Mrs. Bates sat alone in the quiet room, sewing all the day, while Nannie was at school. It was so very still that it was oppressive to her. Winnie's cradle occupied the same spot as when the babe was in it—she could not put it out of sight; and the little garments hung about the room on the pegs in the corners. The wintry sun came faintly in and shone upon the pillow of the tiny bed, and the mother, ever and anon, cast her tearful glances to the spot that was consecrated by the sweetest of memories. A rag-baby, that had shared Winnie's affections as well as her pillow, still lay within the sheets, as the child's hands had often placed it. The tin cup and spoon were upon the mantle, and the playthings were gathered into an old willow basket, their wonted receptacle when Winnie was there to use them. How often had she pulled them, one by one, from their resting-place, and then restored them with an untiring interest, only needing occasionally an encouraging glance from mother to keep her contented by the hour together! It seemed to Mrs. Bates as if she must still look up from her needle to give the child some frequent sign of her care and love, but as her eye fell upon the vacant space, it was almost too much for the overcharged heart, and it required all her energies to master her grief sufficiently to keep about her accustomed duties.

The poor have little leisure to nurse their sorrows: there was Nannie left to toil for, and it was unfitting her for her necessary labors to give vent to the rising anguish, therefore she choked back the bitter sighs and tears, and plied her needle diligently, trying to think only of the mercies left her. She had still plenty of work. It was wonderful how many friends Mr. Bond had who could supply her with employment. There were little dresses, and pinafores, and numerous other small articles of clothing, always ready for her. She did not know how many a needy household owed its replenishing to this same stock of ready-made clothing which good Mr. Bond kept constantly on hand. He did not wait to see whether such and such a thing would be needed before he had it made, but wherever he found a ragged child he sent a suit from his well-stocked wardrobe, and an abundant blessing flowed back upon him, repaying him an hundredfold for clothing the naked and destitute.

Mrs. Kinalden once in awhile caught sight of the miniature suits through the brown paper envelops that, somehow, got torn on their way to the batchelor's room, and her indignation knew no bounds.

"It's a shame and a disgrace," said she to herself, "that he should tarnish my house with such things, and then have the boldness to look me in the face!" But luckily for her, she only said it to herself, and Mr. Bond, conscious of his own integrity, kept on his even way, scattering blessings wherever he went, and never imagining that his very Christian deeds were the occasion of many an unjust query on the part of his curious and suspicious landlady.

She, poor soul! fumed and fretted inwardly until the gloss and shine were quite gone from her widowed cheeks, leaving them really sallow and wrinkled. There's nothing like a contented, happy disposition, Mrs. Kinalden, to preserve one's youth and beauty. You need not brush up your fading charms before your tell-tale mirror, and try to restore your lost luster by artificial means; it won't effect any thing. The fact is, the trouble is internal. You must cleanse first the inner man of the heart, and you will be surprised at the reflection of your own face then, it will change into such a mysterious winsomeness! Never mind Mr. Bond's actions—they can not lie at your door, but take care that your own are as free from taint as your inexplicable neighbor's. It is not for you to see the hidden motives that govern those about you; the best way for you is to think favorably of every body, and you have no idea how much peace and comfort it will bring to your own soul.

Mrs. Bates had never dreamed of questioning her benefactor's deeds, they showed their uprightness upon the very face of them, and she had no fellowship with her gossiping neighbors, to whose flings she could not always be deaf. Mrs. Flin began to be more social, much to her regret, for she had little sympathy with her loquacious guest. What was it to her if the Airly's did keep a span, and drive out every day? she was willing Mrs. Flin's friends should accumulate riches, and enjoy them, too, if she did live in an humble attic, and stitch from morn till night for her daily bread. What if Mrs. Airly had a new silk, spring and fall, and was getting in with such good society? It did not make her a whit the less thankful for her scanty yet neat wardrobe, nor for the few friends it was her fortune to possess. She didn't mind if Master Sammy was to go to a select school! She had all confidence in Mr. Bond's judgment concerning Nannie, and rejoiced that she could feel so easy as to the child's moral culture. She didn't care for Mrs. Flin's foolish prattle about her great acquaintances, and her own future anticipations of a higher station. It was not half of it that she heard; but if one sly innuendo was sent at the good man to whom she was so much indebted, there was a determined look that cowed the slanderous tongue before it could speak out its full meaning. Oh! what a relief was it to the poor widow to see the last of Mrs. Flin's bombazine gown floating out the door, and to be sure that she was free from a repetition of the annoyance of her company, for the day at least.

The thought of her angel child, and the solitude of her quiet home accorded better with her sad and contemplative mood, than the foolish clatter of her simple neighbor's gossiping member, and right glad was she that her acquaintance extended no further than to her kind benefactor, and to the noble and honest Pat.