"`Mon sort n'est pas a plaindre,'" softly repeated Mrs Dorothy. "Oh, it is wrong of me!" sobbed Phoebe. "But it does seem so hard. Nobody cares for me any more." "Nay, my child, `He careth for thee.'" "Oh, I know it is so!" was the answer; "but I can't feel it. It all looks so dark and cold. I can't feel it!" "Poor little child, lost in the dark!" said Mrs Dorothy, gently. "Dear, the Lord must know how very much easier it would be to see. But His especial blessing is spoken on them that have not seen, and yet have believed. 'Tis an honour to thy Father, little Phoebe, to put thine hand in His, and let Him lead thee where He will. Thine earthly father would have liked thee to trust him. Canst thou not trust the heavenly Father?" Phoebe's tears were falling more softly now. "Phoebe, little maiden, shall I love thee?" "Thank you, Mrs Dorothy, but people don't love me," said Phoebe, as if it were a fact, sad, indeed, but incontrovertible. "Only dear father and Perry." "And thy mother," suggested Mrs Dorothy, in a soothing tone. "Well--yes--I suppose so," doubtfully admitted Phoebe. "But, you see, poor mother--I had better not talk about it, Mrs Dorothy, if you please." Mrs Dorothy let the point pass, making a note of it in her own mind. She noticed, too, that Phoebe said, "Dear father" and "poor mother"; yet it was the father who was dead, and the mother was living. The terms, thought Mrs Dorothy, must have some reference to character. "Little Phoebe," she said, "if it should comfort thee betimes to pour out thine heart to some human creature, come across the Park, and tell thy troubles to me. Thou art but a young traveller; and such mostly long for some company. Yet, bethink thee, my dear, I can but be sorry for thee, while the Lord can help thee. He is the best to trust, child." "Yes, I know," whispered Phoebe. "You are so good, Mrs Dorothy!" "Now for the story!" said Rhoda, dancing into the little parlour. "You've had oceans of time to dry your eyes. I have been to Mrs Jane, and Mrs Clarissa, and my Lady Betty; and I've had a dish of tea with each one. I shall turn into a tea-plant presently. Now I'm ready, Mrs Dorothy; go on!" "What fashion of tale should you like, Mrs Rhoda?" "Oh, you had better begin at the beginning," said Rhoda. "I don't think I ever heard you tell about when you were a child; you always begin with the Revolution. Go back a little earlier, and let us have your whole history." Mrs Dorothy paused thoughtfully. "It won't do me any harm," added Rhoda; "and I can't see why you should care. You're nearly seventy, aren't you?" Phoebe's shy glance at her cousin might have been interpreted to mean that she did not think her very civil; but Mrs Dorothy did not resent the question.