"It was as much as she could do to support herself and Mousey," Uncle Dick responded; "she let lodgings, and took in plain sewing, and slaved from morning to night, but folks don't make fortunes that way!"
Mousey's eyes filled with tears, and her slight frame shook with sobs. All day she had been endeavouring to restrain her sorrow, but now it was overcoming her.
"Come, my dear, you mustn't cry like that!" exclaimed Uncle Dick, looking much distressed.
"You mustn't grieve for her, Mousey," said Aunt Eliza; "you must remember she's far better off now than she was here on earth."
Mousey knew that right well; but she thought of Him who wept when he heard of the death of Lazarus, and the remembrance was like balm to her aching heart, for it brought the consciousness of the presence of the Divine consoler, and she was comforted.
"Come here, child," said Mr. Harding. "I want to have a good look at you."
Mousey obeyed, and the old man held her in front of him whilst he regarded her gravely.
"So they call you Mousey, do they?" he said. "Well, I think the name suits you. How old are you, eh?"
"Ten years old, sir."
"You can call me Cousin Robert. You know your poor mother was a cousin of mine. Are you a good girl, eh?"