CHAPTER XVII.
A CURE FOR THE HEARTACHE.
The next day, after Aikin had finished his morning devotions—this good man never ventured upon the business, temptations, and trials of the day, without first committing himself and his household to Him who "heareth those that call on him"—Juliet was observed to rise from her knees and rest her head on the back of the chair, so as to screen her face, while her bosom heaved and her tears fell on the floor. The children, quick to see and to sympathize, gathered round her; one said, "Do you feel sick, Juliet?"—another, "What is the matter, Juliet?"—and little Ruth, who was fresh from a moral lesson she had lectured from her Aunt Lottie, the amount of which was, that sin, in all its modifications, was the thing to be cried for in this world, Ruth asked, "Have you been naughty, Juliet?" Still Juliet did not reply, till Mrs. Aikin drew her towards her, and, setting her on her lap, said—"Tell me, Juliet, what troubles you?"
"Oh, ma'am," she answered, "I know, by Mr. Aikin's prayer, that my mother, as I call her, is going to die, and then I shall have to go away from you all—and I shall be all alone in the world." The children cast an imploring glance at their mother, which said as plain as words could express
