ho among my little readers are not older than ten years? Come and I shall tell you a story of what happened to six poor children, all under that age, about fifty years ago. It will be a good lesson for us all, to see what God helped one brave little girl to do.

Agnes Green was nine years old, and had five brothers and sisters younger than herself. Their father was a respectable working man, and they all lived in a small cottage in a wild valley of the mountains of Westmoreland. If you take a good map of England, and look in the north for Westmoreland, you may see Grasmere marked. It is the name of a beautiful valley and also of a lake and a village in it. Beyond this is a smaller valley called Easdale, quite surrounded by high hills, with just one narrow opening into Grasmere. Here, in a lonely cottage, the Greens lived. In fair weather the older children could go to the Grasmere school. Their mother did all she could to keep them neat and comfortable; but she could not afford to have a servant, and so little Agnes was taught to do many more things than are common at her age. She was a very good and clever child, and learned to milk the cow, mend the fire, cook the dinner, nurse the little ones—do all that was possible for her age and strength. Which of you is at all like her? You may say, perhaps, that there is no need for you to learn such things. But you cannot begin too soon to be useful. Had poor Agnes been as helpless as some of you, she and her brothers and sisters must have died of cold and hunger in the sad time I am going to tell you of.

One winter day, Mr. and Mrs. Green had business which made them very anxious to go to a farm-house at some distance from Easdale. There was snow on the ground, but the morning was fine; and to save a long road round by Grasmere, they determined to take a short cut right over the mountains, which they had sometimes done before. So Mrs. Green made everything straight for the day, bidding Agnes take good care of the little ones, and expect her and their father back in the evening before dark; and then both parents kissed the children, and set out on the journey, from which they were never to return. They got safe to the farm, where a number of people were assembled at a sale, did their business, and said they would go home by the same way, although many of their friends advised them not to attempt it, for more snow was evidently coming on.

Evening came, and Agnes made a bright peat fire, which all the children gathered round, expecting every minute to hear their parents' voices at the door. But it began to get dark and late, and still they did not come. Agnes had often heard of the dangers of snow among the hills, and she soon got uneasy. Her little brothers were afraid too, though they hardly knew for what. They listened to every sound of the wind; they started at times, thinking it was their father's step; but all in vain. At last Agnes said they must go to bed; and as they had all been well trained to be obedient, they came and said their prayers at her knees, and then went to rest with fearful hearts.

Next morning, when Agnes looked out, she saw there had been a heavy fall of snow, so that the cottage was almost shut up, and it would be impossible for them even to reach the nearest neighbours. And, oh! there was no sign of their dear father and mother's return. She had a lingering hope that they might have been detained all night at Grasmere; but her fears were far greater. It was, indeed, a terrible situation for six little children to be left in, and her mind being advanced beyond her years, she felt all the danger. But she knew where to look for help; and He who is the same yesterday, to-day, and for ever, heard the cry of this forsaken child, and gave her wisdom and ability for her time of need, as truly as he gave to Solomon on the throne of Israel, long ages before.

She wound up the clock, dressed the infants, and made the older children come and say their prayers as usual. She knew that their greatest danger would be that of starvation, should the storm last long. Their mother had left plenty of milk in the house, and Agnes scalded it carefully, to prevent it turning sour. Then she examined the meal-chest, and finding there was not much in it, she put all except the babies (these were little twins) on a short allowance of porridge, but baked some flour cakes as a kind of treat. Then, as the day went on, she took courage to open the door, and with her brothers got as far as the peat-stack at the cottage side, and among them they managed to carry within doors as many peats as would keep up the fire for a week. She examined the potatoes, which were buried among withered ferns; but as there were not many, only brought in enough for a day, afraid of heat spoiling them.

Then she thought of the cow, and made her way to the byre. She milked the poor animal, but got very little from her, and had great difficulty in pulling down hay out of the loft for her to eat; besides, it was getting dark, and poor Agnes felt very frightened and unhappy. So she was thankful to get into the cottage again, and, barring the door, she put the infants comfortably to bed, and allowed the others to sit up with her until midnight, in the faint hope that some token of their dear parents not being lost might reach them before then. It was a wild night of wind and snow, and though the little watchers sometimes fancied they heard voices in the stormy blast, when the lull came, all was silence. Agnes did what she could to keep the snow from drifting in below the door or through a chink of the window, and also to make sure that the fire would not go out, and then they sadly went to bed.

Next morning the snow-drifts were higher than ever! There was no possibility of going out; but the brave little mother—for so we may call her—still kept her family quiet and comfortable—never omitting the morning and evening prayers, and struggling hard against her own fears and sorrows.

At last, either on the third or fourth day, I am not sure which, the snow-drifts had changed in such a way that Agnes thought it might be possible to try the road to Grasmere. Her brothers went with her part of the way, till they saw she was safe, and then went back to the little ones, and Agnes went to the nearest cottage. When the poor weeping child told her sad story, the good people were overcome with astonishment, distress, and sympathy. The news spread like lightning through Grasmere, that Mr. and Mrs. Green had not been seen by their children since the day of the sale at Langdale. Before an hour had passed, all the men in the parish gathered together, arranged the best plans for a search, and then dispersed over the mountains. In the state of the weather, it was a dangerous duty, and great was the anxiety of their wives and mothers left at home. The men returned at night, without any success, and this went on for several days. They willingly gave up all other work, and morning after morning set out on their toilsome, sorrowful pilgrimage, while the poor orphans, of course, were most tenderly cared for now. At length some one thought of taking sagacious dogs up the hills to help the search; and on the fifth day, about noon, a loud shout, echoed by the rocks, and repeated from one band of men to another, told the women in the valley that the bodies were found. Poor John Green lay at the foot of a precipice, over which he had fallen; his wife, whom he had wrapped in his own greatcoat, was found above. They had wandered far out of the right course, and must have died in the darkness of that first stormy night, while their children were watching for them round the fire at home.

They had been such respectable, worthy people, that their loss was greatly lamented, and rich and poor were alike desirous to help and care for the orphans. You will ask what became of Agnes afterwards. I cannot tell you. If she is alive now, she must be an old woman; but she can never have forgotten the story of her parents' death, and I trust she has never forgotten how the Father of the fatherless was then her helper and protector.

Let me point out only two lessons from this sad tale. One is, that if God be with us, we need fear no evil. Can you think of anything more dreadful than to be left shut up in the snow-storm, as these children were, with their parents dying on the wild hills above? Yet God did not forsake them. He sent no angel, he wrought no miracle for their deliverance; but he gave wisdom and courage to the little girl, in her time of sore distress and danger. And so every one of you, if you trust in Him, may be sure of finding the promise fulfilled—"As thy days, so shall thy strength be."

Another lesson is, the happiness of being loving towards one another, and obedient to those older than yourselves. Had these children been like many others, quarrelsome and unruly, what a sad difference it would have made! But they obeyed their young sister as if she had been their mother; and so the days of captivity were far less hard to bear for all.

Think of these things when you remember the story of little Agnes Green, and pray and try to be like her.