She looked up. It was the kind Methodist lady, who had interceded for her so strenuously. Catharine was ignorant that Mary Margaret had met this good woman in the hall, yet the motherly face, the plain, unpretending manner, and those words of benevolent intercession, had impressed the forlorn girl, and she knew that if she had a friend in the world besides the humble Irish nurse, that friend was now before her. The poor girl looked up, with an attempt at a smile, therefore; but it was such a faint, sickly struggle, that her visitor’s heart ached to see it. “My poor child!” said the old lady. The tears swelled into Catharine’s eyes. There was sympathy, and the promise of aid, in the very tones of this old Christian’s voice. It had been long since she had seen so kind a countenance, or heard such soothing language, except from the untutored Mary Margaret. “My name is Mrs. Barr,” said the lady, after a pause. “I am disposed to be your friend. Would you like to go and live with me?” Catharine’s face lighted up as if she were transfigured. Emotion made her dumb. But she grasped the hand held out between both her own, and covered it with grateful kisses. “There, there,” said Mrs. Barr, with tears in her own eyes, “I am but a poor, human creature, and not worthy of such gratitude. Nor is it much I can do for you, either, my child. I am not blessed with a superfluity of this world’s goods. But what I have, you shall share, at least till we can look about for something better.” “God will repay you, dear madam,” said Catharine, filled with tender thanksgiving; “but, oh, tell me it is all yourself, I cannot endure to be helped by this Society.” “The Society will not have anything to do with it, my child.” “I am so thankful.” Mrs. Barr shook her head. “My child,” she said, “it is natural for you to speak so, but I fear it is wrong nevertheless. My colleagues mean well; at least I hope so,” she added, quickly; “but experience has made them suspicious, for they are continually being deceived. Some of them, I fear, have little tact in reading character,” she added, soothingly, “and judge many as impostors till their innocence is proved. But sometimes I cannot help differing with them a little. Our Saviour, when on earth, taught us infinite charity. I like your face, too. I believe you innocent.” Oh, what a look of thankfulness Catharine gave her at these words! “So let us dismiss this subject now, and forever. “I can’t bring the members to think as I do; for the lady you first saw is prejudiced against you, and has filled the others with her suspicions; but,” the old lady continued, “you shall not suffer. Come home with me. I have some sewing I want done, and when that is finished, God, perhaps, will find an opening for you. We will trust in him. Shall it be so, my dear?” If there were only more such people in this world, as that good Methodist woman, how many poor creatures, almost driven to despair, might be made happy.