Mildred's New Daughter. Finley Martha

of Mrs. Rogers, the vicar’s wife.

      “Oh, I thought it was mamma!” exclaimed the little girl in a tone of keen disappointment.

      “No, dear, but I kissed you for her – your dear mother,” returned the lady with emotion.

      “But why didn’t mamma come herself?” asked Ethel, growing frightened though she could scarcely have told why. “You are very kind, Mrs. Rogers, but oh, I do want mamma! Can I go to her now?” She sprang to her feet as she spoke.

      “My poor child, my poor dear little girl,” the lady said tremulously, seating herself and drawing Ethel into her arms.

      “Oh, ma’am, why do you say that?” queried Ethel in terror. “Is anything the matter with mamma? is papa worse? Oh, what shall I do? Can’t I go to them now? I’ll be very quiet and good.”

      “Oh, my child, my poor dear child, how shall I tell you!” cried the lady, folding the little girl close in her arms, while great tears chased each other down her cheeks. “Your dear father has gone to his heavenly home, Ethel, and to the dear Saviour whom he loved and served while here upon earth.”

      “Do you mean that papa is dead?” almost shrieked Ethel. “Oh, oh, my papa, my dear papa!” and hiding her face in her hands she sobbed violently for a moment.

      “But I must go to mamma!” she cried, dashing away her tears; “she will be wanting me to comfort her, for there’s nobody else to do it now. Oh, let me go! I must!” as Mrs. Rogers held her fast.

      “No, dear child,” she said with emotion, “your mamma does not need you or any other earthly comforter now, for God Himself has wiped away all tears from her eyes and she will never know sin or sorrow or suffering any more.”

      A dazed look up into the lady’s face was Ethel’s only rejoinder for a moment, then she stammered, “I – I don’t know what you mean, ma’am. I – I – mamma has taught me that it is only in heaven there is no sin or sorrow or pain.”

      “Yes, darling, and it is there she is now with the dear husband – your father – whom she so dearly loved!”

      “Oh, you can’t mean it! it can’t be that both are gone, and nobody left to love us or take care of us – Blanche and Harry, and Nan and me! Oh, no, no, it can’t be possible!” cried the little girl, covering her face with her hands and bursting into an agony of sobs and tears. “Mamma, mamma, mamma, oh, I can never, never, never do without you!”

      Mrs. Rogers drew her closer and spoke in low, comforting tones, her own tears falling fast the while, “Dear child, God will take care of you and your little brother and sisters. He calls Himself the father of the fatherless. He pities and loves you and will raise up friends and helpers for you. Can you not trust Him for that, dear child, and be glad for papa and mamma, that they are safe with Him and will never again be sick or in pain? and that if you love and serve Him while on earth He will one day take you to be with Him and them?”

      “I don’t want to die, and I cannot, I cannot do without my dear papa and mamma!” wailed the well-nigh heartbroken child.

      Her cry waked the three younger ones; a trying scene ensued.

      CHAPTER III

      To Ethel and Blanche the memories of the next few days seemed, through the rest of their lives, ever like a dreadful dream. Then they were taken on board an ocean steamer bound for the city of Philadelphia in the United States of America, where two brothers of their father had settled years before. They were merchants doing a large wholesale and retail business, and were known to be abundantly able to provide for the orphan children of their deceased brother.

      The address of the parents of Mrs. Eldon was not known to those who made the arrangements, so that they were not even advised of their daughter’s death.

      There were no relatives to take charge of the forlorn little ones on their voyage, but they were given into the care of the wife of a soldier who was going out to join her husband in Canada, a Mrs. McDougal, a warm-hearted earnest Christian, childless herself, but with a heart full of love and tenderest sympathy for the sadly bereaved little ones committed to her care. She petted, soothed, comforted them, attended faithfully to all their physical needs, and spent many an hour amusing them with quaint stories of Scottish life and manners, of brownies, elves, and fairies; tales that would interest and amuse, yet teach no harmful lesson.

      Before the good and gallant vessel had reached her destination the mutual love between the kind caretaker and her young charges had grown very strong, and it was with a heavy heart that Mrs. McDougal looked forward to the coming separation.

      The announcement of the deaths of their brother and his wife, and that the children would be sent directly to them, had reached the firm of the Eldon Brothers only a few hours before the arrival of the vessel bringing them.

      It was a great and not altogether welcome surprise, yet their hearts were moved with pity for the forlorn little ones, and together they repaired at once to the dock and boarded the newly arrived vessel in search of them.

      They found them on the deck with their kind caretaker, Nannette on her lap, the others grouped about her.

      “Ah, here they are! I’d know that little lad anywhere as poor Harry’s boy!” exclaimed Mr. Albert Eldon, the younger of the two, with emotion, and laying a hand tenderly upon the child’s head, as he spoke.

      “That’s my name, sir; and it was my papa’s name too. Mamma called him that, but most folks said captain when they talked to him,” volunteered the little fellow in return.

      “Ah? then I’m your uncle Albert; and this gentleman,” indicating his brother, “is your uncle George.”

      “Oh I thought so for you resemble papa; at least as he was before he was taken so ill,” Ethel said, lifting tearful eyes to the face of Mr. George Eldon.

      “Do I, my dear? I believe there is said to be a strong family resemblance among us all,” he returned. “At all events we are your father’s brothers, and therefore own uncles to all of you little ones,” he added, stooping to caress them in turn, as his brother was doing.

      Then the gentlemen held a conversation with Mrs. McDougal in which – perceiving how loth the children were to be separated from her, clinging to her with tears and entreaties that she would not leave them – they proposed that she should remain in charge of them for a few days or weeks while they were becoming familiar with their new surroundings.

      She replied that she could do so for only a day or two, as she must embrace the first opportunity to rejoin her husband.

      “I am sorry to hear that,” returned Mr. Albert Eldon, “but do us the favor to stay while you can; and let it be at my house; for we will not try separating these little folks while you are with them, whatever arrangement we may decide upon later. Will not that be the better plan, brother?”

      “For the present – till we have time to talk the matter over with our wives? Yes, I think so.”

      A carriage was waiting on the wharf, in which Mrs. McDougal and the children were presently bestowed, Mr. Albert Eldon following, after a moment’s low-toned chat with his brother and an order to the driver. He seated himself and took Harry on his knee.

      “Where are we doin’ now?” asked Nannette, peering out of the window as the vehicle moved on.

      “To my house – Uncle Albert’s house, little one,” replied Mr. Eldon in pleasant tones. “You will find some little cousins, a girl and a boy, and I hope have nice times playing with them.”

      “What’s the boy’s name, Uncle Albert?” queried Harry.

      “Charles Augustus; the little girl is Leonora; but they are usually called Gus and Lena, or Nora, for short.”

      “Are they all the children you have, uncle?” asked Ethel with shy look and tone.

      “Oh, no,” he replied; “there are Albert and Arabella, nearly grown up, and Olive and Minnie; Minnie is twelve and Olive fourteen.”

      “Has dey dot a papa and mamma?”