A PEEP BEHIND THE SCENES

BY MRS. O. F. WALTON

Author OF 'CHRISTIE'S OLD ORGAN, ' 'SAVED AT SEA' 'SHADOWS, ' ETC. 

CONTENTS

CHAPTER

I. ROSALIE

II. THE LITTLE THEATRE

III. THE DAY AFTER THE FAIR

IV. THE ACTEESS'S STORY

V. ROSALIE'S FIRST SERMON

VI. A FAMILY SECRET

VII. THE CIRCUS PROCESSION

VIII. LITTLE MOTHER MANIKIN

IX. THE DOCTOR'S VISIT

X. BRITANNIA

XI. THE MOTHER'S DREAM

XII. A LONE LAMB

XIII. VANITY FAIR

XIV. BETSEY ANN

XV. LIFE IN THE LODGING-HOUSE

XVI. A DARK TIME

XVII. ALONE IN THE WORLD

XVIII. THE LITTLE PITCHER

XIX. SKIRRYWINKS. 

XX. MOTHER MANIKIN'S CHAIRS

XXI. IN SIGHT OF HOME

XXII. THE LOST LAMB FOUND

XXIII. THE GREEN PASTURE. 

[Illustration: ]

A PEEP BEHIND THE SCENES

CHAPTER I

ROSALIE

Rain, rain, rain! How mercilessly it fell on the Fair-field that Sundayafternoon! Every moment the pools increased and the mud became thicker. Howdismal the fair looked then! On Saturday evening it had been brilliantlylighted with rows of flaring naphtha-lights; and the grand shows, in themost aristocratic part of the field, had been illuminated with crosses, stars, anchors, and all manner of devices. 

But there were no lights now; there was nothing to cast a halo round thedirty, weather-stained tents and the dingy caravans. 

Yet, in spite of this, and in spite of the rain, a crowd of Sunday idlerslingered about the fair, looking with great interest at the half-coveredwhirligigs and bicycles, peeping curiously into the deserted shows, andmaking many schemes for further enjoyment on the morrow, when the fair wasonce more to be in its glory. 

Inside the caravans the show-people were crouching over their fires andgrumbling at the weather, murmuring at having to pay so much for the groundon which their shows were erected, at a time when they would be likely tomake so little profit. 

A little old man, with a rosy, good-tempered face, was making his wayacross the sea of mud which divided the shows from each other. He wasevidently no idler in the fair; he had come into it that Sunday afternoonfor a definite purpose, and he did not intend to leave it until it wasaccomplished. After crossing an almost impassable place, he climbed thesteps leading to one of the caravans and knocked at the door. 

It was a curious door; the upper part of it, being used as a window, wasfilled with glass, behind which you could see two small muslin curtains, tied up with pink ribbon. No one came to open the door when the old manknocked, and he was about to turn away, when some little boys, who werestanding near, called out to him--

'Rap again, sir, rap again; there's a little lass in there; she went in abit since. '

'Don't you wish you was her?' said one of the little boys to the other. 

'Ay!' said the little fellow; 'I wish _our_ house would move about, and had little windows with white curtains and pink bows!'

The old man laughed a hearty laugh at the children's talk, and rapped againat the caravan door. 

This time a face appeared between the muslin curtains and peered cautiouslyout. It was a very pretty little face, so pretty that the old man sighed tohimself when he saw it. 

Then the small head turned round, and seemed to be telling what it had seento some one within, and asking leave to admit the visitor; for a minuteafterwards the door was opened, and the owner of the pretty face stoodbefore the old man. 

She was a little girl about twelve years of age, very slender and delicatein appearance. Her hair, which was of a rich auburn colour, was hangingdown to her waist, and her eyes were the most beautiful the old man thoughthe had ever seen. 

She was very poorly dressed, and she shivered as the damp, cold air rushedin through the open door. 

'Good afternoon, my little dear, ' said the old man. 

She was just going to answer him when a violent fit of coughing from withincaused her to look round, and when it was over a weak, querulous voice saidhurriedly--

'Shut the door, Rosalie; it's so cold; ask whoever it is to come in. '

The old man did not wait for a second invitation; he stepped inside thecaravan, and the child closed the door. 

It was a very small place; there was hardly room for him to stand. At theend of the caravan was a narrow bed something like a berth on board ship, and on it a woman was lying who was evidently very ill. She was the child'smother, the old man felt sure. She had the same beautiful eyes and sunnyhair, though her face was thin and wasted. 

There was not room for much furniture in the small caravan; a tiny stove, the chimney of which went through the wooden roof, a few pans, a shelfcontaining cups and saucers, and two boxes which served as seats, completely filled it. There was only just room for the old man to stand, and the fire was so near him that he was in danger of being scorched. 

Rosalie had seated herself on one of the boxes close to her mother's bed. 

'You must excuse my intruding, ma'am, ' said the old man, with a polite bow;'but I'm so fond of little folks, and I've brought this little girl ofyours a picture, if she will accept it from me. '

A flush of pleasure came into the child's face as he brought out of hispocket his promised gift. She seized it eagerly, and held it up before herwith evident delight, whilst her mother raised herself on her elbow to lookat it with her. 

It was the picture of a shepherd, with a very kind and compassionate face, who was bearing home in his bosom a lost lamb. The lamb's fleece was tornin several places, and there were marks of blood on its back, as if it hadbeen roughly used by some cruel beast in a recent struggle. 

But the shepherd seemed to have suffered more than the lamb, for he waswounded in many places, and his blood was falling in large drops on theground. Yet he did not seem to mind it; his face was full of love and fullof joy as he looked at the lamb. He had forgotten his sorrow in his joythat the lamb was saved. 

In the distance were some of the shepherd's friends, who were coming tomeet him, and underneath the picture were these words, printed in largeletters--

'Rejoice with Me, for I have found My sheep which was lost. There is joy inthe presence of the angels of God over one sinner that repenteth. '

The little girl read the words aloud in a clear, distinct voice; and hermother gazed at the picture with tears in her eyes. 

'Those are sweet words, ain't they?' said the old man. 

'Yes, ' said the woman, with a sigh; 'I have heard them many times before. '

'Has the Good Shepherd ever said them of _you_, ma'am? Has He evercalled the bright angels together and said to them of _you_, "Rejoicewith Me, for I have found My sheep which was lost"?'

The woman did not speak; a fit of coughing came on, and the old man stoodlooking at her with a very pitying expression. 

'You are very ill, ma'am, I'm afraid, ' he said. 

'Yes, very ill, ' gasped the woman bitterly; 'every one can see that butAugustus!'

'That's my father, ' said the little girl. 

'No; he doesn't see it, ' repeated the woman; 'he thinks I ought to get upand act in the play, just as usual. I did try at the last place we went to;but I fainted as soon as my part was over, and I've been in bed eversince. '

'You must be tired of moving about, ma'am, ' said the old mancompassionately. 

'Tired?' said she; 'I should think I _was_ tired; it isn't what I wasbrought up to. I was brought up to a very different kind of life from_this_, ' she said, with a very deep-drawn sigh. 'It's a weary time Ihave of it--a weary time. '

'Are you always on the move, ma'am?' asked the old man. 

'All the summer-time, ' said the woman. 'We get into lodgings for a littletime in the winter; and then we let ourselves out to some of the small towntheatres; but all the rest of the year we're going from feast to feast andfrom fair to fair--no rest nor comfort, not a bit!'

'Poor thing! poor thing!' said the old man; and then a choking sensationappeared to have seized him, for he cleared his throat vigorously manytimes, but seemed unable to say more. 

The child had climbed on one of the boxes, and brought down a square redpincushion from the shelf which ran round the top of the caravan. From thisshe took two pins, and fastened the picture on the wooden wall, so that hermother could see it as she was lying in bed. 

'It does look pretty there, ' said the little girl; 'mammie, you can look atit nicely now. '

'Yes, ma'am, ' said the old man, as he prepared to take his leave; 'and asyou look at it, think of that Good Shepherd who is seeking you. He wants tofind you, and take you up in His arms, and carry you home; and He won'tmind the wounds it has cost Him, if you'll only let Him do it. 

'Good-day, ma'am, ' said the old man; 'I shall, maybe, never see you again;but I would like the Good Shepherd to say those words of you. '

He went carefully down the steps of the caravan, and Rosalie stood at thewindow, watching him picking his way to the other shows, to which he wascarrying the same message of peace. She looked out from between the muslincurtains until he had quite disappeared to a distant part of the field, andthen she turned to her mother and said eagerly--

'It's a very pretty picture, isn't it, mammie dear?'

But no answer came from the bed. Rosalie thought her mother was asleep, andcrept on tiptoe to her side, fearful of waking her. But she found hermother's face buried in the pillow, on which large tears were falling. 

And when the little girl sat down by her side, and tried to comfort her bystroking her hand very gently, and saying, 'Mammie dear, mammie dear, don'tcry! What's the matter, mammie dear?' her mother only wept the more. 

At length her sobs brought on such a violent fit of coughing that Rosaliewas much alarmed, and fetched her a mug of water, which was standing on theshelf near the door. By degrees her mother grew calmer, the sobs becameless frequent, and, to the little girl's joy, she fell asleep. Rosalie satbeside her without moving, lest she should awake her, and kept gazing ather picture till she knew every line of it. And the first thing her motherheard when she awoke from sleep was Rosalie's voice saying softly--

'"Rejoice with Me, for I have found My sheep which was lost. There is joyin the presence of the angels of God over one sinner that repenteth. "'

CHAPTER II

THE LITTLE THEATRE

It was the next evening; the fair was once more in its glory, and crowdedwith an admiring throng. The great shows were again illuminated, and threerows of brilliant stars shone forth from the little theatre belonging toRosalie's father. He had been out all day, strolling about the town, andhad only returned in time to make preparation for the evening'sentertainment. 

'Norah, ' said her husband, as he put his head in at the door of thecaravan, 'surely you mean to come and take your part to-night?'

'I can't, Augustus, and you would know it, if you stayed long enough withme; I've been coughing nearly the whole day. '

'Well, I wish you would get better soon; it's very awkward to have to fillyour part up every time. Conrad has to take it, and every one can see he'snot used to it, he's so clumsy and slow. '

'I'll come as soon as ever I can, ' said the poor wife, with a sigh. 

'It's to be hoped you will, ' said her husband. 'Women are always fancyingthey are ill. They lie still thinking about it, and nursing themselves up, long after a man would have been at his work again. It's half laziness, that's what it is!' said Augustus fiercely. 

'If you felt as ill as I do, Augustus, ' said his wife, 'I'm sure youwouldn't do any work. '

'Hold your tongue!' said her husband; 'I know better than that. Well, mindyou have Rosalie ready in time; we shall begin early to-night. '

Little Rosalie had crept to her mother's side, and was crying quietly ather father's rough words. 

'Stop crying this minute, child!' said Augustus harshly. 'Wipe your eyes, you great baby! Do you think you'll be fit to come on the stage if they'rered and swollen with crying? Do you hear me? Stop at once, or it will bethe worse for you!' he shouted, as he shut the caravan door. 

'Rosalie, darling, ' said her mother, 'you mustn't cry; your father will beso angry, and it's time you got ready. What a noise there is in the fairalready!' said the poor woman, holding her aching head. 

Rosalie wiped her eyes and washed her face, and then brought out from oneof the boxes the dress in which she was to act at the play. It was a whitemuslin dress, looped up with pink roses, and there was a wreath of paperroses to wear in her hair. She dressed herself before a tiny looking-glass, and then went to her mother to have the wreath of roses fastened on herhead. 

The poor woman raised herself in bed, and arranged her little girl's longtresses. 

What a contrast Rosalie looked to the rest of the caravan! The shabbyfurniture, the thin, wasted mother, the dirty, torn little frock she hadjust laid aside, were quite out of keeping with the pretty littlewhite-robed figure which stood by the bed. 

At length her father's voice called her, and after giving her mother a lastkiss, and placing some water near her on the box, in case a violent fit ofcoughing should come on, Rosalie ran quickly down the caravan steps, andrushed into the brilliantly-lighted theatre. A crowd of people stared ather as she flitted past and disappeared up the theatre steps. 

The audience had not yet been admitted, so Rosalie crept into the roombehind the stage, in which her father's company was assembled. They alllooked tired and cross, for this was the last night of the fair, and theyhad had little sleep whilst it lasted. 

At length Augustus announced that it was time to begin, and they all wentout upon a platform, which was erected half way up the outside of thetheatre, just underneath the three rows of illuminated stars. Here theydanced, and sang, and shook tambourines, in order to beguile the people toenter. Then they disappeared within, and a crowd of eager spectatorsimmediately rushed up the steps, paid their admission money, and took theirseats in the theatre. 

After this the play commenced, Augustus acting as manager, and keeping hiscompany up to their various parts. It was a foolish play, and in some ofthe parts there was a strong mixture of very objectionable language; yet itwas highly appreciated by the audience, and met with vociferous applause. 

There were many young girls there, some of them servants in respectablefamilies, where they enjoyed every comfort; yet they looked up at littleRosalie with eyes of admiration and envy. They thought her life was muchhappier than theirs, and that her lot was greatly to be desired. Theylooked at the white dress and the pink roses, and contrasted them withtheir own warm but homely garments; they watched the pretty girl goingthrough her part gracefully and easily, and they contrasted her work withtheirs. How interesting, how delightful, they thought, to be doing this, instead of scrubbing floors, or washing clothes, or nursing children!

But they knew nothing of the life behind the scenes; of the sick mother, the wretched home, the poor and insufficient food, the dirty, ragged frock. They knew nothing of the bitter tears which had just been wiped away, norof the weary aching of the little feet which were dancing so lightly overthe stage. 

And those little feet became more and more weary as the night went on. Assoon as the play was over, the people rushed out into the fair to seek forfresh amusement; but the actors had no rest. Once more they appeared on theplatform to attract a fresh audience, and then the same play was repeated, the same songs were sung, the same words were said; fresh to the people whowere listening, but oh, how stale and monotonous to the actors themselves!

And so it went on all night; as soon as one exhibition was over, anotherbegan, and the theatre was filled and refilled, long after the clock of theneighbouring church had struck the hour of twelve. 

At last it was over; the last audience had left, the brilliant starsdisappeared, and Rosalie was at liberty to creep back to her mother. Soweary and exhausted was she, that she could hardly drag herself up thecaravan steps. She opened the door very gently, that she might not disturbher mother, and then she tried to undress herself. But she was aching inevery limb, and, sitting down on the box beside her mother's bed, she fellasleep, her little weary head resting on her mother's pillow. 

Poor little woman! She ought to have been laid in a quiet little nest hoursago, instead of being exposed to the close, hot, stifling air of thetheatre through all the long hours of a weary night. 

In about an hour's time her mother woke, and found her little girl sleepingin her uncomfortable position, her white dress unfastened, and the pinkroses from her hair fallen on the ground. Weak as she was, the poor motherdragged herself out of bed to help her tired child to undress. 

'Rosalie, dear, ' she said tenderly, 'wake up!'

But for some time Rosalie did not stir, and, when her mother touched her, she sat up, and said, as if in her sleep--

'"Rejoice with Me, for I have found My sheep which was lost. "'

'She is dreaming of her picture, poor child, ' said the mother to herself. 

Then Rosalie woke, and shivered as she felt the cold night air on her bareneck and arms. Very gently the poor weak mother helped her to take off herwhite dress and her small ragged petticoats; and then the child crept intobed and into her mother's arms. 

'Poor little tired lamb!' said the mother, as the weary child nestled up toher. 

'Am I the lamb?' said Rosalie, in a sleepy voice. 

The mother did not answer, but kissed her child passionately, and then layawake by her side, weeping and coughing by turns till the morning dawned. 

CHAPTER III

THE DAY AFTER THE FAIR

The next morning Rosalie was waked by a rap at the caravan door. She creptout of bed, and, putting her dress over her shoulders, peeped out betweenthe muslin curtains. 

'It's Toby, mammie, ' she said; 'I'll see what he wants. '

She opened the door a crack, and Toby put his mouth to it, and whispered--

'Miss Rosie, we're going to start in about half an hour. Master has justsent me for the horses; we've been up all night packing; three of thewaggons is loaded, and they've only some of the scenery to roll up, andthen we shall start. '

'Where are we going, Toby?' asked the child. 

'It's a town a long way off, ' said Toby; 'we've never been there before, master says, and it will take us nearly a week to get there. But I must beoff, Miss Rosie, or master will be coming. '

'Aren't you tired, Toby?' said the child kindly. 

Toby shrugged his shoulders, and said, with a broad grin--

'I wonder if any one in this concern is ever anything else but tired!'

Then he walked away into the town for the horses, which had been put up inthe stables of an inn, and Rosalie returned to her mother. There wereseveral things to be done before they could start; the crockery had all tobe taken from the shelf and stowed away in a safe place, lest the joltingover the rough and uneven field should throw it down. Besides this, Rosaliehad to dress herself and get her mother's breakfast ready, that she mighteat it in peace before the shaking of the caravan commenced. 

When all was ready, Rosalie stood at the window and looked out. The fairlooked very different from what it had done the night before. Most of theshow-people had been up all night, taking their shows to pieces, andpacking everything up. Though it was not yet nine o'clock, many of them hadalready started, and the field was half empty. It was a dreary scene ofdesolation; all the little grass it had once possessed, which had given ita right to the name of field, had entirely disappeared, and the bare, uneven ground was thickly strewn with dirty pieces of paper, broken boxes, and old rags, which had been left behind by the show-people; besides aquantity of orange-peel and cocoa-nut and oyster shells, which had beenthrown into the mud the night before. Very dirty and untidy and forlorn itlooked, as Rosalie gazed at it from the door of the caravan. Then a waggonjolted past, laden with the largest of the numerous whirligigs, the woodenhorses and elephants peeping out from the waterproof covering which hadbeen thrown over them. Then a large swing passed by, then the show of thegiant and dwarf; these were followed by a pea-boiling establishment and themarionettes. And, a few minutes afterwards, the show of the blue horse andthe performing seal set out on its way to the next feast, accompanied bythe shows of the fat boy and of the lady without arms, who performedwonders with her toes in the ways of tea-making and other householdbusiness, and whose very infirmities and deformities were thus made intogain, and exposed to the gaze of curious crowds by her own relations. 

All these rattled past, and Rosalie watched them out of sight. Then Tobyreturned with the horses; they were yoked to the waggons and to thecaravans, and the little cavalcade set forth. The jolting over the roughground was very great, and much tried the poor sick woman, who was shakenfrom side to side of her wretched bed. Then outside the field they had towait a long time, for the road was completely filled by the numerouscaravans of the wild-beast show, and no one could pass until they weregone. 

The elephants were standing close to the pavement, now and again twistingtheir long trunks into the trees of the small gardens in front of theneighbouring houses; and they would undoubtedly have broken the branches toatoms had not their keeper driven them off with his whip. A crowd ofchildren was gathered round them, feeding them with bread and biscuit, andenjoying the delay of the show. 

But Augustus became very impatient, for he had a long journey before him;so, after pacing up and down and chafing against the stoppage for sometime, he went up to the manager of the wild-beast show, and addressed himin such violent and passionate language, that a policeman was obliged tointerfere, and desired him to keep the peace. 

At length the huge yellow caravans, each drawn by six strong cart-horses, moved slowly on, led by a procession of elephants and camels, and followedby a large crowd of children, who accompanied them to the outskirts of thetown. Here, by turning down a by-street, the theatre party was able to passthem, and thus get the start of them on their journey. 

