"Because I have just heard something about it. Milly, would you be very glad to see your papa and mamma again?" asked the doctor slowly, almost sadly. The little girl clapped her hands with delight. "O yes, yes!" she exclaimed. "I think my papa was a soldier, and my mamma a beautiful lady, that was always ill. But there were black people where we lived," she suddenly said. The doctor had little doubt before but that this little waif the sea had cast up at his door was his cousin's long-lost daughter, and these sudden flashes of light on the all-but-forgotten past that came to Milly's mind did but confirm it. And he felt sure now that he should have to yield his place—the first place in the little girl's affection—to another. It may seem strange to some that this should cause the doctor so much pain as it did, seeing Milly was but a child, and Dr. Mansfield a clever learned man. But it must be remembered that she was the only one in all the world that he loved, or that really loved him. She had come to him in his misery and depression, and instead of shrinking from him as all others did, she had soothed and comforted him, almost as an angel. And by her simple childish example, more than by her words, had led him to look to God for strength to do battle with his sin and sorrowful remorse. This was the real secret of Milly's power with the doctor. She had herself learned the power of meekness from the example and teaching of Jesus, and, following in His footsteps, she had become His representative—His little messenger of mercy and love to her good friend the doctor. She would not, could not, have been all this, had she not learned by experience, "blessed are meek, for they shall inherit the earth." She had not learned this quickly or easily. Many a hard battle had been fought in the lowly fisherman's cottage before her proud passionate temper had been subdued; but it was conquered, and then she could and did, in her own simple childlike manner, teach the doctor what she herself had learned of the blessedness of the meek. But she could not have taught him this lesson had she not learned it herself first—learned it by practice. For remember dear reader, we only learn and know a truth in such measure as we use and practise it in our daily life. Milly had so learned this, her favorite text. She had learned to be meek, and God had given her the promised inheritance. But for this, her stay at Dr. Mansfield's would probably have been a very short one, and she would have lost all the advantages such a home afforded her, and—what was to her far more precious than all the luxury and wealth of her adopted home—the fond and tender love of the doctor himself. And now, God was going to add to all these blessings the restored one of parents' love. She might have been discovered if she had been sent to the workhouse at the widow's death; but the probabilities are, she would never have been heard of again.