The lady felt the sincerest pity and greatest good-will towards the praying child. She would not disturb her in her devotions; and only when the little girl arose did the lady approach her:—“You are very sorrowful, dear child,” she said softly; “why do you thus cry?”
“Alas!” answered the child, and tears flowed afresh down her cheeks; “a year ago this very day I lost my father, and this day last week they buried my mother.”
“And for what have you prayed to God?” asked the lady.
“That he would take pity upon me,” answered the child; “I have no refuge but Him. True, I am still with the people with whom my parents lodged, but I cannot stay there; the master has told me again that I must go to-morrow. I have a few relatives in the town, and wish very much that one or the other would take charge of me. The good priest, also, who often visited my mother in her illness, and showed her a deal of kindness, told them plainly that it was their duty to do so, but they cannot agree among themselves which of them is to take the care of bringing me up: nor can I complain, for they have many children, and nothing but what they earn by their daily labour.”
“Poor child! it is no wonder that you are sorrowful.”
“I came here very sorrowful,” replied the child; “but God has suddenly removed all grief from my heart. I now feel comforted. I have no further anxiety than to live ever after His will, so that He may take pleasure in me.”
The words of that innocent child, and the sincerity that appeared through her tearful eyes, went to the heart of the noble lady. She looked at her with the tenderness of a mother, and said “I think that God has heard your prayer, dear little one; keep to your resolution—remain ever pious and good, and be comforted, and you will find help. Come with me.”
The good child looked at the lady with astonishment:—“But where?” asked she. “I must not; I must go home.”