Rosalie was glad to leave the town, and feel the fresh country air blowingupon her face. It was so very refreshing after the close, stagnant air ofthe fair. She opened the upper part of the door, and stood looking out, watching Toby, who was driving, and talking to him from time to time of theobjects which they passed by the way; it was a new road to Rosalie and toher mother. 

At length, about twelve o'clock, they came to a little village, where theyhalted for a short time, that the horses might rest before going farther. The country children were just leaving the village school, and theygathered round the caravans with open eyes and mouths, staring curiously atthe smoke coming from the small chimneys, and at Rosalie, who was peepingout from between the muslin curtains. But, after satisfying theircuriosity, they moved away in little groups to their various homes, thatthey might be in time to get their dinner done before afternoon school. 

Then the village street was quite quiet, and Rosalie stood at the door, watching the birds hopping from tree to tree, and the bees gathering honeyfrom the flowers in the gardens. Her mother was better to-day, and wasdressing herself slowly, for she thought that a breath of country air mightrevive and strengthen her. 

Augustus, Toby, and the other men of the company had gone into the smallinn for refreshment, and Toby was sent back to the caravan with largeslices of bread and cheese for Rosalie and her mother. The child ate of iteagerly--the fresh air had given her an appetite--but the poor woman couldnot touch it. As soon as she was dressed, she crept, with Rosalie's help, to the door of the caravan, and sat on the top step, leaning against one ofthe boxes, which the child dragged from its place to make a support forher. 

The caravan was drawn up by the side of a small cottage with a thatchedroof. There was a little garden in front of it, filled with sweet flowers, large cabbage-roses, southernwood, rosemary, sweetbriar, and lavender. Asthe wind blew softly over them, it wafted their sweet fragrance to the sickwoman sitting on the caravan steps. The quiet stillness of the country wasvery refreshing and soothing to her, after the turmoil and din of the lastweek. No sound was to be heard but the singing of the larks overhead, thehumming of the bees, and the gentle rustling of the breeze amongst thebranches. 

Then the cottage door opened, and a little child, about three years old, ran out with a ball in his hand, which he rolled down the path leading tothe garden gate. A minute afterwards a young woman, in a clean cotton gownand white apron, brought her work outside, and, sitting on the seat nearthe cottage door, watched her child at play with a mother's love andtenderness. She was knitting a little red sock for one of those tiny feetto wear. Click! click! click! went her knitting-needles; but she kept hereyes on the child, ready to run to him at the first alarm, to pick him upif he should fall, or to soothe him if he should be in trouble. Now andthen she glanced at the caravan standing at her garden gate, and gave alook of compassion at the poor thin woman, whose cough from time to timewas so distressing. Then, as was her custom, she began to sing as sheworked; she had a clear, sweet voice, and the sick woman and her childlistened. 

The words of her song were these:

 'Jesus, I Thy face am seeking, Early will I turn to Thee; Words of love Thy voice is speaking: "Come, come to Me. 

 '"Come to Me when life is dawning, I thy dearest Friend would be; In the sunshine of the morning, Come, come to Me. 

 '"Come to Me--oh, do believe Me! I have shed My blood for thee; I am waiting to receive thee, Come, come to Me. "

 'Lord, I come without delaying, To Thine arms at once I flee, Lest no more I hear Thee saying, "Come, come to Me. "'

When she had finished singing, all was quite still again; there was hardlya sound except the pattering of the little feet on the garden path. Butpresently the child began to cry, and the careful mother flew to his sideto discover what had pained him. It was only the loss of his ball, which hehad thrown too high, and which had gone over the hedge, and seemed to himlost for ever. Only his ball! And yet that ball was as much to that tinymind as our most precious treasures are to us. 

The mother knew this, so she calmed the child's fears, and ran immediatelyto recover his lost plaything. 

But Rosalie was before her. She had seen the ball come over the hedge, andhad heard the child's cry; and, when his mother appeared at the gate, shesaw the child of the caravan returning from her chase after the ball, whichhad rolled some way down the hilly road. She brought it to the youngmother, who thanked her for her kindness, and then gazed lovingly andpityingly into her face. She was a mother, and she thought of the happylife her child led, compared with that of this poor little wanderer. Withthis feeling in her heart, after restoring the ball to the once morecontented child, she ran into the house, and returned with a mug of newmilk, and a slice of bread, spread with fresh country butter, which shehanded to Rosalie and begged her to eat. 

'Thank you, ma'am, ' said little Rosalie; 'but please may mammie have it?I've had some bread and cheese; but she is too ill to eat that, and thiswould do her such good. '

'Yes, to be sure, ' said the kind-hearted countrywoman; 'give her that, child, and I'll fetch some more for you. '

And so it came to pass that Rosalie and her mother had quite a littlepicnic on the steps of the caravan; with the young woman standing by, andtalking to them as they ate, and now and then looking over the hedge intothe garden, that she might see if any trouble had come to her boy. 

'I liked to hear you sing, ' said Rosalie's mother. 

'Did you?' said the young woman. ' I often sing when I'm knitting; my littleone likes to hear me, and he almost knows that hymn now. Often when he isat play I hear him singing, "Tome, tome, to Me, " so prettily, the littledear!' she said, with tears in her eyes. 

'I wish I knew it, ' said Rosalie. 

'I'll tell you what, ' said the young woman, 'I'll give you a card with iton; our clergyman had it printed, and we've got two of them. '

She ran again into the house, and returned with a card, on which the hymnwas printed in clear, distinct type. There were two holes pierced throughthe top of the card, and a piece of blue ribbon had been slipped through, and tied in a bow at the top. Rosalie seized it eagerly, and began readingit at once. 

'We've got such a good clergyman here, ' said the young woman; 'he has notbeen here more than a few months, and he has done so many nice things forus. Mrs. Leslie reads aloud in one of the cottages once a week; and we alltake our work and go to listen to her, and she talks to us so beautiful outof the Bible; it always does me good to go. '

She stopped suddenly, as she saw Rosalie's mother's face. She had turneddeadly pale, and was leaning back against the box with her eyes fixed uponher. 

'What's the matter, ma'am?' said the kind-hearted little woman. 'I'm afraidyou've turned faint; and how you do tremble! Let me help you in; you'dbetter lie on your bed, hadn't you?'

She gave her her arm, and she and Rosalie took her inside the caravan andlaid her on her bed. But she was obliged to leave her in a minute or two, as her little boy was climbing on the gate, and she was afraid he wouldfall. 

A few minutes afterwards a great noise was heard in the distance, and anumber of the village children appeared, running in front of the wild-beastshow, which was just passing through. The young woman took her little boyin her arms, and held him up, that he might see the elephants and camels, which were marching with stately dignity in front of the yellow vans. 

When they had gone, Toby appeared with the horse, and said his master hadtold him he was to start, and he would follow presently with the rest ofthe waggons. The horse was soon put in the caravan, and they were juststarting, when the young woman gathered a nosegay of the lovely flowers inher garden, and handed them to Rosalie, saying, 'Take them, and put them inwater for your mother; the sight of them maybe will do her good. You'lllearn the hymn, won't you? Good-bye, and God bless you!'

She watched them out of sight, standing at her cottage door with her childin her arms, whilst Rosalie leaned out of the window to nod to her andsmile at her. 

Then they turned a corner, and came into the main street of the village. 

'Can you see the church, Rosalie?' asked her mother hurriedly. 

'Yes, mammie dear, ' said Rosalie; 'it's just at the end of this street. Such a pretty church, with trees all round it!'

'Are there any houses near it?' asked her mother. 

'Only one, mammie dear, a big house in a garden; but I can't see it verywell, there are so many trees in front of it. '

'Ask Toby to put you down, Rosalie, and run and have a look at it as wepass. '

So Rosalie was lifted down from the caravan, and ran up to the vicaragegate, whilst her mother raised herself on her elbow to see as much as shecould through the open window. But she could only see the spire of thechurch and the chimneys of the house, and she was too exhausted to get up. 

Presently Rosalie overtook them, panting with her running. Toby never daredto wait for her, lest his master should find fault with him for stopping;but Rosalie often got down from the caravan, to gather wild flowers, or todrink at a wayside spring, and, as she was very fleet of foot, she wasalways able to overtake them. 

'What was it like, Rosalie?' asked her mother, when she was seated on thebox beside her bed. 

'Oh, ever so pretty, mammie dear; such soft grass and such lovely roses, and a broad gravel walk all up to the door. And in the garden there was alady; such a pretty, kind-looking lady! and she and her little girl weregathering some of the flowers. '

'Did they see you, Rosalie?'

'Yes; the little girl saw me, mammie, peeping through the gate, and shesaid, "Who is that little girl, mamma? I never saw her before. " And thenher mamma looked up and smiled at me; and she was just coming to speak tome when I turned frightened, and I saw the caravan had gone out of sight;so I ran away, and I've been running ever since to get up to you. '

The mother listened to her child's account with a pale and restless face. Then she lay back on her pillow and sighed several times. 

At last they heard a rumbling sound behind them, and Toby announced, 'It'smaster; he's soon overtaken us. '

'Rosalie, ' said her mother anxiously, 'don't you ever tell your fatherabout that house, or that I told you to go and look at it, or about whatthat young woman said. Mind you never say a word to him about it; promiseme, Rosalie. '

'Why not, mammie dear?' asked Rosalie, with a very perplexed face. 

'Never mind why, Rosalie, ' said her mother fretfully; 'I don't wish it. '

'Very well, mammie dear, ' said Rosalie. 

'I'll tell you some time, Rosalie, ' said her mother gently, a minute or twoafterwards; 'not to-day, though; oh no! I can't tell it to-day. '

Rosalie wondered very much what her mother meant, and she sat watching herpale, sorrowful face as she lay on her bed with her eyes closed. What wasshe thinking of? What was it she had to tell her? For some time Rosalie satquite still, musing on what her mother had said, and then she pinned thecard on the wall just over her dear picture, and once more read the wordsof the hymn. 

After this she arranged the flowers in a small glass, and put them on thebox near her mother's bed. The sweet-briar and cabbage-roses andsouthernwood filled the caravan with their fragrance. Then Rosalie took upher usual position at the door, to watch Toby driving, and to see all thatwas to be seen by the way. 

They passed through several other villages, and saw many lone farmhousesand solitary cottages. When night came, they drew up on the outskirts of asmall market-town. Toby took the horses to an inn, and they rested therefor the night. 

CHAPTER IV

THE ACTRESS'S STORY

The next morning, as soon as it was light, the horses were put in again, and the theatre party proceeded on their way. Rosalie's mother seemed muchbetter; the country air and country quiet had, for a time, restored to hermuch of her former strength. She was able, with Rosalie's help, to dressherself and to sit on one of the boxes beside her bed, resting her headagainst the pillows, and gazing out at the green fields and clear blue sky. The sweet fresh breezes came in at the open door, and fanned her carewornface and the face of the child who sat beside her. 

'Rosalie, ' said her mother suddenly, 'would you like to hear about the timewhen your mother was a little girl?'

'Yes, mammie dear, ' said Rosalie, nestling up to her side; 'I know nothingat all about it. '

'No, Rosalie, ' said her mother; 'it's the beginning of a very sad story, and I did not like my little girl to know about it; but I sometimes think Isha'n't be long with you, and I had rather tell it to you myself than haveany one else tell it. And you're getting a great girl now, Rosalie; youwill be able to understand many things you could not have understoodbefore. And there have been things the last few days which have brought itall back to me, and made me think of it by day and dream of it by night. '

'Please tell me, mammie dear, ' said Rosalie, as her mother stoppedspeaking. 

'Would you like to hear it now?' said the poor woman, with a sigh, as ifshe hardly liked to begin. 

'Please, mammie dear, ' said Rosalie. 

'Then draw closer to me, child, for I don't want Toby to hear; and, mind, you must never speak of what I'm going to tell you before yourfather--_never_; promise me, Rosalie, ' she said earnestly. 

'No, never, mammie dear, ' said little Rosalie. 

Then there was silence for a minute or two afterwards--no sound to be heardbut the cracking of Toby's whip and the rumbling of the waggons behind. 

'Aren't you going to begin, mammie?' said Rosalie at length. 

'I almost wish I hadn't promised to tell you, child, ' said her motherhurriedly; 'it cuts me up so to think of it; but never mind, you ought toknow, and you will know some day, so I had better tell you myself. Rosalie, your mother was born a lady. 

'Yes, ' said the poor woman, as the child did not speak;

'I was never born to this life of misery, I brought myself to it. I choseit, ' she said bitterly; 'and I'm only getting the harvest of what I sowedmyself. '

When she had said this, she turned deadly pale, and shivered from head tofoot. Rosalie crept still closer to her, and put her little warm hand inher mother's cold one. Then the poor woman by a strong effort controlledherself, and she went on. 

'So now, darling, I'll tell you all about it, just as if I was talkingabout some one else; I'll forget it is myself, or I shall never be able totell it. I'll try and fancy I'm on the stage, and talking about the sorrowsand troubles of some one I never knew, and never cared for, and of whom Ishall never think again when my part is over. 

'I was born in a country village, hundreds of miles from here, in the southof England. My father was the squire of the place. We lived in a largemansion, which was built half way up the side of a wooded hill, and anavenue of beautiful old trees led up to the house. There was a largeconservatory at one side of it, filled with the rarest flowers, and in ashady corner of the grounds my mother had a kind of grotto, filled withlovely ferns, through which a clear stream of water was ever flowing. Thisfernery was my mother's great delight, and here she spent much of her time. She was a very worldly woman; she took very little notice of her children;and when she was not in the garden, she was generally lying on the sofa inthe drawing-room, reading novels, which she procured from a London library. 

'My father was a very different man; he was fond of quiet, and fond of hischildren; but he was obliged to be often from home, so that we did not seeas much of him as we should otherwise have done. 

'I had one brother and one sister. My brother was much older than we were;there had been several children between us, who had died in their infancy, so that he was in the sixth form of a large public school whilst we werechildren in the nursery. 

'My sister Lucy was a year younger than I was. She was such a pretty child, and had a very sweet disposition. When we were children we got on very welltogether, and shared every pleasure and every grief. My father bought us alittle white pony, and on this we used to ride in turns about the park whenwe were quite small children, our old nurse following, to see that no harmcame to us. 

'She was a very good old woman; she taught us to say our prayers night andmorning, and on Sundays she used to sit with us under a tree in the park, and show us Scripture pictures, and tell us stories out of the Bible. Therewas one picture of a shepherd very like that, Rosalie; it came back to mymind the other day, when that old man gave it to you, only in mine theshepherd was just drawing the lamb out of a deep miry pit, into which ithad fallen, and the text underneath it was this: "The Son of Man is come toseek and to save that which is lost. " We used to learn these texts, andrepeat them to our nurse when we looked at the pictures; and then, if wehad said them correctly, she used to let us carry our tea into the park andeat it under the tree. And after tea we used to sing one of our littlehymns and say our prayers, and then she took us in and put us to bed. Ihave often thought of those quiet, happy Sundays when I have been listeningto the noise and racket of the fair. 

'I thought a great deal at the time about what our nurse told us. Iremember one Sunday she had been reading to us about the Judgment Day, andhow God would read out of a book all the wrong things we had done. And thatsame afternoon there was a great thunderstorm; the lightning flashed in atthe window, and the thunder rolled overhead. It made me think of what nursehad said, and of the Judgment Day. And then I knelt down, and prayed thatGod would take care of me, and not let the lightning kill me. I creptbehind the sofa in the large drawing-room, and trembled lest the booksshould be opened, and all my sins read out; and I asked God to keep themshut a little longer. 

'And I remember another day, when I had told a lie, but would not own thatI had done so. Nurse would not let me sleep with Lucy, but moved my littlebed into her room, that I might lie still and think about my sin. It was astrange room, and I could not sleep for some time, but I lay awake with myeyes closed. When I opened them I saw one bright star shining in at theclosed window. It seemed to me like the eye of God watching me; I could notget the thought out of my mind. I shut my eyes tightly, that I might notsee it; but I could not help opening them to see if it was still there. Andwhen nurse came up to bed, she found me weeping. I have often seen thatstar since, Rosalie, looking in at the window of the caravan; and it alwaysreminds me of that night, and makes me think of that Eye. 

'I had a very strong will, Rosalie, and even as a child I hated to becontrolled. If I set my heart upon anything, I wanted to have it at once, and if I was opposed, I was very angry. I loved my dear old nurse; but whenwe were about eight years old, she had to leave us to live with her mother, and then I was completely unmanageable. My mother engaged a governess forus, who was to teach us in a morning and take us out in the afternoon. Shewas an indolent person, and she took very little trouble with us, and mymother did not exert herself sufficiently to look after us, or to see whatwe were doing. Thus we learnt very little, and got into idle and carelesshabits. Our governess used to sit down in the park with a book, and we wereallowed to follow our own devices, and amuse ourselves as we pleased. 

'When my brother Gerald came home, it was always a great cause ofexcitement to us. We used to meet him at the station, and drive him home intriumph. Then we always had holidays, and Miss Manders went away, andGerald used to amuse us with stories of his school friends, as we walkedwith him through the park. He was a very fine-looking lad, and my motherwas very proud of him. She thought much more of him than of us, because hewas a boy, and was to be the heir to the property. She liked to drive outwith her handsome son, who was admired by every one who saw him, andsometimes we were allowed to go with them. We were generally left outsidein the carriage, whilst mamma and Gerald called at the large houses of theneighbourhood; and we used to jump out, as soon as they had disappearedinside the house, and explore the different gardens, and plan how we wouldlay out our grounds when we had houses of our own. But what's that, Rosalie?--did the waggons stop?'

Rosalie ran to the door and looked out. 

'Yes, mammie, ' she said; 'my father's coming. '

'Then mind, not a word, ' said her mother, in a hoarse whisper. 

'Well, ' said Augustus, entering the caravan in a theatrical manner, 'Ithought I might as well enjoy the felicity of the amiable society of mylady and her daughter!'

This was said with a profound bow towards his wife and Rosalie. 

'Glad to see you so much better, madam, ' he continued. 'Rather singular, isn't it, that your health and spirits have revived immediately we haveleft the inspired scene of public action, or--to speak in plain terms--whenthere's no work to do!'

'I think it's the fresh air, Augustus, that has done me good; there wassuch a close, stifling smell from the fair, I felt worse directly we gotthere. '

'It's to be hoped, ' he said, with a disagreeable smile on his face, 'thatthis resuscitation of the vital powers may be continued until we arrive atLesborough', but the probability is that the moment we arrive on the sceneof action, you will be seized with that most unpleasant of all maladies, distaste to your work, and will be compelled once more to resume that mostinteresting and pathetic occupation of playing the invalid!'

'Oh, Augustus, don't speak to me like that!' said the poor wife. 

Augustus made no answer, but, taking a piece of paper from his pocket, twisted it up, and, putting it into the fire, lighted a long pipe and beganto smoke. The fumes of the tobacco brought on his poor wife's cough, but hetook very little notice of her, except to ask her occasionally, between thewhiffs of his pipe, how long that melodious sound was to last. Then hiseyes fell upon Rosalie's picture, which was pinned to the side of thecaravan. 

'Where did you get that from?' he inquired, turning to his wife. 

'It's mine, father, ' said little Rosalie; 'an old gentleman in the fairgave it to me. Isn't it pretty?'

