Ethel began with—
"Now I lay me down to sleep,"
followed with the Lord's Prayer, then began her own simple petitions.
"Bless me, dear God, and make me as good as Jesus wants me to be. Bless papa and mamma and Mr. Angus, and all those I love, and keep them all from sin and from crying. I thank you for giving me such a kind papa and mamma. I thank you for sparing them to me so long. I hope you will spare them as long as you think it is safe, but if you don't think it safe to-morrow or next day, thy will be done."
The little head was scarcely on the pillow, when Marion, much amused by the child's mode of expressing her submission, ran back to the parlor to repeat it. As she entered she heard Mr. Angus's voice asking permission to use the buggy at an early hour to go to a distant part of the town. Seeing her, he explained that, as she had been kind enough to delay her return to New York in order to visit this distressed family, he wished to make arrangements to take her there.
"It is in a part of the town with which I am least familiar," he added, "and I should find difficult to direct any one."
"I am sorry," said Marion, frankly. "I know your rule about your morning hours for study. I would delay my return longer, but it is impossible."
And it had seemed impossible ever since she had agreed to make the morning visit to his protégés.
"If he only knew," she said to herself again and again, "how much depends on my going home. I am confident that package is somewhere among my papers; and yet it is so strange that I have not seen it for years. I had forgotten entirely that I had it in possession. I did sympathize deeply with that poor, friendless girl, an orphan, as I had so lately become; but, with so many different protégés on hand,—so many orphans and others whom I have taken to that blessed Home,—she had passed entirely out of mind, until that peculiar smile of Mr. Angus and the expressive shrug of his shoulders brought her up before me. Let me think. When I left Uncle Williamson's, my letters, papers, etc., were all packed up and sent to my present home. Strange I haven't seen them. No, some were sent here."
She gave a scream of joy, and, running to the kitchen for a hand-lamp, called a servant to go with her to the attic, where a box marked with her name was stored.