As the Lady of Lindorf entered the chapel, she beheld a little girl, of about eight years old, alone, and dressed entirely in black, kneeling upon the steps of the altar. The child prayed so fervently, that she paid no attention to what was passing by her. Tears were streaming down her blooming cheeks, and her beautiful and innocent countenance had an expression of melancholy resignation and pious fervor beyond description.

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.”

“I know the good priest who you said had been so kind to your mother,” said the lady. “We will go to him, and I will arrange with him how to help you.”

Saying this, she took the child by the hand, who went joyfully with her.

The excellent curate, a man rather advanced in years, and of a venerable aspect, rose from his writing-table on the approach of the lady. She told him how she had just become acquainted with the child; and then desired the little one to leave her with the curate, and amuse herself in the garden awhile, as she wished to speak to him privately.

“My dear sir,” said she, “I have a great desire to take this child, and supply to her the place of a mother. My own children all died at a tender age, and my heart tells me that I can love this little one. Still, I wished to know whether you, who knew the parents well, would advise me to do so. What do you say to it? I wish to mark my short course on earth by some benevolent action. Do you think that the benefits I mean to bestow on that child will be well conferred?”

The good man lifted his eyes to heaven, and tears of joy were glistening in them, as, folding his hands, he said, “The holy providence of God be ever praised! You could not, lady, do a greater act of mercy; neither could you easily find a more pious, well-behaved, and intelligent child, than the little Sophy. Both her parents were honest people, and true Christians. They begun to give this, their only one, a good education, but, alas! they did not live to finish it. I shall never forget with what grief the dying mother looked upon this dearly beloved child, who was sobbing upon her death-bed; with what confidence, nevertheless, she looked towards heaven, and said; ‘Thou Father in heaven wilt also be a father on earth, and wilt give my daughter another mother: I know this, and die comforted.’ The words of the good parent are now come to pass, and it is obvious that the Divine Providence has selected you, gracious and worthy lady, to be this child’s second mother: for this you were called to this town—for this, God put it in your mind to visit His temple before your departure. It is evidently his work; let his holy providence be gratefully acknowledged!”

The worthy curate now called in the poor orphan, and said, “See, Sophy, this kind and devout lady wishes to be thy mother:—this is a great happiness that God bestows upon thee. Wilt thou go with her, and be to her a good daughter?”

“Yes,” answered Sophy gladly, and tears of joy prevented her saying more. She thanked her benefactress with her looks, and kissed her hand in silence.

“See, my child,” continued the curate, “how God cares for thee: when thy late mother was lying on her death-bed He had already conducted thy second mother here, unknown to us, nor has He allowed her to depart without having first found thee, and adopted thee. Know, in this, His fatherly care;—love with all thy heart the good and merciful God, who so evidently takes care of thee—trust in him, and keep his commandments. Be as good and obedient a child towards this thy new mother, which He has given thee, as thou wast towards thy mother which is now dead, and then this kind lady will rejoice in thee, and thou shalt prosper. One thing remember especially,—in thy future life, sorrow and misfortune cannot be kept entirely aloof; but when it does come, pray with the same child-like trust with which thou hast been taught; and as God has helped thee now, he will help thee again.”

The child’s relatives were now summoned, and made no sort of objection to the arrangement; on the contrary, they were well pleased. Their satisfaction was still more increased by the Lady of Lindorf’s declaring she would take Sophy as she was, and leave her mother’s little legacy, together with her own clothes, to them and to their children. Sophy only wished for a few religious books as a remembrance of her mother, and these were willingly granted to her.

Early the next morning the Lady of Lindorf departed for her castle, accompanied by Sophy.

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