It will do for a child, ' he said scornfully. 'Toby, what are you after?You're creeping along; we shall never get there at this pace. '

'The horse is tired, master, ' said Toby; 'he's had a long stretch these twodays. '

'Beat him, then, ' said the cruel man; 'flog him well. Do you think I canafford to waste time upon the road? The wild beasts are a mile ahead, atthe very least, and the marionettes will be there by this time. We shalljust arrive when all the people have spent their money, and are tired out. '

Now there was one subject of standing dispute between Toby and his master. Toby was a kind-hearted lad, and hated to see the horses over-worked, ill-fed, and badly used. He was always remonstrating with his master aboutit, and thereby bringing down upon himself his master's wrath and abuse. Augustus cared nothing for the comfort or welfare of those under him. Toget as much work as possible out of them, and to make as much gain by themas he could, was all he thought of. They might be tired, or hungry, oroverburdened; what did it matter to him, so long as the end for which hekept them was fulfilled? The same spirit which led him to treat his companyand his wife with severity and indifference, led him to ill-treat hishorses. 

Toby resolutely refused to beat the poor tired horse, which was alreadystraining itself to its utmost, the additional weight of Augustus havingbeen very trying to it the last few miles. 

When Augustus saw that Toby did not mean to obey him, he sprang to the doorof the caravan in a towering passion, seized the whip from Toby's hand, andthen beat the poor horse unmercifully, causing it to start from side toside, till nearly everything in the caravan was thrown to the ground, andRosalie and her mother trembled with suppressed indignation and horror. 

Then, with one last tremendous blow, aimed at Toby's head, Augustus threwdown the whip, and returned to his pipe. 

Blank Page [Illustration: The Sisters. ]

CHAPTER V

ROSALIE'S FIRST SERMON

The next morning, as soon as they had started on their journey, Rosaliebegged her mother to continue her story. So, after satisfying herself thather husband did not intend to favour them with his company, the poor womantook up the thread of her story at the place at which she had left it whenthey were interrupted the day before. 

'I was telling you, dear, about my life in that quiet country manor-house. I think I can remember nothing worth mentioning, until an event happenedwhich altered the whole course of our lives. 

'Lucy and I had been out riding in the park on the beautiful new horseswhich our father had given us a few months before, and we had had a verypleasant afternoon. I can see Lucy now in her riding-habit--her fair hairhanging down her back, and her cheeks glowing with the air and exercise. She was very pretty, was my sister Lucy. People said I was handsomer thanshe was, and had a better figure and brighter eyes; but Lucy was asweet-looking little thing, and no one could look at her without lovingher. 

'We got down from our horses, leaving them with the groom who had beenriding out with us, and ran into the house. But we were met by one of theservants, with a face white with alarm, who begged us to go quietlyupstairs, as our father was very ill, and the doctor said he was to beperfectly quiet. We asked her what was the matter with him, and she told usthat as he had been riding home from the railway station, his horse, whichwas a young one he had just bought, had thrown him, and that he had beenbrought home insensilble. More than this she could not tell us, but ourmother came into our bedroom, and told us, with more feeling than I hadever seen in her face before, that our father could not live through thenight. 

'I shall never forget that night. It was the first time that I had beenbrought close to death, and it frightened me. I lay awake, listening to thehall clock as it struck one hour after another. Then I crept out of bed, and put my head out of the window. It was a close, oppressive night, --not abreath seemed to be stirring. I wondered what was going on in the nextroom, and whether I should ever see my father again. Then I thought I hearda sound, but it was only Lucy sobbing beneath the bedclothes. 

'"Lucy, " I said, glad to find she was awake, "isn't it a long night?"

'"Yes, Norah, " she answered. "I'm so frightened; shall we have a light?"

'I found the matches and lighted a candle; but three or four large mothsdarted into the room, so that I had to close the window. 

'We lay awake in our little beds watching the moths darting in and out ofthe candle, and straining our ears for any sound from our father's room. Each time a door shut we started, and sat up in bed listening. 

'"Wouldn't you be frightened if you were dying, Norah?" said Lucy, underher breath. 

'"Yes, " I said, "I'm sure I should. "

'Then there was silence again for a long time; and I thought Lucy hadfallen asleep, when she got up in bed and spoke again--

'"Norah, do you think you would go to heaven if you were to die?"

'"Yes, of course, " I said quickly; "why do you ask me?"

'"I don't think _I_ should, " said Lucy; "I'm almost sure I shouldn't. "

'We lay still for about another hour, and then the door opened, and ourmother came in. She was crying very much, and had a handkerchief to hereyes. 

"'Your father wants to see you, " she said; "come at once. "

'We crept very quietly into the room of death, and stood beside ourfather's bed. His face was so altered that it frightened us, and wetrembled from head to foot. But he held out his hand to us, Rosalie, and wedrew closer to him. Then he whispered--

'"Good-bye! don't forget your father; and don't wait till you come to dieto get ready for another world. "

'Then we kissed him, and our mother told us to go back to bed. I neverforgot my father's last words to us; and I often wondered what made him saythem. 

'The next morning we heard that our father was dead. Gerald arrived toolate to see him; he was at college then, and was just preparing for hislast examination. 

'My mother seemed at first very much distressed by my father's death; sheshut herself up in her room, and would see no one. The funeral was a verygrand one; all the people of the neighbourhood came to it, and Lucy and Ipeeped out of one of the top windows to see it start. After it was over, Gerald went back to college, and my mother returned to her novels. I thinkshe thought, Rosalie, that she would be able to return to her old life muchas before. But no sooner had Gerald passed his last examination than shereceived a letter from him to say that he intended to be married in a fewmonths, and to bring his bride to the Hall. Then for the first time thetruth flashed upon my mother's mind, that she would soon be no longer themistress of the manor-house, but would have to seek a home elsewhere. Sheseemed at first very angry with Gerald for marrying so early; but she couldsay nothing against his choice, for she was a young lady of title, and onein every way suited to the position she was to occupy. 

'My mother at length decided to remove to a town in the midland counties, where she would have some good society and plenty of gaiety, so soon as hermourning for my father was ended. 

'It was a great trial to us, leaving the old home. Lucy and I went roundthe park the day before we left, gathering leaves from our favourite trees, and taking a last look at the home of our childhood. Then we walked throughthe house, and looked out of the windows on the lovely wooded hills witheyes which were full of tears. I have never seen it since, and I shallnever see it again. Sometimes, when we are coming through the country, itbrings it back to my mind, and I could almost fancy I was walking down oneof the long grassy terraces, or wandering in the quiet shade of the treesin the park. Hush! what was that, Rosalie?' said her mother, leaningforward to listen; 'was it music?'

At first Rosalie could hear nothing except Toby whistling to his horse, andthe rumbling of the wheels of the caravan. She went to the door and leanedout, and listened once more. The sun was beginning to set, for Rosalie'smother had only been able to talk at intervals during the day, from herfrequent fits of coughing, and from numerous other interruptions, such asthe preparations for dinner, the halting to give the horses rest, and theoccasional visits of Augustus. 

The rosy clouds were gathering in the west, as the pure evening breezewafted to the little girl's ears the distant sound of bells. 

'It's bells, mammie, ' she said, turning round, 'church bells; can't youhear them? Ding-dong-bell, ding-dong-bell. '

'Yes, ' said her mother, 'I can hear them clearly now; our old nurse used totell us they were saying, "Come and pray, come and pray. " Oh, Rosalie, itis such a comfort to be able to speak of those days to some one! I've keptit all hidden up in my heart till sometimes I have felt as if it wouldburst. '

'I can see the church now, mammie, ' said Rosalie; 'it's a pretty littlegrey church with a tower, and we're going through the village; aren't we, Toby?'

'Yes, Miss Rosie, ' said Toby; 'we're going to stop there all night; thehorses are tired out, and it's so fair to see, that even master can see itnow. We shall get on all the quicker for giving them a bit of rest. '

'Can't you hear the bells nicely now, mammie?' said Rosalie, turning round. 

'Yes, ' said the poor woman; 'they sound just like the bells of our littlechurch at home; I could almost cry when I hear them. '

By this time they had reached the village. It was growing dark, and thecountry people were lighting their candles, and gathering round their smallfires. Rosalie could see inside many a cheerful little home, where thefirelight was shining on the faces of the father, the mother, and thechildren. How she wished they had a little home!

Ding-dong-bell, ding-dong-bell; still the chimes went on, and one andanother came out of the small cottages, and took the road leading to thechurch, with their books under their arms. 

Toby drove on; nearer and nearer the chimes sounded, until at last, just asthe caravan reached a wide open common in front of the church, they ceased, and Rosalie saw the last old woman entering the church door before theservice began. The waggons and caravans were drawn up on this open spacefor the night. Toby and the other men led the horses away to the stables ofthe inn; Augustus followed them, to enjoy himself amongst the livelycompany assembled in the little coffee-room, and Rosalie and her motherwere left alone. 

'Mammie dear, ' said Rosalie, as soon as the men had turned the corner, 'mayI go and peep at the church?'

'Yes, child, ' said her mother; 'only don't make a noise if the people areinside. '

Rosalie did not wait for a second permission, but darted across the common, and opened the church gate. It was getting dark now, and the gravestoneslooked very solemn in the twilight. She went quickly past them, and creptalong the side of the church to one of the windows. She could see insidethe church quite well, because it was lighted up; but no one could see heras she was standing in the dark churchyard. Her bright quick eyes soon tookin all that was to be seen. The minister was kneeling down, and so were allthe people. There were a good many there, though the church was not full, as it was the week-evening service. 

Rosalie watched at the window until all the people got up from their knees, when the clergyman gave out a hymn, and they began to sing. Rosalie thenlooked for the door, that she might hear the music better. It was a warmevening, and the door was open, and before she knew what she was about, shehad crept inside, and was sitting on a low seat just within. No one noticedher, for they were all looking in the opposite direction. Rosalie enjoyedthe singing very much, and when it was over the clergyman began to speak. He had a clear, distinct voice, and he spoke in simple language which everyone could understand. 

Rosalie listened with all her might; it was the first sermon she had everheard. 'The Son of Man is come to seek and to save that which is lost. 'That was the text of Rosalie's first sermon. 

As soon as the service was over, she stole out of the church, and creptdown the dark churchyard. She had passed through the little gate and wascrossing the common to the caravan before the first person had left thechurch. To Rosalie's joy, her father had not returned; for he had found thesociety in the village inn extremely attractive. Rosalie's mother looked upas the child came in. 

'Where have you been all this time, Rosalie?'

Rosalie gave an account of all she had seen, and told her how she had creptin at the open door of the church. 

'And what did the clergyman say, child?' asked her mother. 

'He said your text, mammie--the text that was on your picture: "The Son ofMan is come to seek and to save that which is lost. "'

'And what did he tell you about it?'

'He said Jesus went up and down all over to look for lost sheep, mammie;and he said we were all the sheep, and Jesus was looking for us. Do youthink He is looking for you and me, mammie dear?'

'I don't know, child; I suppose so, ' said her mother. '_I_ shall takea good deal of looking for, I'm afraid. '

'But he said, mammie, that if only we would _let_ Him find us, Hewould be sure to do it; He doesn't mind how much trouble He takes aboutit. '

Rosalie's mother was quite still for some time after this. Rosalie stood atthe caravan door, watching the bright stars coming out one by one in thestill sky. 

'Mammie dear, ' she said, 'is _He_ up there?'

'Who, Rosalie, child?' said her mother. 

'The Saviour; is He up in one of the stars?'

'Yes; heaven's somewhere there, Rosalie; up above the sky somewhere. '

'Would it be any good telling Him, mammie?'

'Telling Him what, my dear?'

'Just telling Him that you and me want seeking and finding. '

'I don't know, Rosalie; you can try, ' said her mother sadly. 

'Please, Good Shepherd, ' said Rosalie, looking up at the stars, 'come andseek me and mammie, and find us very quick, and carry us very safe, likethe lamb in the picture. '

'Will that do, mammie?' said Rosalie. 

'Yes, ' said her mother, 'I suppose so. '

Then Rosalie was still again, looking at the stars; but a sudden thoughtseized her. 

'Mammie, ought I to have said amen?'

'Why, Rosalie?'

'I heard the people at church say it. Will it do any good without amen?'

'Oh, I don't think it matters much, ' said her mother; 'you can say it now, if you like. '

'Amen, amen, ' said Rosalie, looking at the stars again. 

But just then voices were heard in the distance, and Rosalie saw her fatherand the men crossing the dark common, and coming in the direction of thecaravan. 

CHAPTER VI

A FAMILY SECRET

How sweet and calm the village looked the next morning, when Rosalie wokeand looked out at it. She was quite sorry to leave it, but there was norest for these poor wanderers; they must move onwards towards the townwhere they were next to perform. And as they travelled on, Rosalie's motherwent on with her sad story. 

'I told you, darling, that my mother took a house in town, and that we allmoved there, that my brother Gerald might take possession of our old home. We were getting great girls now, and my mother sent Miss Manders away, andleft us to our own devices. 

'My sister Lucy had been very different since our father died. She was soquiet and still, that I often wondered what was the matter with her. Shespent nearly all her time reading her Bible in a little attic chamber. Idid not know why she went there, till one day I went upstairs to getsomething out of a box, and found Lucy sitting in the window-seat readingher little black Bible. I asked her what she read it for, and she said--

'"Oh, Norah, it makes me so happy! won't you come and read it with me?" ButI tossed my head, and said I had too much to do to waste my time like that;and I ran downstairs, and tried to forget what I had seen; for I knew thatmy sister was right and I was wrong. Oh, Rosalie darling, I've oftenthought if I had listened to my sister Lucy that day, what a different lifeI might have led!

'Well, I must go on; I'm coming to the saddest part of my story, and I hadbetter get over it as quickly as I can. 

'As I got older, I took to reading novels. Our house was full of them, formy mother spent her days in devouring them. I read them and read them tillI lived in them, and was never happy unless I was fancying myself one ofthe heroines of whom I read. My own life seemed dull and monotonous; Iwanted to see more of the world, and to have something romantic happen tome. Oh, Rosalie, I got so restless and discontented! I used to wake in thenight, and wonder what _my_ fortunes would be; and then I used tolight the candle, and go on with the exciting novel I had been reading thenight before. Often I used to read half the night, for I could not sleepagain till I knew the end of the story. I quite left off saying my prayers, for I could not think of anything of that sort when I was in the middle ofa novel. 

'It was just about this time that I became acquainted with a family of thename of Roehunter. They were rich people, friends of my mother. MissGeorgina and Miss Laura Roehunter were very fast, dashing girls. They tooka great fancy to me, and we were always together. They were passionatelyfond of the theatre, and they took me to it night after night. 

'I could think of nothing else, Rosalie. I dreamt of it every night. Ittook even more hold of me than the novels had done for it seemed to me likea _living_ novel. I admired the scenery, I admired the actors, Iadmired everything that I saw. I thought if I was only on the stage Ishould be perfectly happy. There was nothing in the world that I wanted somuch; it seemed to me such a free, happy, romantic life. When an actresswas greeted with bursts of applause, I almost envied her. How wearisome mylife seemed when compared with hers!

'I kept a book then, Rosalie darling, in which I wrote all that I did everyday, and I used to write again and again--

'"No change yet; my life wants variety. It is the same over and overagain. "

'I determined that, as soon as possible, I would have a change, cost whatit might. 

'Soon after this the Roehunters told me that they were going to have someprivate theatricals, and that I must come and help them. It was just what Iwanted. Now, I thought, I could fancy myself an actress. 

'They engaged some of the professional actors at the theatre to teach usour parts, to arrange the scenery, and to help us to do everything in thebest possible manner. I had to go up to the Roehunters' again and again tolearn my part of the performance. And there it was, Rosalie dear, that Imet your father. He was one of the actors whom they employed. 

'You can guess what came next, my darling. Your father saw how well I couldact, and how passionately fond I was of it; and by degrees he found out howmuch I should like to do it always, instead of leading my humdrum life athome. So he used to meet me in the street, and talk to me about it, and hetold me that if I would only come with him, I should have a life ofpleasure and excitement, and never know what care was. And he arranged thatthe day after these private theatricals we should run away and be married. 

'Oh, darling, I shall never forget that day! I arrived home late at night, or rather early in the morning, worn out with the evening's entertainment. I had been much praised for the way I had performed my part, and some ofthe company had declared I should make a first-rate actress, and I thoughtto myself that they little knew how soon I was to become one. As I drovehome, I felt in a perfect whirl of excitement. The day had come at last. Was I glad? I hardly knew--I tried to think I was; but somehow I felt sickat heart; I could not shake that feeling off, and as I walked upstairs, Ifelt perfectly miserable. 

'My mother had gone to bed; and I never saw her again! Lucy was fastasleep, lying with her hand under her cheek, sleeping peacefully. I stood aminute or two looking at her. Her little Bible was lying beside her, forshe had been reading it the last thing before she went to sleep. Oh, Rosalie, I would have given anything to change places with Lucy then! Butit was too late now; Augustus was to meet me outside the house, and we wereto be married at a church in the town that very morning. Our names had beenposted up in the register office some weeks before. 

'I turned away from Lucy, and began putting some things together to takewith me, and I hid them under the bed, lest Lucy should wake and see them. It was no use going to bed, for I had not got home from the theatricalstill three o'clock, and in two hours Augustus would come. So I scribbled alittle note to my mother, telling her that when she received it I should bemarried, and that I would call and see her in a few days. Then I put outthe light, lest it should wake my sister, and sat waiting in the dark. And, Rosie dear, that star--the same star that I had seen that night when I wasa little girl, and had told that lie--that same star came and looked in atthe window. And again it seemed to me like the eye of God. 

'I felt so frightened, that once I thought I would not go. I almostdetermined to write Augustus a note giving it up; but I thought that hewould laugh at me for being such a coward, and I tried to picture to myselfonce more how fine it would be to be a real actress, and be always praisedas I had been last night. 

'Then I got up, and drew down the blind, that I might hide the star fromsight. I was so glad to see it beginning to get light, for I knew that thestar would fade away, and that Augustus would soon come. 

'At last the church clock struck five, so I took my carpetbag from underthe bed, wrapped myself up in a warm shawl, and, leaving my note on thedressing-table, prepared to go downstairs. But I turned back when I got tothe door, to look once more at my sister Lucy. And, Rosalie darling, as Ilooked, I felt as if my tears would choke me. I wiped them hastily away, however, and crept downstairs. Every creaking board made me jump andtremble lest I should be discovered, and at every turning I expected to seesome one watching me. But no one appeared; I got down safely, and, cautiously unbolting the hall door, I stole quietly out into the street, and soon found Augustus, who carried my bag under his arm, and that morningwe were married. 

'And then my troubles began. It was not half as pleasant being an actressas I had thought it would be. I knew nothing then of the life behind thescenes. I did not know how tired I should be, nor what a comfortless life Ishould lead. 

'Oh, Rosalie, I was soon sick of it. I would have given worlds to be backin my old home. I would have given worlds to lead that quiet, peaceful lifeagain. I was much praised and applauded in the theatre; but after a time Icared very little for it; and as for the acting itself, I became thoroughlysick of it. Oh, Rosalie dear, I have often and often fallen asleep, unableto undress myself from weariness, after acting in the play; and again andagain I have wished that I had never seen the inside of a theatre, andnever known anything of the wretched life of an actress!

'We stopped for some time in the town where my mother lived, for Augustushad an engagement in a theatre there, and he procured one for me. We hadmiserable lodgings, and often were very badly off. I called at home a fewdays after I was married; but the servant shut the door in my face, sayingthat my mother never wished to see me again, or to hear my name mentioned. I used to walk up and down outside, trying to catch a glimpse of my sisterLucy; but she was never allowed to go out alone, and I could not get anopportunity of speaking to her. All my old friends passed me in thestreet--even the Roehunters would take no notice of me whatever. 

