"Let these words be my memorial that I have trusted in thee. And oh! when these miserable lips are silent for ever, remember the word unto thy servant, upon which thou hast caused me to hope; and be unto my little one all thou hast been to me! Unto thee I lift up mine eyes, O thou that dwellest in the heavens!" She raised her face from the book, closed it, and gave it silently to Ellen. Ellen had noticed her action, but had no suspicion of the cause; she supposed that one of her mother's frequent feelings of weakness or sickness had made her lean her head upon the Bible, and she thought no more about it. However, Ellen felt that she wanted no more of her boxes that day. She took her old place by the side of her mother's sofa, with her head upon her mother's hand, and an expression of quiet sorrow in her face that it had not worn for several days. CHAPTER V. A peep into the Wide World. The next day would not do for the intended shopping, nor the next. The third day was fine, though cool and windy. "Do you think you can venture out to-day, Mamma?" said Ellen. "I am afraid not. I do not feel quite equal to it, and the wind is a great deal too high for me, besides." "Well," said Ellen, in the tone of one who is making up her mind to do something, "we shall have a fine day by-and-by, I suppose, if we wait long enough; we had to wait a great deal while for our first shopping-day. I wish such another would come round." "But the misfortune is," said her mother, "that we cannot afford to wait. November will soon be here, and your clothes may be suddenly wanted before they are ready, if we do not bestir ourselves. And Miss Rice is coming in a few days — I ought to have the merino ready for her." "What will you do, Mamma?" "I do not know, indeed, Ellen; I am greatly at a loss." "Couldn't papa get the stuffs for you, Mamma?" "No, he's too busy; and besides, he doesn't know about shopping for me." "Well, what will you do, Mamma? Is there nobody else you could ask to get the things for you? Mrs. Foster would do it, Mamma." "I know she would, and I should ask her without any difficulty, but she is confined to her room with a cold. I see nothing for it but to be patient and let things take their course — though, if a favourable opportunity should offer, you would have to go, clothes or no clothes; it would not do to lose the chance of a good escort." And Mrs. Montgomery's face showed that this possibility of Ellen's going unprovided gave her some uneasiness. Ellen observed it. "Never mind me, dearest mother; don't be in the least worried about my clothes. You don't know how little I think of them or care for them. It's no matter at all whether I have them or not." Mrs. Montgomery smiled, and passed her hand fondly over her little daughter's head, but presently resumed her anxious look out of the window. "Mamma!" exclaimed Ellen, suddenly starting up, "a bright thought has just come into my head! _I'll_ do it for you, Mamma!" "Do what?"