"'I am so tired of doing nothing,' replied the dear girl, while large tears rolled over her cheeks. "Poor dear Effie! I fear that she is really losing her sight--so patient! so resigned! so ready for the will of her Heavenly Father, whatever that may be. "Roland had heard of her sickness, and has been to see her--'He was so kind,' Effie says; 'so gentle to his little sister.' She says that he asked a great deal about me. I wonder if he has the little shoe yet--how foolish all this is! I ought not to write such folly. "I have a great deal of time unoccupied--ought I not to do something for this neighborhood? "But how shall I begin? In my walk, yesterday, I rambled among the factory children; they seem very poor and ignorant; can I not do something for them? "Aunt Clara gave me some little books and tracts for just such people; I think I will take some among them. * * * * * * * "I went this morning along the factory lane, with my little basket in my hand; the children found that I had pretty books with pictures. Soon they were running after me. "'Lady, please give me a little book,' cried one little girl. 'Give me one, lady,' 'and me,' 'and me,' sounded out a score of young voices, all eager for a book, or a tract. "The books were soon all gone, and I had the pleasure of seeing several sit down by the road-side, eagerly examining the pictures, while others ran in to show their mothers what they had got. I think very few can read, for they only looked at the pictures. "One little curly-headed girl, with bare feet and ragged clothes, came pulling me by the dress. "'Lady, please come and see my mammy; she is very sick.' "I followed the child, and found her poor mother extended upon a bed of sickness, with every appearance of want and misery. I questioned her; she had been sick for two months; often in need of food; her two children worked at the factory, and their scanty wages was all that she had. "'Oh, ma'am! the rich don't know the value of the broken pieces which they throw away; but we know, ma'am.' "I left her some money, and promised to remember poor Mrs. Donnelly--she had set me to earnest thinking. Her grateful look repaid me for that visit.