'And then your father lost his engagement at the theatre, --I need not tell you why, Rosalie darling, --and we left the town. And thenI began to know what poverty meant. We travelled from place to place, sometimes getting occasional jobs at small town theatres, sometimesstopping at a town for a few months, and then being dismissed, andtravelling on for weeks without hearing of any employment. 

'And then it was that your little brother was born. Such a pretty baby hewas, and I named him Arthur after my father. I was very, very poor when hewas born, and I could hardly get clothes for him to wear, but oh, Rosaliedarling, I loved him very much! I wrote to my mother to tell her about it, and that baby was to be christened after my father; but she sent back myletter unread, and I never wrote to her again. And one day, when I took upa newspaper, I saw my mother's death in it; and I heard afterwards that shesaid on her dying bed that I was not to be told of her death till she wasput under the ground, for I had been a disgrace and a shame to the family. And that, they said, was the only time that she mentioned me, after theweek that I ran away. 

'My sister Lucy wrote me a very kind letter after my mother died, and sentme some presents; but I was sorry for it afterwards, for your father keptwriting to her for money, and telling her long tales about the distress Iwas in, to make her send us more. 

'She often sent us money; but I felt as if I could not bear to take it. Andshe used to write me such beautiful letters--to beg me to come to Jesus, and to remember what my father had said to us when he died. She said Jesushad made her happy, and would make me happy too. I often think now of whatshe said, Rosalie. 

'Well, after a time I heard that Lucy was married to a clergyman, and yourfather heard it too, and he kept writing to her and asking her for moneyagain and again. And at last came a letter from her husband, in which hesaid that he was very sorry to be obliged to tell us that his wife could dono more for us; and he requested that no more letters on the same subjectmight be addressed to her, as they would receive no reply. 

'Your father wrote again; but they did not answer it, and since then theyhave left the town where they were living, and he lost all clue to them. And, Rosalie darling, I hope he will never find them again. I cannot bearto be an annoyance to my sister Lucy--my dear little sister Lucy. 

'As for Gerald, he has taken no notice of us at all. Your father haswritten to him from time to time, but his letters have always been returnedto him. 

'Well, so we went on, getting poorer and poorer. Once your father took asituation as a post-master in a small country village, and there was a ladythere who was very kind to me. She used to come and see my little Arthur;he was very delicate, and at last he took a dreadful cold, and it settledon his chest, and my poor little lamb died. And, Rosalie darling, when Iburied him under a little willow-tree in that country churchyard, I felt asif I had nothing left to live for. 

'We did not stay in that village long; we were neither of us used tokeeping accounts, and we got them in a complete muddle. So I had to leavebehind my little grave, and the only home we ever had. 

'Then your father fell in with a strolling actor, who was in the habit offrequenting fairs, and between them, by selling their furniture, and almosteverything they possessed, they bought some scenery and a caravan, andstarted a travelling theatre. And when the man died, Rosalie, he left hisshare of it to your father. 

'So the last twelve years, my darling, I've been moving about from place toplace, just as we are doing now. And in this caravan, my little girl, youwere born. I was very ill a long time after that, and could not take myplace in the theatre, and, for many reasons, that was the most miserablepart of my miserable life. 

'And now, little woman, I've told you all I need tell you at present;perhaps some day I can give you more particulars; but you will have someidea now why I am so utterly wretched. 

'Yes, utterly wretched!' said the poor woman, 'no hope for this world, andno hope for the next. '

'Poor, poor mammie!' said little Rosalie, stroking her hand very gently andtenderly--'poor mammie dear!'

'It's all my own fault, child, ' said her mother; 'I've brought it all uponmy self, and I've no one but myself to blame. '

'Poor, poor mammie!' said Rosalie again. 

Then the sick woman seemed quite exhausted, and lay upon her bed for sometime without speaking or moving. Rosalie sat by the door of the caravan, and sang softly to herself--

 'Jesus, I Thy face am seeking, Early will I come to Thee. '

'Oh, Rosalie, ' said her mother, looking round, 'I didn't come to Himearly--oh, if I only had! Mind you do, Rosie; it's so much easier for younow than when you get to be old and wicked like me. '

'Is that what "In the sunshine of the morning" means, in the next verse, mammie dear?'

'Yes, Rosalie, ' said her mother; 'it means when you're young and happy. Oh, dear, dear! if I'd only come to Him then!'

'Why don't you come now, mammie dear?'

'I don't know; I don't expect He would take me now; oh, I have been such asinner! There are other things, child, I have not told you about; and theyare all coming back to my mind now. I don't know how it is, Rosalie, Inever thought so much of them before. '

'Perhaps the Good Shepherd is beginning to find you, mammie. '

'I don't know, Rosalie; I wish I could think that. Anyhow, they are allrising up as clear as if I saw them all; some of them are things I didyears and years ago, even when I was a little girl in that old home in thecountry; they are all coming hack to me now, and oh, I am so very, verymiserable!'

'Rosalie, ' said her father's voice, at the door of the caravan, 'come intothe next waggon. We've a new play on at this town, and you have your partto learn. Come away!'

So Rosalie had to leave her poor mother; and instead of singing thesoothing words of the hymn, she had to repeat again and again the foolishand senseless words which had fallen to her share in the new play which herfather was getting up. Over and over again she repeated them, till she wasweary of their very sound, her father scolding her if she made a mistake, or failed to give each word its proper emphasis. And when she was released, it was time to get tea ready; and then they halted for the night at a smallmarket-town, just eight miles from Lesborough, where they were next toperform, and which they were to enter the next morning, as the fair beganon Monday. 

CHAPTER VII

THE CIRCUS PROCESSION

It was a bright, sunshiny morning when the theatre party reachedLesborough. Not a cloud was to be seen in the sky, and Augustus was incapital spirits, for he thought that if the fine weather lasted, hisprofits would be larger than usual. 

On the road leading to the town they passed several small shows bound forthe same destination. There was the show of 'The Lancashire Lass, ''TheExhibition of the Performing Little Pigs, ''Roderick Polglaze's LivingCuriosities, ' and 'The Show of the Giant Horse. ' Augustus knew theproprietor of nearly every caravan that passed them, and they exchangedgreetings by the way, and congratulated each other on the fine weatherwhich seemed to be before them. 

Then they drew near the town, and heard a tremendous noise in the distance. As they entered the main street, they saw a cloud of dust in front of them, and then an immense crowd of people. Rosalie and her mother came to thedoor of the caravan and looked out. 

Presently the dust cleared away, and showed them a glittering gilded car, which was coming towards them, surrounded by throngs of boys and girls, menand women. 

'What is it, Toby?' asked Rosalie. 

'It's a large circus, Miss Rosie; master said they were going to be here, and he was afraid they would carry a good many people off from us. '

The theatre party had to draw up on one side of the street to let the longprocession pass. 

First came a gilded car filled with musicians, who were playing a noisytune. This was followed by about a dozen men on horseback, some dressed inshining armour, as knights of the olden time, and others as cavaliers ofthe time of the Stuarts. 

Then came another large gilded car, on the top of which was a goldendragon, with coloured reins round its neck, which were held by an old man, dressed as an ancient Briton, and supposed to personate St. George. Thencame a number of mounted ladies, dressed in brilliant velvet habits, onegreen, one red, one yellow, one violet; each of them holding long orangereins, which were fastened to spirited piebald horses, which they drovebefore them. 

These were followed by a man riding on two ponies, standing with one leg oneach, and going at a great pace. Then two little girls and a little boypassed on three diminutive ponies, and next a tiny carriage, drawn by fourlittle cream-coloured horses, and driven by a boy dressed as the LordMayor's coachman. 

Then came an absurd succession of clowns, driving, riding, or standing ondonkeys, and dressed in hideous costumes. Then, three or four very tall andfine horses, led by grooms in scarlet. 

And lastly, an enormous gilded car, drawn by six piebald horses, withcoloured flags on their heads. On the top of this car sat a girl, intendedfor Britannia, dressed in white, with a scarlet scarf across her shoulders, a helmet on her head, and a trident in her hand. She was leaning againsttwo large shields, which alone prevented her from falling from her giddyheight. Some way below her, in front of the car, sat her two maidens, dressed in glittering silver tinsel, upon which the rays of the sun made itdazzling to look; whilst behind her, clinging on to the back of the car, were two iron-clad men, whose scaly armour was also shining brightly. 

Then the procession was over, and there was nothing to be heard or seen buta noisy rabble, who were hastening on to get another glimpse of thewonderful sight. 

There were some girls standing near the caravan, close to Rosalie and hermother, as the circus procession passed, and they were perfectly enrapturedwith all they saw. When Britannia came in sight, they could hardly containthemselves, so envious were they of her. One of them told the other shewould give anything to be sitting up there, dressed in gold and silver, andshe thought Britannia must be as happy as Queen Victoria. 

'Oh, ' said Rosalie's mother, leaning out and speaking in a low voice, 'youwould _soon_ get tired of it. '

'Not I, ' said the girl; 'I only wish I had the chance. '

Rosalie's mother sighed, and said to Rosalie, 'Poor things! they littleknow; I should not wonder if that poor girl is about as wretched as I am. But people don't consider; they know nothing about it; they have to bebehind the scenes to know what it is like. '

Nothing further happened until the theatre party reached the place wherethe fair was to be held. It was a large open square in the middle of thetown, which was generally used as a market-place. Although it was onlySaturday morning, and the fair was not to begin until Monday, many of theshows had already arrived. The marionettes and the wild-beast show hadcompleted their arrangements, and one of the whirligigs was already inaction, and from time to time its proprietor rang a large bell, to calltogether a fresh company of riders. 

The children had a holiday, as it was Saturday, and they rushed home andclamoured for pennies, that they might spend them in sitting on a woodenhorse, or elephant, or camel, or in one of the small omnibuses or opencarriages, and then being taken round by means of steam at a tremendouspace, till their breath was nearly gone; and when they alighted once moreon the ground, they hardly knew where they were, or whether they werestanding on their heads or on their feet. And for long after many of thesechildren were dizzy and sick, and felt as if they were walking on groundwhich gave way beneath them as they trod on it. 

As soon as Augustus arrived at the place where his theatre was to beerected, he and his men began their work. For the next few hours there wasnothing to be heard on all sides but rapping and hammering, every oneworking with all his might to get everything finished before sunset. Eachhalf hour fresh shows arrived, had their ground measured out for them bythe market-keeper, and began to unload and fasten up immediately. 

Rosalie stood at the door and looked out; but she had seen it all so oftenbefore that it was no amusement to her, and she felt very glad, as, one byone, the shows were finished and the hammering ceased. 

But, just as she hoped that all was becoming quiet, she heard a dreadfulnoise at the back of the caravan. It was her father's voice, and he was ina towering passion with one of the men, who had annoyed him by neglectingto put up part of the scaffolding properly. The two men shouted at eachother for some time, and a large number of people, who were strolling aboutamongst the shows, collected round them to see what was the matter. 

At length a policeman, seeing the crowd, came and ordered them off, andthey were obliged to retreat inside the theatre. 

That night Augustus came into the caravan to smoke his pipe, and informedhis wife that it was very well she was so much better, for he and Conradhad had a disagreement, and Conrad had taken his things and gone off, so ofcourse she would have to take her part on Monday night. 

Rosalie looked at her mother, and Rosalie's mother looked at her, butneither of them spoke. 

But as soon as her father had left them for the night, Rosalie said--

'Mammie dear, you'll _never_ be able to stand all that long, longtime; I'm sure it will make you worse, mammie dear. '

'Never mind, Rosalie; it's no use telling your father, he thinks I am onlycomplaining if I do. '

'But oh, mammie dear, what if it makes you bad again, as it did before ?'

'It can't be helped, child; I shall have to do it, so it's no use talkingabout it; I may as well do it without making a fuss about it; your fatheris put out to-night, darling, and it would never do to annoy him more. '

But little Rosalie was not satisfied, she looked very tenderly andsorrowfully at her mother; and the next morning she went timidly to tellher father that she did not think her mother would ever get through herpart, she was too weak for it. But he told her shortly to mind her ownbusiness; so little Rosalie could do nothing more--nothing, except watchher mother very carefully and gently all that long, dreary Sunday, scarcelyallowing her to rise from her seat, but fetching her everything she wanted, and looking forward, sick at heart, to the morrow. 

The church-bells chimed in all directions, crowds of people in their Sundayclothes passed along the market-place to church or chapel; but to Rosalieand her mother Sunday brought no joy. 

It was a fine, bright day, so most of the show-people were roaming aboutthe town; but Rosalie's mother was too weak to go out, and her little girldid not like to leave her. 

'Rosalie, ' said her mother that Sunday afternoon, 'I'm going to give you apresent. '

'A present for me, mammie dear?' said Rosalie. 

'Yes, little woman. Pull that large box from under the bed. It's ratherheavy, dear; can you manage it ?'

'Oh yes, mammie dear, quite well. '

Rosalie's mother sat down by the box, and began to unpack it. At the top ofthe box were some of her clothes and Rosalie's; but it was a long timesince she had turned out the things at the bottom of the box. She took outfrom it a small bundle pinned up in a towel, then, calling Rosalie to herside, she drew out the pins one by one, and opened it. Inside were severalsmall parcels carefully tied up in paper. 

In the first parcel was a little pair of blue shoes, with a tiny red sock. 

'Those were my little Arthur's, Rosalie, ' said her mother, with tears inher eyes; 'I put them away the day he was buried, and I've never liked topart with them. No one will care for them when I'm gone, though, ' said she, with a sigh. 

'Oh, mammie dear, ' said Rosalie, 'don't talk so!'

The next parcel contained a small square box; but before she opened it, shewent to the door and looked cautiously out. Then, after seeing that no onewas near, she touched a spring, and took out of the velvet-lined case abeautiful little locket. There was a circle of pearls all round it, and theletters N. E. H. Were engraved in a monogram outside. 

Then she opened the locket, and showed Rosalie the picture of a girl with avery sweet and gentle face, and large, soft brown eyes. 

'Rosalie darling, ' said her mother, 'that is my sister Lucy. '

Rosalie took the locket in her hand, and looked at it very earnestly. 

'Yes, ' said the poor woman, 'that is my sister Lucy--my own sister Lucy. Ihaven't looked at it for many a day; I can hardly bear to look at it now, for I shall never see her again--never, darling! What's that, Rosalie?' shesaid fearfully, covering the locket with her apron, as some one passed thecaravan. 

'It's only some men strolling through the fair, mammie dear, ' said Rosalie. 

'Because I wouldn't have your father see this for the world; he would soonsell it if he did. I've hid it up all these years, and never let him findit. I could not bear to part with it; she gave it to me my last birthdaythat I was at home. I remember it so well, Rosalie dear; I had been verydisagreeable to Lucy a long time before that, for I knew I was doing wrong, and I had such a weight on my mind that I could not shake it off, and itmade me cross and irritable. 

'Lucy was never cross with me, she always spoke gently and kindly to me;and I sometimes even wished she would be angry, that I might have someexcuse for my bad behaviour. 

'Well, dear, when I woke that morning, I found this little box laid on mypillow, and a note with it, asking me to accept this little gift from mysister Lucy, and always to keep it for her sake. Oh, Rosalie darling, wasn't it good of her, when I had been so bad to her?

'Well, I kissed her, and thanked her for it, and I wore it round my neck;and when I ran away that morning, I put it safely in my bag, and I've keptit ever since. Your father has not seen it for many years, and he hasforgotten all about it. When we were so poor, I used to be so afraid hewould remember this locket and sell it, as he did all my other jewels. Itwas hard enough parting with some of them; but I did not care so much solong as I kept this one, for I promised Lucy that morning that I would_never_, _never_ part with it. '

'It is pretty, mammie dear, ' said Rosalie. 

'Yes, child; it will be yours some day, when I die; remember, it is foryou; but you must never let it be sold or pawned, Rosalie, I couldn't bearto think it ever would be. And now we'll put it back again, it won't besafe here; your father might come in any minute. '

'Here's one more parcel, mammie. '

'Yes, keep that out, dear; that's your present, ' said her mother. 'I can'tgive you the locket yet, because I must keep it till I die; but you shallhave the other to-day. '

She took off the paper, and put into Rosalie's hands a small blackTestament. The child opened the book, and read on the fly-leaf, 'Mrs. Augustus Joyce. From her friend Mrs. Bernard, in remembrance of littleArthur, and with the prayer that she may meet her child in heaven. '

'I promised her that I would read it, Rosalie; but I haven't, ' said thepoor woman. 'I read a few verses the first week she gave it to me, but I'venever read it since. I wish I had--oh, I _do_ wish I had!'

'Let me read it to you, mammie dear. '

'That's what I got it out for, darling; you might read a bit of it to meevery day; I don't know whether it will do me any good, it's almost toolate now, but I can but try. '

'Shall I begin at once, mammie dear?'

'Yes, directly, Rosalie; I'll just write your name in it, that you mayalways remember your mother when you see it. '

So Rosalie brought her a pen and ink, and she wrote at the bottom of thepage--'My little Rosalie, with her mother's love. '

'And now, child, you may begin to read. '

'What shall it be, mammie dear?'

'Find the part about your picture, dear; I should think it will say underthe text where it is. '

With some trouble Rosalie found Luke xv. And began to read--

'And He spake this parable unto them, saying, What man of you, having anhundred sheep, if he lose one of them, doth not leave the ninety and ninein the wilderness, and go after that which is lost, until he find it? Andwhen he hath found it, he layeth it on his shoulders, rejoicing. And whenhe cometh home, he calleth together his friends and neighbours, saying untothem, Rejoice with me; for I have found my sheep which was lost. I say untoyou, that likewise joy shall be in heaven over one sinner that repenteth, more than over ninety and nine just persons, which need no repentance. '

'_I_ need repentance, Rosalie, child, ' said her mother. 

'What is repentance, mammie dear?'

'It means being sorry for what you've done, Rosalie darling, and hatingyourself for it, and wishing never to do wrong again. '

'Then, mammie, if you need repentance, you must be like the _one_sheep, not like the ninety-nine. '

'Yes, child, I'm a lost sheep, there's no doubt about that; I've gone veryfar astray, --so far that I don't suppose I shall ever get back again; it'smuch easier to get wrong than to get right; it's a _very, very_ hardthing to find the right road when you've once missed it; it doesn't seemmuch use my trying to get back, I have such a long way to go. '

'But, mammie dear, isn't it just like the sheep?'

'What do you mean, Rosalie darling?'

'Why, the sheep couldn't find its way back, could it, mammie? sheep nevercan find their way. And this sheep didn't walk back; did it? He carried iton His shoulder, like my picture; I don't suppose it would seem so very farwhen He carried it. '

Rosalie's mother made no answer when her child said this, but she seemed tobe thinking about it. She sat looking thoughtfully out of the window; much, very much was passing in her mind. Then Rosalie closed the Testament, and, wrapping it carefully in the paper in which it had been kept so many years, she hid it away in the box again. 

It was Sunday evening now, and once more the church-bells rang, and oncemore the people went past with books in their hands. Rosalie wished verymuch that she could creep into one of the churches and hear another sermon. But just then her father and the men came back and wanted their tea; and, instead of the quiet service, Rosalie had to listen to their loud talkingand noisy laughter. 

And then her father sent for her into the large caravan, and made her gothrough her part of the play. She was just finishing her recital as thepeople passed back again from evening service. 

