“No, my love,” replied Clemence, more gravely, parting the golden locks on the brow of her little daughter.
“Martha told me,” said Grace, with the air of one in possession of an important secret—“Martha told me that once you had a grand house, and a carriage, and horses, and servants, and dresses—oh, such fine dresses to wear!”
“Long, long ago,” replied Clemence.
“Was it when you lived with your dear old uncle, who gave you the pretty little locket which always hangs round your neck?”
“No; I lived very happily with him in a cottage not much larger than this.”
Little Grace remained for some moments twirling the white ribbon round her tiny fingers, with a look of thought on her innocent face; then she said reverently,—
“Mamma, did God take away your money?”
“Yes, dearest; in wisdom and love.”
“But if you asked Him—if you prayed very hard—would He not give it all back to you again?”
“I should not dare to pray for it, my Grace; I should not dare even to wish for it again. I have been given blessings so much dearer, so much sweeter”—and she stooped to press a kiss on the soft, fair brow of her child. “God has taught me that what makes His people happy is not wealth, but religion and peace and love. I have had more real joy in this little cottage than I ever knew in my large and beautiful home. But, see! there are your father and brother! Quick, quick—run forward to meet them, or the first kiss will not be yours!”