"The widow, do you mean?" said the doctor. Milly nodded. "Mother told me that 'meek' meant something like this—that we must not mind when other people are liked better than we are; that we ought to esteem others better than ourselves, and not feel grieved when they did the same." The doctor sighed. "That is not very easy to do, Milly," he said. "It's very hard, I think," said Milly, "especially when you love somebody very much—" (and she laid her head on the doctor's shoulder), "and are afraid they'll love somebody else better than they do you," and the little girl heaved a deep sigh as she spoke. "Suppose I should love this cousin in India better than you, Milly, what should you do?" The little girl lifted her eyes at the question. "I think Jesus would help me not to mind about it, because he is your cousin, and you ought to love him," she said. "Do you think you could be glad too, Milly," asked the doctor, "when I seemed pleased to meet my cousin?" "It wouldn't be easy, but I think Jesus would help me to feel glad by and by, if I asked Him, and then you would always love me a little, wouldn't you?" she added. "Yes, my darling, I shall always love you—love you as dearly as though you were my own little girl. But now, Milly, suppose you could prevent my loving this cousin—suppose you could make him stay In India and not come to England at all, should you not do it if you were afraid I would love him better than you?" The little girl sat thoughtfully looking out of the window for a minute or two before she answered. But at length, she said slowly, "That wouldn't be right; he is your cousin, and you ought to love him, and I ought to be satisfied with a little bit of love, if you could not give me any more. Perhaps Jesus does not think it will be good for me to have the most any longer. Mother said that was another thing that being meek meant." Milly generally spoke of the widow as her "mother," and this had sometimes caused some few jealous thoughts, for she had never given him any other title than that of "doctor." "I think that poor widow was almost as good as a mother to you, was she not, Milly?" said the doctor, after a minute's silence. "Yes, almost as good as you," said Milly, throwing her arms about his neck. The doctor stroked the clustering curls from her forehead, and whispered, "Suppose, Milly, you were to hear that you had a real mother, like other little girls, such as you were talking about the other day?" Her bright blue eyes opened with a sudden look of intelligence, or returning memory. "I had a mamma once, think," she said. "Do you remember anything about her?" asked Dr. Mansfield. The little girl shook her head. "I don't know," she said. "I can remember a soldier carrying me to a big ship, and then going away." "That must have been your papa, I think," said the doctor. "My papa! How do you know that?" asked Milly.