CHAPTER VIII

LITTLE MOTHER MANIKIN

It was Monday night, and Rosalie's mother was dressing herself, to be readyto act in the play. Rosalie was standing beside her, setting out the foldsof her white dress, and fetching everything she needed; her large necklaceof pearl beads, the wreath of white lilies for her hair, and the bracelets, rings, and other articles of mock jewellery with which she was adorned. Allthese Rosalie brought to her, and the poor woman put them on one by one, standing before the tiny looking-glass to arrange them in their properplaces. 

It was a very thin, sorrowful face which that glass reflected; so ill andcareworn, so weary and sad. As soon as she was ready, she sat down on oneof the boxes, whilst Rosalie dressed herself. 

'Oh, mammie dear, ' said Rosalie, 'I'm sure you are not fit to actto-night. '

'Hush, Rosalie!' said her mother; 'don't speak of that now. Come and sitbeside me, darling, and let me do your hair for you; and before we go, Rosalie dear, sing your little hymn. '

Rosalie tried to sing it; but somehow her voice trembled, and she could notsing it very steadily. There was such a sad expression in her mother'sface, that, in the midst of the hymn, little Rosalie burst into tears, andthrew her arms round her mother's neck. 

'Don't cry, darling, don't cry!' said her mother; 'what is the matter withyou, Rosalie?'

'Oh, mammie dear, I don't want you to go to-night!'

'Hush, little one!' said her mother; 'don't speak of that. Listen to me, dear; I want you to make your mother a promise to-night. I want you topromise me that, if ever you can escape from this life of misery, you willdo so; it's not good for you, darling, all this wretched acting--and oh, itmakes my heart ache every time you have to go to it. You'll leave it if youcan, Rosalie; won't you?'

'Yes, mammie dear, if you'll come with me, ' said little Rosalie. 

The poor mother shook her head sorrowfully. 

'No, dear; I shall never leave the caravan now. I chose this life myself; Ichose to live here, darling; and here I shall have to die. But you didn'tchoose it, child; and I pray every day that God may save you from it. Youremember that little village where we passed through, where you got yourcard?'

'Yes, mammie dear--where we had the milk and bread. '

'Do you remember a house which I sent you to look at?'

'Oh yes, mammie dear--the house with a pretty garden, and a lady and herlittle girl gathering roses. '

'That lady was my sister Lucy, Rosalie. '

'Aunt Lucy?' said Rosalie; 'was it, mammie dear? And was that little girlmy cousin?'

'Yes, darling; I knew it was your Aunt Lucy as soon as that young womanmentioned her name. Lucy married a Mr. Leslie; and it was just like her toread to those people in the cottages, just as she used to do when we livedin that town of which I told you. '

'Then I've really seen her?' said Rosalie. 

'Yes, darling; and now I want you to promise me that, if ever you have theopportunity of getting to your Aunt Lucy without your father knowing it, you'll go. I've written a letter to her, dear, and I've hid it away in thatbox, inside the case where the locket is. And if ever you can go to yourAunt Lucy, give her that letter; you will, won't you, Rosalie? and show herthat locket; she will remember it as soon as she sees it; and tell her, darling, that I never, never parted with it all these long, dreary years. '

'But why won't you come with me, mammie dear?'

'Don't ask me that now, darling; it's nearly time for us to go into thetheatre. But before you go, just read those verses about your picture oncethrough; we shall just about have time for it before your father comes. '

So Rosalie read once more the parable of the Lost Sheep. 

'Rosalie, child, ' said her mother, when she had finished, 'there are fourwords in that story which I've had in my mind, oh, so many times, since youread it last. '

'What are they, mammie dear?'

'"Until He find it, " Rosalie. All last night I lay awake coughing, and Ikept thinking there was no hope for me; it was no use my asking the GoodShepherd to look for me. But all of a sudden those words came back to mejust as if some one had said them to me. "Until He find it--until He findit. He goeth after that which is lost until He find it. " It seems Hedoesn't give up at once, He goes on looking until He find it. And then itseemed to me, Rosalie--I don't know if I was right, I don't know if I evendare hope it--but it seemed to me last night that perhaps, if He takes suchpains and looks so long, if He goes on _until He find it_, there mighteven be a chance for me. '

'Are you ready?' said Augustus' voice, at the door of the caravan; 'we'rejust going to begin. '

Rosalie and her mother jumped hastily up, and, thrusting the Testament intothe box, they hurried down the caravan steps and went into the theatre. There were still a few minutes before the performance commenced; andRosalie made her mother sit down on a chair in the little room behind thestage, that she might rest as long as possible. 

Several of the company came up to the poor woman, and asked her how shewas, in tones which spoke of rough though kindly sympathy. Rosalie lookedearnestly in their faces, and read there that they did not think her motherequal to her work; and it filled her little heart with sorrowfulforebodings. 

She had never seen her mother look more lovely than she did at thebeginning of the play; there was a bright colour in her face, and herbeautiful eyes shone more brilliantly than ever before. Rosalie reallyhoped she must be better, to look so well as that. But there was a weary, sorrowful expression in her face, which went to the child's heart. Hermother repeated the words of the play as if they were extremely distastefulto her, and as if she could hardly bear the sound of her own voice. In hereyes there was a wistful yearning, as if she were looking at and longingfor something far, far away from the noisy theatre. She never smiled at thebursts of applause; she repeated her part almost mechanically, and, fromtime to time, Rosalie saw her mother's eyes fill with tears. She crept toher side, and put her little hand in hers as they went up to the platformafter the first performance was over. 

Her mother's hand was burning with fever, and yet she shivered from head tofoot as they went out on the platform into the chill night air. 

'Oh, mammie dear, ' said Rosalie, in a whisper, 'you ought to go back to thecaravan now. '

But Rosalie's mother shook her head mournfully. 

About half-way through the next play there came a long piece which Rosaliehad to recite alone, the piece which her father had been teaching herduring the last week. She was just half-way through it, when, suddenly, hereyes fell on her mother, who was standing at the opposite side of the stagein a tragical position. All the colour had gone from her face, and itseemed to Rosalie that each moment her face was growing whiter and moredeathlike. She quite forgot the words she was saying, all remembrance ofthem faded from her mind. She came to a sudden stop. Her father'spromptings were all in vain, she could hear nothing he said, she could seenothing but her mother's sorrowful and ghastly face. 

And then her mother fell, and some of the actors carried her from the room. Rosalie rushed forward to follow her, and the noise in the theatre becamedeafening. But she was stopped on the stairs by her father, who blamed hermost cruelly for breaking down in her part, and ordered her to returnimmediately and finish, accompanying his command with most awfulthreatenings if she refused to obey. 

Poor little Rosalie went on with her recital, trembling in every limb. Hermother's place was taken by another actor, and the play went on as before. But Rosalie's heart was not there. It was filled with a terrible, sickeningdread. What had become of her mother? Who was with her? Were they takingcare of her? And then a horrible fear came over her lest her mother shouldbe dead--lest when she went into the caravan again she should only see hermother's body stretched upon the bed--lest she should never, never hear hermother speak to her again. 

As soon as the play was over, she went up to her father, and, in spite ofthe annoyed expression of his face, begged him to allow her to leave thetheatre and to go to her mother. But he told her angrily that she hadspoilt his profits quite enough for one night, and she must take care howshe dared to do so again. 

Oh, what a long night that seemed to Rosalie! When they went out on theplatform between the performances, she gazed earnestly in the direction ofher mother's caravan. A light seemed to be burning inside, but more thanthat Rosalie could not see. 

It seemed as if the long hours would never pass away. Each time she wentthrough her recital, she felt glad that she had at least once less to sayit. Each time that the Town Hall clock struck, she counted the hours beforethe theatre would close. And yet, when all was over, and when Rosalie wasat length allowed to return to the caravan, she hardly dared to enter it. What would she find within?

Was her mother dead, and was her father hiding it from her till her partwas over, lest she should break down again?

Very, very gently she opened the door. There was a candle burning on thetable, and by its light Rosalie could see her mother lying on the bed. Shewas very pale, and her eyes were tightly closed. But she was breathing, shewas not dead. The relief was so great that Rosalie burst into tears. 

When she first came into the caravan, she thought that her mother wasalone, but a small hoarse whisper came from the corner of the caravan--

'Don't be frightened, my dear, ' said the voice; 'it's only me. Toby told meabout your mother, and so I came to sit with her till you came. '

Rosalie walked to her mother's side, and on the box by the bed she found alittle creature about three feet high, with a very old and wrinkled face. 

'Who are you?' said Rosalie. 

'I belong to the Dwarf Show, my dear, ' said the old woman. 'There are fourof us there, and not one of us more than three feet high. '

'But isn't it going on to-night?' said Rosalie. 

'Yes, it's going on, my dear; it always goes on, ' said the tiny old woman;but I'm old and ugly, you see, so I can be better spared than the others. Ionly go in sometimes, my dear; old age must have its liberties, you see. '

'Thank you so much for taking care of my mother, ' said Rosalie; 'has shespoken to you yet?'

'Yes, my dear, ' said the old woman; 'she spoke once, but I couldn't wellhear what she said. I tried to reach up near to her mouth to listen; butyou see I'm only three feet high, so I couldn't quite manage it. I thoughtit was something about a sheep, but of course it couldn't be that, my dear;there are no sheep here. '

'Oh yes, ' said Rosalie, 'that would be it; we had been reading about sheepbefore we went into the theatre. '

Just then a noise was heard at the door of the caravan, and Augustusentered. He went up to his wife, and felt her pulse; then he muttered--

'She's all right now. Let her have a good sleep; that's all she wants, Rosalie. '

He looked curiously at the dwarf, and then left the caravan and shut thedoor. 

'Rosalie, ' said the tiny old woman when he had gone, 'I'll stop with youto-night, if you like. '

'Oh would you?' said little Rosalie; 'I should be so glad!'

She felt as if she could not bear all those long, dark hours alone, besideher unconscious mother. 

'Yes, ' said the dwarf, 'I'll stay; only you must go and tell them in ourtent. Can you find it, do you think?'

'Where is it?' said Rosalie. 

The little old woman described the situation of the tent, and Rosalie put ashawl over her head, and went in search of it. There were some stalls stilllighted up, and the flaring naphtha showed Rosalie an immense picturehanging over the tent, representing a number of diminutive men and women;and above the picture there was a board, on which was written in largeletters--'The Royal Show of Dwarfs. '

Rosalie had some difficulty in finding the entrance to this show. Shegroped round it several times, pulling at the canvas in different places, but all to no purpose. Then she heard voices within, laughing and talking. Going as near to these as possible, she put her mouth to a hole in thecanvas, and called out--

'Please will you let me in? I've brought a message from the little ladythat lives here. '

There was a great shuffling in the tent after this, and a clinking andchinking of money; then a piece of the canvas was pulled aside, and alittle squeaky voice called out--

'Come in, whoever you are, and let us hear what you've got to say. '

So Rosalie crept in through the canvas, and stepped into the middle of thetent. 

It was a curious scene which she saw when she looked round. Three littledwarfs stood before her, dressed in the most extraordinary costumes, andfar above over their heads there towered a tall and very thin giant. Notone of the tiny dwarfs came up to his elbow. On the floor were scatteredtiny tables, diminutive chairs, and dolls' umbrellas, which the littlepeople had been using in their performance. 

'What is it, my dear?' said the giant loftily, as Rosalie entered. 

'Please, ' said Rosalie, 'I've brought a message from the little lady thatbelongs to this show. '

'Mother Manikin, ' said one of the dwarfs, in an explanatory tone. 

'Yes, Mother Manikin, ' repeated the giant, and the two other dwarfs noddedtheir heads in assent. 

'My mother's very ill, ' said Rosalie, 'and she's taking care of her; andshe's going to stay all night, and I was to tell you. '

'All right, ' said the giant majestically. 

'All right, all right, all right, ' echoed the three little dwarfs. 

Then the two lady dwarfs seized Rosalie by the hand, and wanted her to sitdown and have supper with them. But Rosalie steadily declined; she must notleave her mother nor Mother Manikin. 

'Quite right, ' said the giant, in a superior voice; 'quite right, child. '

'Quite right, child, quite right, ' repeated the three little dwarfs. 

Then they escorted Rosalie to the door of the show, and bowed hergracefully out. 

'Tell Mother Manikin not to come home in daylight, ' called the giant, asRosalie was disappearing through the canvas. 

'No, no, ' said the three dwarfs; 'not in daylight!'

'Why not?' said Rosalie. 

'Our pennies, ' said the giant mysteriously. 

'Yes, our pennies and halfpennies for seeing the show, ' repeated thedwarfs; 'we must not make ourselves too cheap. '

'Good-night, child, ' said the giant. 

'Good-night, child, ' said the dwarfs. 

Sorrowful as she was, they almost made Rosalie smile, they were such tinylittle creatures to call her 'child' in that superior manner. But shehastened back to the caravan, and after telling Mother Manikin that she haddelivered her message to her friends, she took up her place by her mother'sside. 

It was a great comfort having little Mother Manikin there, she was so kindand considerate, so thoughtful and clever, and she always seemed to knowexactly what was wanted, though Rosalie's mother was too weak to ask foranything. 

All night long the poor woman lay still, sometimes entirely unconscious, atother times opening her eyes and trying to smile at poor little Rosalie, who was sitting at the foot of the bed. Mother Manikin did everything thathad to be done. She was evidently accustomed to a sickroom and knew thebest way of making those she nursed comfortable. She climbed on a chair andarranged the pillows, so that the sick woman could breathe most easily. Andafter a time she made the poor tired child take off her white dress, andlie down at the foot of the bed, wrapped in a woollen shawl. And in a fewminutes Rosalie fell asleep. 

When she awoke, the grey light was stealing in at the caravan window. Sheraised herself on the bed and looked round. At first she thought she wasdreaming, but presently the recollection of the night before came back toher. There was her mother sleeping quietly on the bed, and there was littleMother Manikin sitting faithfully at her post, never having allowed herselfto sleep all that long night, lest the sick woman should wake and wantsomething which she could not get. 

'Oh, Mother Manikin, ' said Rosalie, getting down from the bed and throwingher arms round the little old woman's neck, 'how good you are!'

'Hush, child!' said the dwarf; 'don't wake your mother; she's sleeping sopeacefully now, and has been for the last hour. '

'I'm so glad!' said Rosalie. 'Do you think she will soon be better, MotherManikin?'

'I can't say, my dear; we'll leave that just now. Tell me what that pictureis about up there? I've been looking at it all night. '

'Oh, that's my picture, ' said Rosalie; 'that shepherd has been looking forthat lamb all over, and at last he has found it, and is carrying it home onhis shoulder; and he is so glad it is found, though he has hurt himselfvery much in looking for it. '

'And what is that reading underneath?' said the little old woman. 'I can'tread, my dear, you see; I am no scholar. '

'"Rejoice with Me; for I have found My sheep which was lost. There is joyin the presence of the angels of God over one sinner that repenteth. "'

'What does that mean, child?' said the old woman. 

'It means Jesus is like the shepherd, and He is looking for us, MotherManikin; and it makes Him so glad when He finds us. '

The dwarf nodded her head in assent. 

'We ask Him every day to find us, Mother Manikin--mammie and me; and thestory says He will look for us until He finds us. Shall I read it to you?It's what mammie and I were reading before we went in to the play. '

Rosalie went to the box and brought out the little black Testament, andthen, sitting at Mother Manikin's feet, she read her favourite story of thelost sheep. 

'Has he found you, Mother Manikin?' she said, as she closed the book. 

The little dwarf put her head on one side, and smoothed her tiny greycurls, but made no answer. Rosalie was almost afraid she had vexed her, anddid not like to say anything more. But a long time afterwards--so long thatRosalie had been thinking of a dozen things since--Mother Manikin answeredher question, and said in a strange whisper--

'No, child; He _hasn't_ found _me_. '

'Won't you ask Him, dear Mother Manikin?' said Rosalie. 

'Yes, child; I'll begin to-day, ' said the little dwarf. 'I'll begin now, ifyou'll say the words for me. '

Rosalie slipped down from her stool, and, kneeling on the floor of thecaravan, she said aloud--

'O Good Shepherd, you are looking for mammie and me; please look for MotherManikin too; and please put her on your shoulder and carry her home. Amen. '

'Amen!' said old Mother Manikin, in her hoarse whisper. 

She did not talk any more after this. About six o'clock there came a rap onthe caravan door, and a woman in a long cloak appeared, asking if MotherManikin were there. She belonged to the Royal Show of Dwarfs, and she hadcome to take Mother Manikin home before the business of the market-placecommenced. Some men were already passing by to their work; so the womanwrapped Mother Manikin in a shawl, and carried her home like a baby, covering her with her cloak, so that no one should see who she was. Rosaliethanked her with tears in her eyes for all her kindness; and the littlewoman promised soon to come again and see how her patient was. 

CHAPTER IX

THE DOCTOR'S VISIT

Rosalie was not long alone after Mother Manikin left her. There was a rapat the door, and on opening it she found Toby. 

'Miss Rosie, ' he said, 'how is she now?'

'I think she is sleeping quietly, Toby, ' said Rosalie. 

'I would have come before, but I was afraid of disturbing her, ' said Toby. 'I've been thinking of her all night; I didn't get many winks of sleep, Miss Rosie!'

'Oh, Toby, was it you that fetched little Mother Manikin?'

'Yes, Miss Rosie; I used to belong to their show before I came to master;and once I had a fever, and Mother Manikin nursed me all the time I had it, so I knew she would know what to do. '

'She _is_ a kind little thing!' said Rosalie. 

'Yes, missie; she has only got a little body, but there's a great kindheart inside it. But, Miss Rosie, I wanted to tell you something; I'm goingto fetch a doctor to see missis. '

'Oh, Toby! but what will my father say?'

'It's he that has sent me, Miss Rosie; you see, I think he's ashamed. Youshould have seen the men last night, when they were shutting up the theatreafter you had gone away. They went up to master, and gave him a bit oftheir minds about letting missis come on the stage when she was so ill. They told him it was a sin and a shame the way he treated her, taking lesscare of her than if she were one of his old horses (not that he's over andabove good to them neither). Well, master didn't like it, Miss Rosie, andhe was very angry at the time; but this morning, as soon as it was light, he told me to get up at seven o'clock and fetch a doctor to see missis atonce. So I thought I'd better tell you, Miss Rosie, that you might putthings straight before he comes. '

As soon as Toby had gone, Rosalie put the caravan in order, and awaitedanxiously the doctor's arrival. Her father brought him in, and stayed inthe caravan whilst he felt the poor woman's pulse, and asked Rosalieseveral questions about her cough, which from time to time was sodistressing. Then they went out together, and little Rosalie was left insuspense. She had not dared to ask the doctor what he thought of her motherwhen her father was present, and her little heart was full of anxious fear. 

Augustus came in soon after the doctor had left; and Rosalie crept up tohim, and asked what he had said of her mother. 

'He says she is very ill, ' said her father shortly, and in a voice whichtold Rosalie that she must ask no more questions. And then he sat downbeside the bed for about half an hour, and looked more softened thanRosalie had ever seen him before. She was sure the doctor must have toldhim that her mother was very bad indeed. 

