Lewie | Page 4

into a slumber, undisturbed for perhaps an hour, except by a
start, when the tears from his mother's cheek fell on his--tears caused
by the _well-imagined_ sufferings of the heroine of her romance.
All the time Mammy was leading little Agnes through the wide hall,

and up the broad stairs and--along the upper hall to the door of the
"North Room," the good old woman was wiping her eyes with her
apron, and trying to choke down something in her throat which
prevented her speaking the words of comfort she wished to say to the
sobbing child. When they reached the door of the room in which little
Agnes was to be a prisoner, Mammy sat down, and taking the child in
her lap she took off her own warm shawl and pinned it carefully around
her, and as she stooped to kiss her, Agnes saw the tears upon her cheek.
"Why do you cry, Mammy?" she asked, "mamma has not scolded you
to-day, has she?"
"No, love."
"Are you crying then because you are so sorry for me?"
"That's it, my darling, I cannot bear to lock you up here alone for the
day and leave you so sorrowful, you that ought to be as blithe as the
birds in spring."
"Mammy, do you think I deserve this punishment?"
"No, sweet, if I must say the truth, I do not think you ever deserve any
punishment at all. But I must not say anything that's wrong to you,
about what your mamma chooses to do."
"Then, Mammy, don't you think I ought to be happier than if I had
really been naughty and was punished for it. Don't you remember
Mammy the verse you taught me from the Bible the last time Lewie
was so fretful and mamma sent you to lock me up here. I learned it
afterwards from my Bible: hear me say it:--"
'For what glory is it if when ye be buffeted for your faults ye take it
patiently; but if when ye do well and suffer for it, ye take it patiently,
this is acceptable with God.'
"Now, Mammy, I did try to be patient with Lewie, and I gave him
everything I had, but I could not let him destroy that lock of papa's hair.
I am afraid I was rough then, I hope I did not hurt his little hand.
Mammy, do you think mamma loves me any."
"How could anybody help loving you, my darling!"
"But, oh! Mammy, if I thought she would ever love me as she does
Lewie! She never kisses me, she never speaks kind to me. No, Mammy,
I do not think she loves me; but how strange it is for a mother not to
love her own little girl."
"Well, darling, we will talk no more of that, or we shall be saying

something naughty; we will both try and do our duty, and then God will
bless us, and whatever our troubles and trials may be, let us go to Him
with them all. Now, darling, I must leave you."
"Mammy, will you please bring me my Bible; and my little hymn-book?
I want to learn the"
'I am never alone.'
"God is always by my side, isn't he Mammy?"
"Yes, love, and he says, 'I will never leave thee nor forsake thee.'"
When little Agnes was left alone in the great cold room, she walked up
and down the floor repeating to herself verses from her Bible and
hymn-book. Sometimes she stopped at the window and looked across
the country, towards a wooded hill, where just above the tops of the
trees she could see the chimneys of her uncle's house; and she thought
how happy her young cousins were in the love of their father and
mother, and she remembered how her own dear papa had loved her,
and she thought of the difference now; and the tears flowed afresh.
Then she walked the room again, repeating in a low voice to herself the
words:
"Never alone; though through deserts I roam Where footstep of man
has ne'er printed the sand. Never alone; though the ocean's wild foam
Rage between me and the loved ones on land. Though hearts that have
cherished are laid 'neath the sod, Though hearts which should cherish
are colder than stone, I still have thy love and thy friendship my God,
Thou always art near me; I'm never alone."
Soon she grew tired of walking, and seating herself at the table, she laid
her head upon her crossed arms and was soon in a sweet slumber, and
far away in her dreams from the cold desolate north room, at "the
Hemlocks."
At the end of an hour the youthful widow was disturbed by the sound
of merry sleigh-bells, and she