lord will forgive you all that is past, and receive you into heaven, for Jesus’ sake, if you really wish it.” “What else Daph want now in dis world, but jus know de way to heaven herself, and lead de childen dere?” was the earnest reply. Poor Daph had been entrusted with but little religious knowledge, but to that she had clung in simple faith through all her trials. She had improved the few talents that had been given her, and now came her reward in the fulness of the light of the gospel. Again, and again her young teacher explained the way of forgiveness and eternal peace through the blood of Christ. At last the beauty, freedom, and matchless love of the plan of redemption burst upon her, and there was joy in heaven, when the poor negro in the midst of her tears, welcomed Christ as her Saviour, and knew “the great Lord,” as her reconciled Father in heaven. While the long conversation, so full of moment to Daph, was taking place, Mary Ray had kept the children happy in the little garden. Their patience at last gave way, and they pleaded so hard “Just to look at dear Daffy,” that their young nurse could resist them no longer. Charlie burst impetuously into the room, unmindful of the stranger, while Louise more timidly followed. Warm tears filled the eyes of Rose Stuyvesant as she looked, for the first time, on the orphans. Charlie saw immediately the happy change that had passed over Daph’s face, and walking straight up to her, he said exultingly “Daffy’s better! Daffy’s better! Good Daffy!” and he laid his curly head on her dark arm which told how dearly she was beloved. A peculiar attraction seemed to draw Louise to the side of the stranger, and when she was tenderly kissed, and that sweet, soft, face bent down to hers, with loving interest, the child put her head on the bosom of Rose Stuyvesant, clung to her neck and sobbed as if her heart would break. “It is not mamma!” murmured the child; and then more and more fondly embraced one, who had brought back from the dim recesses of memory, the image of her long-lost mother. Rose was but little less moved than the child, and in her heart she prayed that she might give to the little one such lessons in holiness, as would win an approving smile, were they heard by that mother in heaven. By degrees, the agitation of little Louise subsided, but she quietly kept her seat on the lap of her new friend, and seemed to find a new pleasure in looking into her kind face and smoothing her fair, soft hand.