Rosalie's father did not speak; there was no sound in the caravan but theticking of the little clock which was fastened to a nail in the corner, andthe occasional falling of the cinders in the ashpan. Augustus' reflectionswere not pleasant as he sat by his wife's dying bed. For the doctor hadtold him she would never be better, and it was only a question of time howlong she would live. And when Augustus heard that, all his cruel treatmentcame back to his mind--the hard words he had spoken to her, the unkindthings he had said of her, and, above all, the hard-hearted way in which hehad made her come on the stage the night before, when she was almost tooill to stand. All these things crowded in upon his memory, and a short fitof remorse seized him. It was this which led him, contrary to his custom, to come into the caravan and sit by her side. But his meditations became sounpleasant at length, that he could bear them no longer; he could not sitthere and face the accusations of his conscience; so he jumped up hastily, and went out without saying a word to his child, slammed the little caravandoor after him, and sauntered down the marketplace. Here he met some of hisfriends, who rallied him on his melancholy appearance, and offered to treathim to a glass in the nearest public-house. And there Augustus Joycebanished all thoughts of his wife, and stifled the loud, accusing voice ofhis conscience. When he returned to the theatre for dinner, he appeared ashard and selfish as ever, and never even asked how his wife was before hesat down to eat. Perhaps he dreaded to hear the answer to that question. 

And that evening Rosalie was obliged to take her part in the play; herfather insisted on it; it was impossible for him to spare her, he said, andto fill up both her place and her mother's also. Rosalie begged him mostearnestly to excuse her, but all in vain; so with an aching heart she wentto the Royal Show of Dwarfs and asked for Mother Manikin. 

The good little woman was indignant when Rosalie told her she was notallowed to stay with her mother, and promised immediately to come and sitbeside the poor woman in her absence. The other dwarfs rather grumbled atthis arrangement; but Mother Manikin shook her little fist at them, andcalled them hard-hearted creatures, and declared that old age must have itsliberties. She had been entertaining the company all the afternoon, andmust have a little rest this evening. 

'Oh, Mother Manikin!' said Rosalie; 'and you had no sleep last night. '

'Oh, my dear, I'm all right, ' said the good little woman. 'I had a nap ortwo this morning. Don't trouble about me; and Miss Mab and Master Puckought to be ashamed of themselves for wanting me when there's that poordear thing so ill out there. Bless me, my dears!' said the old woman, turning to the dwarfs, 'what should you want with an ugly little thing likeme? It's you lovely young creatures that the company come to see. So I wishyou good-night, my dears. Take care of yourselves, and don't get into anymischief when I'm away! Where's Susannah?'

'Here, ma'am, ' said the woman who had come for Mother Manikin that morning. 

'Carry me to Joyce's van, ' said the little old woman, jumping on a chairand holding out her arms. 

Susannah wrapped her in her cloak, and took her quickly in the direction ofthe theatre, Rosalie walking by her side. 

Then the little woman helped the child to dress--pulling out the folds ofher white dress for her, and combing her long hair in a most motherlyfashion. When the child was ready, she stood looking sorrowfully at hermother's pale face. But as she was looking, her mother's eyes opened, andgazed lovingly and tenderly at her, and then, to the child's joy, hermother spoke. 

'Rosalie darling, ' she whispered, 'I feel better to-night. Kiss yourmother, Rosie. '

The child bent down and kissed her mother's face, and her long dark hairlay across her mother's pillow. 

'Who is it taking care of me, Rosalie?'

'It's a little lady Toby knows, mammie dear; she's so kind, and she saysshe will sit with you all the time I'm out. I didn't want to leave you--oh, I wanted so much to stay! but I could not be spared, father says. '

'Never mind, darling, ' said her mother. 'I feel a little better to-night. Ishould like a cup of tea. '

Mother Manikin had a cup of tea ready almost directly. She was the quickestlittle body Rosalie had ever seen; yet she was so quiet that her quickmovements did not in the least disturb the sick woman. 

'How kind you are!' said Rosalie's mother, as the dwarf climbed on a chairto give her the tea. 

'There's nothing like tea, ' said the tiny old woman, nodding her wiselittle head; 'give me a cup of tea, and I don't care what I go without!You're better to-night, ma'am. '

'Yes, ' said Rosalie's mother; 'I can talk a little now. I heard a greatdeal you said before, though I could not speak to you. I heard you talkingabout Rosalie's picture. '

'To think of that!' said the little old woman cheerily. 'To think of that, Rosalie! Why, she heard us talking; bless me, child! she's not so bad afterall. '

'I think that did me good, ' said the poor woman; 'I heard Rosalie pray. '

'Yes, ' said Mother Manikin; 'she put me in her prayer, bless her! I haven'tforgotten that!'

Then Rosalie's mother seemed very tired, and her careful nurse would notlet her talk any more, but made her lie quite quietly without moving. WhenRosalie left her to go on the stage, she was sleeping peacefully, with kindMother Manikin sitting by her side. And when the child returned late atnight, there she was sitting still. And she insisted on Rosalie'sundressing and creeping into bed beside her mother, that she might have aproper night's rest. For poor little Rosalie was completely exhausted withthe stifling air, the fatigue, and the anxiety to which she had beensubjected. 

The next day her mother seemed to have revived a little, and was able totake a little food, and to talk to her in whispers from time to time. 

'Rosalie, ' she said, that afternoon, 'there is a verse come back to mewhich our old nurse taught me; I haven't thought of it for years, but thatnight when I was so ill I woke saying it. '

'What is it, mammie dear?' said Rosalie. 

'"All we like sheep have gone astray; we have turned every one to his ownway; and the Lord hath laid on Him the iniquity of us all. " That was it, dear. '

'Mother Manikin told me you said something about sheep, mammie. '

'Yes, that was it, ' said the poor woman; 'it's such a beautiful verse! "Allwe like sheep have gone astray;" that's just like me, darling--I've goneastray, oh, so far astray! "And have turned every one to his own way;"that's me again, --my own way, that's just what it was;--I chose it myself;I would have my own way. It's just like me, Rosalie. '

'And what's the end of the verse, mammie dear?'

'"The Lord hath laid on Him the iniquity of us all. " That means Jesus; theLord put all our sins on Him when He died on the cross. '

'Did God put your sins on Jesus, mammie dear?'

'Yes, child; I think it must mean mine, because it says, "the iniquity ofus all. " I think "all" must take me in, Rosalie; at least I hope so. I havebeen asking Him to let it take me in, because, you know, if the sin is laidon Him, Rosie darling, I sha'n't have to bear it too. '

The poor woman was quite exhausted when she had said this; and Rosaliebrought her some beef-tea which Mother Manikin had made for her, and whichwas simmering on the stove. The good little woman came once more to staywith Rosalie's mother whilst the play was going on. 

The theatre closed rather earlier that night, for a large fair was to beheld at a town some way off, at which Augustus Joyce was very anxious to bepresent; and as he did not think there was much more to be done inLesborough, he determined to start at once. So, the moment that the lastperson had left the theatre, Augustus and his men hastily put off theclothes in which they had been acting, slipped on their working coats, andbegan to pull down the scenery. 

All night long they were hammering, and knocking down, and packing up, andwhen morning dawned they were ready to start. 

They were not the only ones who had been packing up all night. There wereseveral other fairs drawing near, at which the show-people had takenground; so they worked away as those who had no time to lose. 

'Miss Rosie, ' said Toby's voice, at about five o'clock that morning, 'theyare all going off except us. Master says we can wait a bit longer, to givemissis a little more rest. He and the other men are going off at once, toget the theatre set up and everything ready, and master says it will betime enough if we are there by the first night of the fair. He can't dowithout you then, he says. '

'I am very glad mammie hasn't to be moved just yet, ' said Rosalie; 'theshaking would hurt her so much, I'm sure. '

Augustus came into the caravan for a few minutes before he set off. He toldRosalie that they might stay two days longer; but on Saturday morning theymust be off early, so as to get into the town on Sunday night. 

'I wouldn't have you away from the play in this town, Rosalie, not for theworld. It's a large seaside place, and I hope to make a pretty penny there, if every one does their duty. '

'Augustus, ' said his wife, in a trembling voice, 'can you stay five minuteswith me before you go?'

'Well, ' said Augustus, taking out his watch, 'perhaps I might spare fiveminutes; but you must be quick. I ought to be off by now. '

'Rosalie darling, ' said her mother, 'leave me and your father alone. '

Little Rosalie went down the steps of the caravan, shutting the door gentlybehind her, and stood watching her father's men, who were yoking the horsesin the waggons and tying ropes round the different loads, to preventanything falling off. 

As soon as she was gone, her mother laid her hand on her husband's arm, andsaid--

'Augustus, there are two things I want to ask you before I die. '

'What are they?' said the man shortly, crossing his legs and leaning backon his chair. 

'The first is, Augustus, that you will find a home for Rosalie when I'mdead. Don't take her about from fair to fair; she will have no mother totake care of her, and I can't bear to think of her being left here allalone. '

'All alone?' said Augustus angrily; 'she will have me, she will be allright if I'm here; and I'm not going to let the child go, just when she'sbeginning to be useful. Besides, where would you have her go?'

Rosalie's mother did not tell the secret hope which was in her heart. 

'I thought, ' she said, 'you might find some motherly body in the countrysomewhere, who would take care of her for very little money, and would sendher to school regularly, and see she was brought up properly. '

'Oh, nonsense!' said Augustus; 'she will be all right with me; and I'm notgoing to lose a pretty child like that from the stage! Why, half the peoplecome to see the lovely little actress, as they call her; I know better thanto spoil her for acting by putting her down in some slow country place. Well, the five minutes are up, ' said Augustus, looking at his watch; 'Imust be off. '

'There was something else I wanted to ask you, Augustus. '

'Well, what is it? Be quick!'

'I wanted to tell you that the last fortnight I have been feeling that whenone comes to die, there is nothing in this world worth having, except toknow that your soul is safe. I've led a wicked life, Augustus; I've oftenbeen disagreeable and bad to you; but all my desire now is that the GoodShepherd should seek me and find me, before it is too late. '

'Is that all?' said her husband, putting on his coat. 

'No, Augustus; I wanted to ask you something. Are _you_ ready to die?'

'There's time enough to think of that, ' said her husband, with a laugh. 

Yet there was an uneasy expression in his face as he said it, which showedthat the answer to the question was not a satisfactory one. 

'Oh, Augustus! you don't know how long there may be, ' said his poor wifesorrowfully. 

'Well, ' said he, 'if life's so short, we must get all the play we can outof it. '

'But what of the other life, Augustus--the long life that's coming?'

'Oh, that may take care of itself!' said her husband scornfully, as helighted his pipe at the stove; and, wishing his wife a pleasant journey, hewent down the steps of the caravan and closed the door. 

The poor wife turned over on her pillow and wept. She had made a very greateffort in speaking to her husband, and it had been of no avail. She was sospent and exhausted that, had it not been for Mother Manikin's beef-tea, which Rosalie gave her as soon as she came in, she must have fainted fromvery weariness. 

A few minutes afterwards the waggons rumbled past, the theatre party setoff on their journey, and Rosalie and her mother were left alone. 

CHAPTER X

BRITANNIA

All day long the packing up went on, and one by one the shows moved off, and the market-place became more empty. 

In the afternoon Toby came to the caravan to inform Rosalie that the 'RoyalShow of Dwarfs' was just going to start, and Mother Manikin wanted to saygood-bye to her. 

'Mind you thank her, Rosalie, ' said the sick woman, 'and give her my love. '

'Yes, mammie dear, ' said the child; 'I won't forget. '

She found the four little dwarfs sitting in a tiny covered waggon, in whichthey were to take their journey. Rosalie was cautiously admitted, and thedoor closed carefully after her. Mother Manikin took leave of her withtears in her eyes; they were not going to the same fair as Rosalie'sfather, and she did not know when they would meet again. She gave Rosalievery particular directions about the beef-tea, and slipped in her pocket atiny parcel, which she told her to give to her mother. And then shewhispered in Rosalie's ear--

'I haven't forgotten to ask the Good Shepherd to find me, child; and don'tyou leave me out, my dear, when you say your prayers at night. '

'Come, Mother Manikin, ' said Master Puck, 'we must be off!'

Mother Manikin shook her fist at him, saying--

'Old age must have its liberties, and young things should not be soimpatient. '

Then she put her little arms round Rosalie's neck and kissed and huggedher; and the three other dwarfs insisted on kissing her too. And as soon asRosalie had gone, the signal was given for their departure, and the 'RoyalShow of Dwarfs' left the market-place. 

Rosalie ran home to her mother and gave her Mother Manikin's parcel. Therewere several paper wrappings, which the child took off one by one, and thencame an envelope, inside which was a piece of money. She took it out andheld it up to her mother; it was a half-sovereign!

Good little Mother Manikin! she had taken that half-sovereign from hersmall bag of savings, and she had put it in that envelope with even agladder heart than Rosalie's mother had when she received it. 

'Oh, Rosalie, ' said the sick woman, 'I can have some more beef-tea now!'

'Yes, ' said the child; 'I'll get the meat at once. '

And it was not only at her evening prayer that Rosalie mentioned MotherManikin's name that day; it was not only then that she knelt down to askthe Good Shepherd to seek and to save little Mother Manikin. 

All day long Rosalie sat by her mother's side, watching her tenderly andcarefully, and trying to imitate Mother Manikin in the way she arranged herpillows and waited upon her. And when evening came, the large square wasquite deserted, except by the scavengers, who were going from one end toanother sweeping up the rubbish which had been left behind by the showmen. 

Rosalie felt very lonely the next day. Toby had slept at an inn in thetown, and was out all day at a village some miles off, to which his masterhad sent him to procure something he wanted at a sale there. Themarket-place was quite empty, and no one came near the one solitarycaravan--no one except an officer of the Board of Health, to inquire whatwas the cause of the delay, and whether the sick woman was suffering fromany infectious complaint. People passed down the market-place and went tothe various shops, but no one came near Rosalie and her mother. 

The sick woman slept the greater part of the day, and spoke very little;but every now and then the child heard her repeat to herself the last verseof her little hymn--

 'Lord, I come without delaying, To Thine arms at once I flee, Lest no more I hear Thee saying, "Come, come to Me. "'

And then night came, and Rosalie sat by her mother's side, for she did notlike to go to sleep lest she should awake and want something. And oh, whata long night it seemed! The Town Hall clock struck the quarters, but thatwas the only sound that broke the stillness. Rosalie kept a light burning, and every now and then mended the little fire, that the beef-tea might beready whenever her mother wanted it. And many times she gazed at herpicture, and wished she were the little lamb safe in the Good Shepherd'sarms. For she felt weary and tired, and longed for rest. 

The next morning the child heard Toby's voice as soon as it was light. 

'Miss Rosie, ' he said, 'can I come in for a minute?'

Rosalie opened the door, and Toby was much distressed to see how ill andtired she looked. 

'You mustn't make yourself ill, Miss Rosie, you really mustn't!' he saidreproachfully. 

'I'll try not, Toby, ' said the child; 'perhaps the country air will do megood. '

'Yes, missie, maybe it will. I think we'd better start at once, because Idon't want to go fast; the slower we go the better it will be for missis;and then we will stop somewhere for the night; if we come to a village, wecan stop there, and I'll get a hole in some barn to creep into, or ifthere's no village convenient, there's sure to be a haystack. I've slept ona haystack before this, Miss Rosie. '

In about half an hour Toby had made all ready, and they left themarket-place. Very slowly and carefully he drove, yet the shaking triedRosalie's mother much. Her cough was exceedingly troublesome, and herbreathing was very bad. She was obliged to be propped up with pillows, andeven then she could hardly breathe. The child opened the caravan door, andevery now and then spoke to Toby, who was sitting just underneath it. Hedid not whistle to day, nor call out to his horse, but seemed verythoughtful and quiet. 

Towards evening Rosalie's mother fell asleep, --such a sweet, peaceful sleepit was, that the child could but wish it to continue. It made her so gladto hear the coughing cease and the breathing become more regular, and shedreaded lest any jolting of the cart should awake her and make her start upagain. 

'What do you think of stopping here for the night, Miss Rosie?' said Toby. 

They had come to a very quiet and solitary place on the borders of a largemoor. A great pine-forest stretched on one side of them, and the treeslooked dark and solemn in the fading light. At the edge of this wood was astone wall, against which Toby drew up the caravan, that it might besheltered from the wind. 

On the other side of the road was the moor, stretching on for miles andmiles. And on this moor, in a little sheltered corner surrounded byfurze-bushes, Toby had determined to sleep. 

'I shall be close by, Miss Rosie, ' he said. 'I sleep pretty sound, but ifonly you call out "Toby, " I shall be at your side in a twinkling; I alwayswake in a trice when I hear my name called. You won't be frightened, MissRosie, will you?'

'No, ' said Rosalie; 'I think not. '

But she gazed rather fearfully down the road at the corner of which theyhad drawn up. The trees were throwing dark shadows across the path, andtheir branches were waving gloomily in the evening breeze. Rosalie shivereda little as she looked at them and at the dark pine-forest behind her. 

'I'll tell you what, Miss Rosie, ' said Toby, as he finished eating hissupper, 'I'll sit on the steps of the caravan, if you are frightened atall. No, no; never you mind me; I shall be all right. One night's sittingup won't hurt me. '

But Rosalie would not allow it; she insisted on Toby's going to sleep onthe heather, and made him take her mother's warm shawl, that he might wraphimself in it, for [Illustration: ON THE MOOR. ]

[Blank Page] it was a very cold night. Then she carefully bolted thecaravan door, closed the windows, and crept to her sleeping mother's side. She sat on the bed, put her head on the pillow, and tried to sleep also. But the intense stillness was oppressive, and made her head ache, for shekept sitting up in the bed to listen, and to strain her ears, --longing forany sound to break the silence. 

Yet when a sound _did_ come--when the wind swept over the fir-trees, and made the branches which hung over the caravan creak and sway to andfro--Rosalie trembled with fear. Poor child! the want of sleep the last fewnights was telling on her, and had made her nervous and sensitive. At lastshe found the matches and lighted a candle, that she might not feel quiteso lonely. 

Then she took her Testament from the box and began to read. As she read, little Rosalie felt no longer alone. She had a strange realisation of theGood Shepherd's presence, and a wonderful feeling that her prayer washeard, and that He was indeed carrying her in His bosom. 

If it had not been for this, she would have screamed with horror when, about an hour afterwards, there came a tap at the caravan door. Rosaliejumped from her seat, and peeped out between the muslin curtains. She couldjust see a dark figure crouching on the caravan steps. 

'Is it you, Toby?' she said, opening the window cautiously. 

'No, it's me, ' said a girl's voice. 'Have you got a fire in there?'

'Who are you?' said Rosalie fearfully. 

'I'll tell you when I get in, ' said the girl. 'Let me come and warm myselfby your fire!'

Rosalie did not know what to do. She did not much like opening the door, for how could she tell who this stranger might be? She had almostdetermined to call Toby, when the sound of sobbing made her change hermind. 

'What's the matter?' she said, addressing the girl. 

'I'm cold and hungry and miserable!' she said with a sob; 'and I saw yourlight, and I thought you would let me in. '

Rosalie hesitated no longer. She unbolted the door, and the dark figure onthe steps came in. She threw off a long cloak with which she was covered;and Rosalie could see that she was quite a young girl, about seventeenyears old, and that she had been crying until her eyes were swollen andred. She was as cold as ice; there seemed to be no feeling in her hands, and her teeth chattered as she sat down on the bench by the side of thestove. 

Rosalie put some cold tea into a little pan and made it hot. And when thegirl had drunk this, she seemed better, and more inclined to talk. 

'Is that your mother?' she said, glancing at the bed where Rosalie's motherwas still sleeping peacefully. 

