The Child becomes one of the Family.

He mutter'd, glorying in the work begun, 'Well done, my little Wench; 'twas nobly done!' Then said, with looks more cheering than the fire, And feelings such as Pity can inspire, 'My house has childless been this many a year; While you deserve it you shall tarry here.' The Orphan mark'd the ardor of his eye, Blest his kind words, and thank'd him with a sigh.

Thus was the sacred compact doubly seal'd; Thus were her spirits rais'd, her bruises heal'd: Thankful, and cheerful too, no more afraid, Thus little PHOEBE was the Miller's Maid. Grateful they found her; patient of controul: A most bewitching gentleness of soul Made pleasure of what work she had to do: She grew in stature, and in beauty too.

Five years she pass'd in this delightful home; Five happy years: but, when the sixth was come,