'Yes, ' said Rosalie in a whisper; 'we mustn't wake her, she is very, veryill. That's why we didn't start with the rest of the company; and thedoctor has given her some medicine to make her sleep whilst we'retravelling. '

'I have a mother, ' said the girl. 

'Have you?' said Rosalie; 'where is she?'

But the girl did not answer this question; she buried her face in her handsand began to cry again. 

Rosalie looked at her very sorrowfully; 'I wish you would tell me what'sthe matter, ' she said, 'and who you are. '

'I'm Britannia, ' said the girl, without looking up. 

'Britannia!' repeated Rosalie, in a puzzled voice; 'what do you mean?'

'You were at Lesborough, weren't you?' said the girl. 

'Yes; we've just come from Lesborough. '

'Then didn't you see the circus there?'

'Oh yes, ' said Rosalie; 'the procession passed us on the road as we weregoing into the town. '

'Well, I'm Britannia, ' said the girl; 'didn't you see me on the top of thelast car? I had a white dress on and a scarlet scarf. '

'Yes, ' said Rosalie, 'I remember; and a great fork in your hand. '

'Yes; they called it a trident, and they called me Britannia. '

'But what are you doing here?' asked the child. 

'I've run away; I couldn't stand it any longer. I'm going home. '

'Where is your home?' said Rosalie. 

'Oh, a long way off. ' she said. 'I don't suppose I shall ever get there. Ihaven't a penny in my pocket, and I'm tired out already. I've been walkingall night, and all day. '

Then she began to cry again, and sobbed so loudly that Rosalie was afraidshe would awake and alarm her mother. 

'Oh, Britannia, ' she said, 'don't cry! Tell me what's the matter?'

'Call me by my own name, ' said the girl, with another sob. 'I'm notBritannia now, I'm Jessie; "Little Jess, " my mother always calls me. '

And at the mention of her mother she cried again as if her heart wouldbreak. 

'Jessie, ' said Rosalie, laying her hand on her arm, 'won't you tell meabout it?'

The girl stopped crying, and as soon as she was calmer, she told Rosalieher story. 

'I've got such a good mother; it's that which made me cry, ' she said. 

'Your mother isn't in the circus, then, is she?' said Rosalie. 

'Oh no, ' said the girl; and she almost smiled through her tears--such asad, sorrowful attempt at a smile it was; 'you don't know my mother or youwouldn't ask that! No; she lives in a village a long way from here. I'mgoing to her; at least I think I am; I don't know if I dare. '

'Why not?' said Rosalie. 'Are you frightened of your mother?'

'No, I'm not frightened of her, ' said the girl; 'but I've been so bad toher, I'm almost ashamed to go back. She doesn't know where I am now. Iexpect she has had no sleep since I ran away. '

'When did you run away?' asked the child. 

'It will be three weeks ago now, ' said Jessie mournfully; 'but it seemsmore like three months. I never was so wretched in all my life before; I'vecried myself to sleep every night. '

'Whatever made you leave your mother?' said Rosalie. 

'It was that circus; it came to the next town to where we lived. All thegirls in the village were going to it, and I wanted to go with them, and mymother wouldn't let me. '

'Why not?'

'She said I should get no good there--that there were a great many badpeople went to such places, and I was better away. '

'Then how did you see it?' said Rosalie. 

'I didn't see it that day; and at night the girls came home, and told meall about it, and what a fine procession it was, and how the ladies weredressed in silver and gold, and the gentlemen in shining armour. And then Ialmost cried with disappointment because I had not seen it too. The girlssaid it would be in the town one more day, and then it was going away. Andwhen I got into bed that night, I made up my mind that I would go and havea look at it the next day. '

'But did your mother let you?' said Rosalie. 

'No; I knew it was no use asking her. I meant to slip out of the housebefore she knew anything about it; but it so happened that that day she wascalled away to the next village to see my aunt, who was ill. '

'And did you go when she was out?'

'Yes, I did, ' said Jessie; 'and I told her a lie about it. '

This was said with a great sob, and the poor girl's tears began to flowagain. 

'What did you say?' asked little Rosalie. 

'She said to me before she went, "Little Jess, you'll take care of Maggieand baby, won't you, dear? You'll not let any harm come to them?" And Isaid, "No, mother, I won't. " But as I said it my cheeks turned hot, and Ifelt as if my mother must see how they were burning. But she did not seemto notice it; she turned back and kissed me, and kissed little Maggie andthe baby, and then she went to my aunt's. I watched her out of sight, andthen I put on my best clothes and set off for the town. '

'And what did you do with Maggie and baby?' said Rosalie; 'did you takethem with you?'

'No; that's the worst of it, ' said the girl; 'I left them. I put the babyin its crib upstairs, and I told Maggie to look after it, and then I putthe table in front of the fire, and locked them in, and put the key in thewindow. I thought I should only be away a short time. '

'How long were you?'

'When I got to the town the procession was just passing, and I stopped tolook at it. And when I saw the men and women sitting upon the cars, Ithought they were kings and queens. Well, I went to the circus and saw allthat there was to be seen; and then I looked at the church clock, and foundit was five o'clock, for the exhibition had not been till the afternoon. Iknew my mother would be home, and I did not like to go back; I wonderedwhat she would say to me about leaving the children. So I walked round thecircus for some time, looking at the gilded cars, which were drawn up inthe field. And as I was looking at them, an old man came up to me and begantalking to me. He asked me what I thought of the circus; and I told him Ithought it splendid. Then he asked me what I liked best, and I said thoseladies in gold and silver who were sitting on the gilt cars. 

'"Would you like to be dressed like that?" he said. 

'"Yes, that I should, " I said, as I looked down at my dress--my best Sundaydress, which I had once thought so smart. 

'"Well, " he said mysteriously, "I don't know, but perhaps I may get youthat chance; just wait here a minute, and I'll see. "

'I stood there trembling, hardly knowing what to wish. At last he cameback, and told me to follow him. He took me into a room, and there I founda very grand lady--at least she looked like one then. She asked me if Iwould like to come and be Britannia in the circus and ride on the giltcar. '

'And what did you say?' asked Rosalie. 

'I thought it was a great chance for me, and I told her I would stay. I wasso excited about it that I hardly knew where I was; it seemed just as ifsome one was asking me to be a queen. And it was not till I got into bedthat I let myself think of my mother. '

'Did you think of her then?' said Rosalie. 

'Yes; I couldn't help thinking of her then; but there were six or sevenother girls in the room, and I was afraid of them hearing me cry, so I hidmy face under the bedclothes. The next day we moved from that town; and Ifelt very miserable all the time we were travelling. Then the circus wasset up again, and we went in the procession. '

'Did you like that?' asked the child. 

'No; it was not as nice as I expected. It was a cold day, and the whitedress was very thin, and oh, I was so dizzy on that car! it was such aheight up; and I felt every moment as if I should fall. And then they wereso unkind to me. I was very miserable because I kept thinking of my mother;and when they were talking and laughing I used to cry, and they didn't likethat. They said I was very different to the last girl they had. She hadleft them to be married, and they were looking out for a fresh girl whenthey met with me. They thought I had a pretty face, and would do very well. But they were angry with me for looking so miserable, and found more andmore fault with me. They were always quarrelling; long after we went to bedthey were shouting at each other. Oh, I got so tired of it! I did wish Ihad never left home. And then we came to Lesborough, and at last I couldbear it no longer. I kept dreaming about my mother, and when I woke in thenight I thought I heard my mother's voice. At last I determined to runaway. I knew they would be very angry; but no money could make me put upwith that sort of life; I was thoroughly sick of it. I felt ill and weary, and longed for my mother. And now I'm going home. I ran away the night theyleft Lesborough. I got out of the caravan when they were all asleep. I'vebeen walking ever since; I brought a little food with me, but it's all gonenow, and how I shall get home I don't know. '

'Poor Jessie!' said little Rosalie. 

'I don't know what my mother will say when I get there. I know she won'tscold mo; I shouldn't mind that half so much, but I can't bear to see mymother cry. '

'She will be glad to get you back, ' said Rosalie. 'I don't know what mymammie would do if I ran away. '

'Oh dear!' said Jessie; 'I hope nothing came to those children; I do hopethey got no harm when I was out! I've thought about that so often. '

Then the poor girl seemed very tired, and, leaning against the wall shefell asleep, whilst Rosalie rested once more against her mother's pillow. And again there was no sound to be heard but the wind sweeping among thedark fir-trees. Rosalie was glad to have Jessie there; it did not seemquite so solitary. 

And at last rest was given to the tired little woman; her eyes closed, andshe forgot her troubles in a sweet, refreshing sleep. 

CHAPTER XI

THE MOTHER'S DREAM

When Rosalie awoke, her mother's eyes were fixed upon her, and she wassitting up in bed. Her breathing was very painful, and she was holding herhand to her side, as if she were in much pain. 

The candle had burnt low in the socket, and the early morning light wasstealing into the caravan. Jessie was still asleep in the corner, with herhead leaning against the wall. 

'Rosalie, ' said her mother, under her breath, 'where are we, and who isthat girl?'

'We're half-way to the town, mammie--out on a moor; and that's Britannia!'

'What do you mean?' asked her mother. 

'It's the girl we saw riding on that gilt car in Lesborough, and she hasrun away, she was so miserable there. '

And then Rosalie told her mother the sad story she had just heard. 

'Poor thing! poor young thing!' said the sick woman. 'I'm glad you took herin; mind you give her a good breakfast She does well to go back to hermother; it's the best thing she can do. Is she asleep, Rosalie?'

'Yes, mammie dear, she went to sleep before I did. '

'Do you think it would wake her if you were to sing to me?'

'No, mammie dear, I shouldn't think so, if I didn't sing very loud. '

'Then could you sing me your hymn once more? I've had the tune in my earsall night, and I should so much like to hear it. '

So little Rosalie sang her hymn. She had a sweet low voice, and she sangvery correctly; if she had heard a tune once she never forgot it. 

When she had finished singing, Jessie moved, and opened her eyes, andlooked up with a smile, as if she were in the midst of a pleasant dream. Then, as she saw the inside of the caravan, the sick woman, and Rosalie, she remembered where she was, and burst into tears. 

'What's the matter?' said the child, running up to her, and putting herarms round her neck; 'were you thinking of your mother?'

'No, dear, ' she said; 'I was dreaming. '

'Ask her what she was dreaming, ' said Rosalie's mother. 

'I was dreaming I was at home, and it was Sunday, and we were at theBible-class, and singing the hymn we always begin with, I was singing itwhen I woke, and it made me cry to think it wasn't true. '

'Perhaps it was my singing that made you dream it, ' said Rosalie; 'I'vebeen singing to my mammie. '

'Oh, I should think that was it, ' said the girl. 'What did you sing? willyou sing it to me?'

Rosalie sang over again the first verse of the hymn. To her surprise, Jessie started from her seat and seized her by the hand. 

'Where did you get that?' she asked hurriedly; 'that's the very hymn I wassinging in my dream. We always sing it on Sunday afternoons at ourBible-class. '

'I have it on a card, ' said Rosalie, bringing her favourite card down fromthe wall. 

'Why, who gave you that?' said the girl; 'it's just like mine; mine has aribbon in it just that colour! Where _did_ you get it?'

'We were passing through a village, ' said Rosalie, 'and a kind woman gaveit to me. We stopped there about an hour and she was singing it outside hercottage door. '

'Why it must have been our village, surely!' said Jessie; 'I don't thinkthey have those cards anywhere else. What was the woman like?'

'She was a young woman with a very nice face; she had one little boy abouttwo years old, and he was playing with his ball in front of the house. Hismother was so good to us--she gave us some bread and milk. '

'Why, it must have been Mrs Barker!' said the girl. 

'She lives close to us; our cottage is just a little farther up the road. She often sings when she's at work. To think that you've been to ourvillage! Oh, I wish you'd seen my mother!'

'Do you know Mrs. Leslie?' asked the sick woman, raising herself in bed. 

'Yes, that I do, ' said the girl. 'She's our clergyman's wife--such a kindlady--oh, she is good to us! I'm in her Bible-class; we go to the vicarageevery Sunday afternoon. Do _you_ know her?' she asked, turning toRosalie's mother. 

'I used to know her many years ago, ' said the sick woman; 'but it's a long, long time since I saw her. '

Rosalie crept up to her mother's side, and put her little hand in hers; forshe knew that the mention of her sister would bring back all the sorrowfulmemories of the past. But the sick woman was very calm to day; she did notseem at all ruffled or disturbed, but she lay looking at Jessie with hereyes half-closed. It seemed as if she were pleased even to look at some onewho had seen her sister Lucy. 

About six o'clock Toby came to the caravan door, and asked how his mistresswas, and if they were ready to start. He was very surprised when he sawJessie sitting inside the caravan. But Rosalie told him in a few words howthe poor girl came there, and asked him in what direction she ought to walkto get to her own home. Toby was very clever in knowing the way to nearlyevery place in the country, and he said that for ten miles farther theirroads would be the same, and Jessie could ride with them in the caravan. 

The poor girl was very grateful to them for all their kindness. She satbeside Rosalie's mother all the morning, and did everything she could forher. The effect of the doctor's medicine had passed off, and the sick womanwas very restless and wakeful. She was burnt with fever, and tossed aboutfrom side to side of her bed. Every now and then her mind seemed to wander, and she talked of her mother and her sister Lucy, and of other things whichRosalie did not understand. Then she became quite sensible, and wouldrepeat over and over again the words of the hymn, or would ask Rosalie toread to her once more about the lost sheep and the Good Shepherd. 

When the child had read the parable, the mother turned to Jessie, and saidto her, very earnestly--

'Oh, do ask the Good Shepherd to find you now, Jessie; you'll be so glad ofit afterwards. '

'I've been so bad!' said Jessie, crying. 'My mother has often talked to me, and Mrs. Leslie has too; and yet, after all, I've gone and done this. Idaren't ever ask Him to find me now. '

'Why not, Jessie?' said Rosalie's mother; 'why not ask Him?'

'Oh, He would have nothing to say to me now, ' said the girl, sobbing, andhiding her face in her hands. 'If I'd only gone to Him that Sunday!'

'What Sunday?' asked Rosalie. 

'It was the Sunday before I left home. Mrs. Leslie talked to us sobeautifully; it was about coming to Jesus. She asked us if we had come toHim to have our sins forgiven; and she said, "If you haven't come to Himalready, do come to Him to-day. " And then she begged those of us who hadn'tcome to Him before, to go home when the class was over, and kneel down inour own rooms and ask Jesus to forgive us that very Sunday afternoon. Iknew _I_ had never come to Jesus, and I made up my mind that I woulddo as our teacher asked us. But, as soon as we were outside the vicarage, the girls began talking and laughing, and made fun of somebody's bonnetthat they had seen at church that morning. And when I got home I thought nomore of coming to Jesus, and I never went to Him;--and oh, I wish that Ihad!'

'Go now, ' said Rosalie's mother. 

'It wouldn't be any good, ' said the girl sorrowfully; 'if I thought itwould--if I only thought He would forgive me, I would do anything--I wouldwalk twice the distance home!'

'"He goeth after that which is lost until He find it, "' said the sickwoman. 'Are _you_ lost, Jessie?'

'Yes, ' said the girl; 'that's just what I am!'

'Then He is going after you, ' said Rosalie's mother again. 

Jessie walked to the door of the caravan, and sat looking out withoutspeaking. The sunlight was streaming on the purple heather, which wasspread like a carpet on both sides of the road. Quiet little roadsidesprings trickled through the moss and ran across the path. The travellershad left the pine-forest behind, and there was not a single tree insight;--nothing but large grey rocks and occasional patches of brightyellow furze amongst the miles and miles of heath-covered moor. 

At last they came to a large sign-post, at a corner where four roads met;and here Toby said Jessie must leave them. But before she went there was alittle whispered conversation between Rosalie and her mother, which endedin Jessie's carrying away in her pocket no less than half of MotherManikin's present. 

'You'll need it before you get home, dear, ' said the sick woman; 'and mindyou go straight to your mother. Don't stop till you run right into herarms! And when you see Mrs. Leslie, just tell her you met with a poor womanin a caravan, called Norah, who knew her many years ago. '

'Yes, ' said Jessie; 'I'll tell her. '

'And say that I sent my respects--my love to her; and tell her I have notvery long to live, but the Good Shepherd has sought me and found me, andI'm not afraid to die. Don't forget to tell her that. '

'No, ' said Jessie; 'I'll be sure to remember. '

The poor girl was very sorry to leave them; she kissed Rosalie and hermother many times; and as she went down the road, she kept turning round towave her handkerchief, till the caravan was quite out of sight. 

'So those girls knew nothing about it, Rosalie darling, ' said her mother, when Jessie was gone. 

'Nothing about what, mammie dear?'

'Don't you remember the girls that stood by our show when the processionwent past? They wished they were Britannia, and thought she must be sohappy and glad. '

'Oh yes!' said Rosalie; 'they knew nothing about it. All the time poorJessie was so miserable she did not know what to do with herself. '

'It's just the mistake I made, Rosalie darling, till I came behind thescenes, and knew how different everything looks when one is there. And soit is, dear, with everything in this world; it is all disappointing andvain when one gets to know it well. '

As evening drew on, they left the moor behind, and turned into a very darkand shady road with trees on both sides of the way. Rosalie's mother wassleeping, for the first time since early morning, and Rosalie sat andlooked out at the door of the caravan. The wood was very thick, and thelong shadows of the trees fell across the road. Every now and then theydisturbed four or five rabbits that were enjoying themselves by the side ofthe path, and ran headlong into their snug little holes as soon as theyheard the creaking of the caravan wheels. Then an owl startled Rosalie byhooting in a tree overhead, and then several wood-pigeons cooed mournfullytheir sad good-nights. 

The road was full of turnings, and wound in and out amongst the wood. Tobywhistled a tune as he went along, and Rosalie sat and listened to him, quite glad that he broke the silence. She was not sorry when they left thewood behind and came into the open country. And at last there glimmered inthe distance the lights of a village, where Toby said they would spend thenight. He pulled up the caravan by the wayside, and begged a bed forhimself in a barn belonging to one of the small village farms. 

The next day was Sunday. Such a calm, quiet day, the very air seemed fullof Sabbath rest. The country children were just going to the Sunday schoolas the caravan started. 

Their mothers had carefully dressed them in their best clothes, and werewatching them down the village street. 

The sick woman had had a restless and tiring night. Little Rosalie hadwatched beside her, and was weary and sad. Her poor mother had tossed fromside to side of her bed and could find no position in which she wascomfortable. Again and again the child altered her mother's pillow, andtried to make her more easy; but though the poor woman thanked her verygently, not many minutes had passed before she wanted to be moved again. 

But the Sunday stillness seemed to have a soothing effect on the sickwoman; and as they left the village she fell asleep. 

For hours that sleep lasted, and when she awoke she seemed refreshed andrested. 

'Rosalie darling, ' she said, calling her little girl to her side, 'I've hadsuch a beautiful dream!'

'What was it, mammie dear?' asked Rosalie. 

'I thought I was looking into heaven, Rosalie dear, in between the bars ofthe golden gates; and I saw all the people dressed in white walking up anddown the streets of the city. And then somebody seemed to call themtogether, and they all went in one direction, and there was a beautifulsound of singing and joy, as if they had heard some good news. One of thempassed close to the gate where I was standing, Rosalie, and he looked sohappy and glad, as he was hastening on to join the others. So I called him, darling, and asked him what was going on. '

'And what did he say, mammie dear?'

'He said, "It's the Good Shepherd who has called us; He wants us to rejoicewith Him; He has just found one of the lost sheep, which He has beenseeking so long. Did not you hear His voice just now, when He called us alltogether? didn't you hear Him saying, 'Rejoice with Me for I have found Mysheep which was lost'?"

'And then they all began to sing again, and somehow I knew they weresinging for me, and that I was the sheep that was found. And then I was soglad that I awoke with joy! And oh, Rosalie darling, I know my dream wastrue, for I've been asking Him to find me again and again, and I'm quitesure that He wanted to do it, long before I asked Him. '

'Oh, mammie dear, ' said Rosalie, putting her hand in her mother's, 'I_am_ so glad!'

Rosalie's mother did not talk any more then; but she lay very quietly, holding Rosalie's hand, and every now and then she smiled, as if the musicof the heavenly song were still in her ears, and as if she still heard theGood Shepherd saying, 'Rejoice with Me, for I have found My sheep which waslost. '

Then they passed through another village, where the bells were ringing forafternoon service, and the sick woman listened to them very sorrowfully. 

'I shall never go to church again, Rosalie darling, ' she said. 

'Oh, mammie, ' said little Rosalie, 'don't talk like that! When you getbetter, we'll go together. We could easily slip into the back seats, wherenobody would see us. '

'No, Rosalie, ' said her mother; 'you may go, my darling, but _I_ nevershall. '

'Why not, mammie dear?'

'Rosalie, ' said her mother, raising herself in bed and putting her armround her child, 'don't you know that I am going to leave you? don't youknow that in about a week's time you will have no mother?'

Rosalie hid her face in her mother's pillow and sobbed aloud. 

'Oh, mammie, mammie dear!--mammie, don't say that! please don't say that!'

'But it's true, little Rosalie, ' said her mother; 'and I want you to knowit. I don't want it to take you by surprise. And now stop crying, darling, for I want to talk to you a bit; I want to tell you some things whilst Ican speak. 

'My poor, poor darling!' said the mother, as the child continued sobbing. 

She stroked her little girl's head very gently; and after a long, long timethe sobbing ceased, and Rosalie only cried quietly. 

'Little woman, ' said her mother, 'can you listen to me now?'

Rosalie pressed her mother's hand, but she could not answer her. 

'Rosalie, darling, you won't be sorry for your mother; will you, dear? TheGood Shepherd has found me, and I'm going to see Him. I'm going to see Him, and thank Him, darling; you mustn't cry for me. And I want to tell you whatto do when I'm dead. I've asked your father to let you leave the caravan, and live in some country village; but he won't give his consent, darling;he says he can't spare you. So, dear, you must keep very quiet. Sit in thecaravan and read your little Testament by yourself; don't go wanderingabout the fair, darling. I've been asking the Good Shepherd to take care ofyou; I told Him you would soon be a little motherless lamb, with nobody tolook after you, and I asked Him to put you in His bosom and carry youalong. And I believe He will, Rosalie dear; I don't think He'll let you getwrong. But you must ask Him yourself, my darling; you must never let a daypass without asking Him: promise your mother, Rosalie-let her hear you saythe words. '

'Yes, mammie dear, ' said Rosalie, 'I promise you. '

'And if ever you can go to your Aunt Lucy, you must go to her and give herthat letter; you remember where it is; and tell her, dear, that I shall seeher some day in that city I dreamt about. I should never have seen her ifit had not been for the Shepherd's love; but He took such pains to find me, and He wouldn't give it up, and at last He put me on His shoulders andcarried me home. I am very tired, Rosalie darling, but there is more that Iwanted to say. I wanted to tell you that it will not do for you to ask yourfather about going to your Aunt Lucy, because he would never let you, andhe would only be writing to her for money if he knew where she lived. Butif you go through that village again, you might just run up to the houseand give her the letter. I don't know if that would do either, ' said thepoor woman sadly; 'but God will find you a way. I believe you will getthere someday. I can't talk any more now, darling, I am so tired! Kiss me, my own little woman. '

Rosalie lifted up a very white and sorrowful face, and kissed her motherpassionately. 

'You couldn't sing your little hymn, could you, darling?' said the sickwoman. 

Rosalie tried her very best to sing it, but her voice trembled so that shecould not manage it. She struggled through the first verse, but in thesecond she quite broke down, and burst into a fresh flood of tears. Herpoor mother tried to soothe her, but was too weak and weary to do more thanstroke the child's face with her thin, wasted hand, and whisper in her eara few words of love. 

Very sorrowful were poor Rosalie's thoughts as she sat by her mother's bed. She had known before that her mother was very ill, and sometimes she hadbeen afraid as she thought of the future; but she had never before heardthat dreadful fear put into words; she had never before known that it wasnot merely a fear, but a terrible reality. 'In about a week's time you willhave no mother;' that was what her mother had told her. 

And her mother was everything to Rosalie. She had never known a father'slove or care; Augustus had never acted as a father to her. But hermother--her mother had been everything to her, from the day she was bornuntil now. Rosalie could not imagine what the world would be like withouther mother. She could hardly fancy herself living when her mother was dead. She would have no one to speak to her, no one to care for her, no one tolove her. 

 'Words of love Thy voice is speaking, 'Come, come to Me. "'

What was it made her think of that just now? Was it not the Good Shepherd'svoice, as He held the poor lonely lamb closer to His bosom?

 'Come, come to Me. '

'Good Shepherd, I do come, ' said little weary Rosalie; 'I come to Theenow!'

CHAPTER XII

A LONE LAMB

It was Sunday evening when the caravan reached the town where the fair wasto be held. The travellers passed numbers of people in their Sundayclothes, and saw many churches and chapels open for evening service as theydrove through the town. The gaily painted caravan looked strangely out ofkeeping with everything around it on that holy day. 

Augustus met them as they came upon the common which was apportioned to theshow-people. It was a large waste piece of ground on a cliff overlookingthe sea; for this great fair was held at a large watering-place on thesea-coast. The piece of ground which Augustus had selected was close to thebeach, so that Rosalie could hear the rolling and dashing of the waves onthe rocks below as she sat beside her mother that night. In the morning, asher mother was sleeping quietly, she stole out on the shore and wanderedabout amongst the rocks before the rest of the show-people were awake. 

A long ridge of rocks stretched out into the sea, and Rosalie walked alongthis, and watched the restless waves, as they dashed against it and brokeinto thick white foam. In some parts the rocky way was covered with smalllimpets, whose shells crackled under Rosalie's feet; then came some deeppools filled with green and red seaweed, in which Rosalie discovered pinksea-anemones and restless little crabs. She examined one or two of these, but her heart was too sad and weary to be interested by them long, so shewandered on until she reached the extremity of the ridge of rocks. Here shesat for some time, gazing at the breakers, and watching the sunshinespreading over the silvery grey waters. 

Several fishing-boats were already entering the port, laden with the spoilsof the previous night, and Rosalie watched them coming in one by one andrunning quickly ashore. One of them passed close by the spot where thechild was sitting. An old man and two boys were in it, and they weresinging as they went by, in clear, ringing voices. Rosalie could hear thewords of the song well, as she sat on the ridge of rocks--

 'Last night, my lads, we toiled away, Oh! so drearily, drearily; But we weighed our anchor at break of day, Oh! so cheerily, cheerily; So keep up heart and courage, friends! For home is just in sight; And who will heed, when safely there, The perils of the night?

 Just so we toil through earth's dark night, Oh! so wearily, wearily; Yet we trust to sail at dawn of light, Oh! so cheerily, cheerily; So keep up heart and courage, friends! For home is just in sight; And who will heed, when safely there, The perils of the night?'

There was something in the wild tune, and something in the homely words, which soothed Rosalie's heart. As she walked back to the caravan, she keptsaying to herself--

 'So keep up heart and courage, friends! For home is just in sight. '

'Just in sight; that must be for my mammie, ' thought the child, 'and notfor me; she is getting very near home!'

Her mother was awake when Rosalie opened the caravan door, but she seemedvery weak and tired, and all that long day scarcely spoke. The child satbeside her, and tried to tempt her to eat, but she hardly opened her eyes, and would take nothing but a little water. 

In the afternoon the noise of the fair began, the rattling of the shootinggalleries, the bells of the three large whirligigs, and two noisy bandsplaying different tunes, and making a strange, discordant sound, an oddmixture of the 'Mabel Waltz, ' and 'Poor Mary Ann. ' Then, as the crowds inthe fair became denser, the shouts and noise increased on all sides, andthe sick woman moaned to herself from time to time. 

Augustus was far too busy preparing for the evening's entertainment tospend much time in the caravan. He did not know or he would not see, that achange was passing over his wife's face, that she was even then standing onthe margin of the river of death. And thus, about half an hour before thetheatre opened, he called to Rosalie to dress herself for the play, andwould listen to none of her entreaties to stay with her dying mother. 

Her dying mother! Yes, Rosalie knew that it had come to that now. Child asshe was, she could tell that there was something in her mother's face whichhad never been there before. Her eyes were opened to the truth at last, andshe felt that death was not very far away. 

How could she leave her? Her mother's hand was holding hers so tightly, hermother's eyes, whenever they were opened, were fixed on her so lovingly. How could she leave her mother, even for an hour, when the hours which shemight still have with her were becoming so few?

Yet Rosalie dared not stay. Was not this the great fair her father had beencounting on all the year, and from which he hoped to reap the greatestprofit? And had he not told her that very night, that if she broke down inher part in this town, he would never forgive her as long as he lived?

No, there was no help for it; Rosalie must go. But not until the lastmoment--not until the very last moment--would she leave her dying mother. She dressed very quickly, and sat down in her little white dress beside hermother's bed. Once more she held her mother's cold hand, and gently strokedher pale face. 

'Little Rosalie, ' said her mother, 'my darling, are you going?--must youleave me?'

'Oh, mammie, mammie! it is so hard! so very, very hard!'

'Don't cry, my darling!--my little lamb, don't cry! It's all right. Lift meup a little, Rosalie. '

The child altered her mother's pillows very gently, and then the sick womanwhispered--

'I'm close to the deep waters; I can hear the sound of them now. It's theriver of death, Rosalie, and I've got to cross it, but I'm not afraid: theGood Shepherd has laid me on His shoulder, and, as I'm so very weak, Ithink He'll carry me through. '

This was said with great difficulty, and, when she had done speaking, thedying woman's head fell back on the pillow. 

Rosalie could not speak; she could only kiss her mother's hand, and cryquietly as she watched. And then came her father's call to her to makehaste and come into the theatre; and she had to disengage herself from hermother's hand, and, giving one last long look, to shut the door and leaveher--leave her alone. 

What happened in the theatre that night Rosalie never exactly knew; it allseemed as a horrible dream to her. She said the words and acted her part, but she saw not the stage nor the spectators; her eyes all the time were onher mother's face, her hand all the time felt her mother's dying grasp. Andyet, as she danced and sang, there were many there who thought her happy, many who envied her, and who would have gladly changed places with her. Oh, if they had only known! if they had only had the faintest idea of theanguish of that little heart, of the keen, cruel, cutting sorrow with whichit was filled!

Troubles some of these people undoubtedly had, cares and vexations andworries not a few, yet none of them had known anything of the heart-miseryof that little actress; not one of them had ever been torn from the side ofa dying mother, and been compelled to laugh and sing when their very heartswere bleeding. From such soul-rending agony they had been saved andshielded; and yet they would have chosen the very lot which would haveexposed them to it. 

Oh, how very little they knew of what was going on behind the scenes! howlittle they guessed what a tumult of passionate sorrow was in littleRosalie's heart! So wild was her grief, that she hardly knew what she wasdoing, and, after the play was over, she could not have told how shemanaged to get through it. Instead of going out on the platform, she dartedswiftly out of the theatre and into her mother's caravan, almost knockingover several people who were passing by, and who stared at her inastonishment. 

Her mother was not dead; oh, how glad Rosalie was for that! but she did notseem to hear her speak, and her breathing was very painful. Rosalie bentover her and cave her one long, long kiss, and then hurried back into thetheatre just as her father had missed her. 

And when she next came into the caravan, all was still; her mother seemedto be sleeping more quietly, the painful breathing had ceased, and thechild hoped she was easier. She certainly seemed more restful, and herhands were still warm, so she could not be dead, little Rosalie reasoned toherself. 

Poor child, she did not know that even then she had no mother. 

Weary and aching in every limb, little Rosalie fell asleep on the chair byher mother's side; and when she awoke with a shiver in the dead of night, and once more felt her mother's hand, it was as cold as ice. And Rosalieknew then that she was dead. 

Trembling in every limb, and almost too startled to realise her sorrow, sheunfastened the caravan door, and crept out into the darkness to tell herfather. But he and the men were sleeping soundly on the floor of the littletheatre, and, though Rosalie hammered against the gilded boards in front, she could make no one hear her. Again and again she knocked, but no answercame from within; for the theatre people were tired with their night'swork, and could not hear the tiny little hands on the outside of the show. So the poor child had to return to the desolate cararan. 

With one bitter cry of anguish, one long, passionate wail of grief, shethrew herself on her mother's bed. Her sorrow could not disturb that mothernow; she was gone to that land which is very far off, where even the soundof weeping is never heard. The Good Shepherd had carried her safely overthe river, and, as Rosalie wept in the dark caravan. He was even thenwelcoming her mother to the home above; He was even then saying, in tonesof joy, yet more glad than before, 'Rejoice with Me, for I have found Mysheep which was lost. '

But Rosalie--poor little desolate, motherless Rosalie!--had the GoodShepherd quite forgotten her? Was she left in her sorrow alone andforsaken? Was there no comfort for the orphaned lamb in her bitterdistress? Did He pass her by untended and unblessed? Or did He not ratherdraw doubly near in that night of darkness? Did He not care for the lonelylamb? Did He not whisper words of sweetest comfort and love to the weary, sorrowful Rosalie?

If not, what was it that made her feel, as she lay on her mother's bed, that she was not altogether deserted, that there was One who loved herstill? What was it that gave her that strange, happy feeling that she waslying in the Good Shepherd's arms, and that He was folding her to His bosomeven more tenderly than her mother had done? What was it, but the GoodShepherd fulfilling those gracious loving words of His--

'He shall gather the lambs with His arm, and carry them in His bosom'?

It was the next morning. The sun had risen some time, and the show-peoplewere beginning to stir; the fishing-boats were once more coming home, andthe breakers were rolling on the shore. Augustus Joyce awoke with a strangefeeling of uneasiness, for which he could not account. Nothing had gonewrong the night before; Rosalie had made no mistake in her part, and hisprofits had been larger than usual. And yet Augustus Joyce was not happy. He had had a dream the night before; perhaps that was the reason. He haddreamt of his wife; and it was not often that he dreamt of her now. He haddreamt of her, not as she was then, thin and worn and wasted, but as shehad been on his wedding-day, when she had been his bride, and he hadpromised to take her 'for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, insickness and in health, to love and to cherish her, till death should thempart. '

Somehow or other, when Augustus woke, those words were ringing in his ears. What had he been to her in poverty? How had he treated her in sickness? Hadhe soothed her and cared for her, and done all he could to make theirburden press lightly on her? Had he loved her and cherished her? Lovedher?--What did those cruel words, those bitter taunts, those unsympathisingspeeches, tell of the love of Augustus Joyce for his wife? Cherished her?

What kind of cherishing had he bestowed upon her during her illness? Whatkind of cherishing had he shown her when he had compelled her, almostfainting, to take her part in the play?

'Till death us do part. ' That time was very near now, --Augustus Joyce knewthat. For once the vcice of conscience was heard by him. He could notforget the lovely face he had seen in his dream, nor the sad, reproachfulgaze of those beautiful dark eyes. He jumped from his bed and dressedhastily. He would give his wife some kind words, at least that morning. Conscience should not taunt him with his bitter neglect again. 

He hurried to the other caravan, opened the door, and entered. What was thescene which met his gaze?

The sunbeams were streaming in through the small window, and falling on thebed. And there lay his wife, so pale, so ghastly, so still, that AugustusJoyce drew back in horror. And there, with her arms round her mother'sneck, and the wreath of roses fallen from her hair on her mother's pillow, lay little Rosalie, fast asleep, with the traces of tears still on hercheeks. Intense sleep and weariness had taken possession of her, and shehad fallen asleep on her mother's bed, in her white dress, just as she hadbeen acting at the play. 

Augustus drew nearer to his wife, and sat down beside her. Yes, she wasdead; there was no doubt of that. The kind words could never be spoken, shewould never hear him again, he could never show his love to her now, --nevercherish her more. 'Till death us do part. ' It _had_ parted them now, parted them for ever. It was too late for Augustus Joyce to make anyamends; too late for him to do anything to appease his conscience. 

When Rosalie awoke, she found herself being lifted from the bed by herfather, and carried into the other caravan. There he laid her on his ownbed and went out, shutting the door behind him. 

And the next few days seemed like one long dreary night to Rosalie. Of theinquest and the preparations for the funeral she knew nothing. She seemedlike one in a dream. The fair went on all around her, and the noise andracket made her more and more miserable. What she liked best was to hearthe dull roaring of the sea, after the naphtha lights were out and all inthe fair was still. 

For, somehow, with the roaring of the waves the fishermen's song came backto her--

 'So keep up heart and courage, friends! For home is just in sight; And who will heed, when safely there, The perils of the night?'

And, somehow--Rosalie hardly knew why--that song comforted and soothed her. 

CHAPTER XIII

VANITY FAIR

'Miss Rosie dear, can I speak to you?' said Toby's voice, the day beforethe funeral. 

'Yes; come in, Toby, ' said the child mournfully. 

'I should like to see you, Miss Rosie, ' said Toby mysteriously. 'You won'tbe offended, will you? but I brought you this. '

Then followed a great fumbling in Toby's pockets, and from the depths ofone of them was produced a large red pocket-handkerchief, from which, whenhe had undone the various knots, he took out most carefully a littleparcel, which he laid on Rosalie's knee. 

'It's only a bit of black, Miss Rosie dear, ' he said. 'I thought you couldput it on to-morrow; and you mustn't mind my seeing after it; there was noone to do it but me. '

And before Rosalie could thank him, he was gone. 

When she opened the parcel, she found in it a piece of broad black ribbon, and a little black silk handkerchief--the best poor Toby could obtain. Rosalie's tears fell afresh as she fastened the ribbon on her hat, to beready for the sorrowful service on the morrow. 

The fair was nearly over, yet some of the shows lingered and there werestill crowds of children round the whirligigs and shooting-galleries whenthe mournful procession went by. The children at first drew back inastonishment; it was an unexpected sight, a coffin on the fair-ground. Butastonishment soon gave way to curiosity, and they crowded round the littleband of mourners, and followed them nearly to the cemetery. 

Augustus went through the service with an unmoved face. Conscience had beenmaking its final appeal the last few days, and had made one last and mightyeffort to arouse Augustus Joyce to repentance. But he had stifledconscience, suppressed it, trampled on it, extinguished it. God's HolySpirit had been resisted and quenched already, and the conscience of theimpenitent sinner was 'seared as with a hot iron!'

All the company of the theatre followed Augustus Joyce's wife to the grave, and more than one of them felt unusually moved as they looked at littlesorrowful Rosalie walking by her father's side. She was quite calm andquiet, and never shed a tear until the service was over, and she waswalking through the quiet cemetery a little behind the rest of the party. Then her eyes fell upon Toby, who was walking near her with an air of realheartfelt sorrow on his honest face. He had tied a piece of crape round hishat and a black handkerchief round his neck, out of respect for his latemistress and for his mistress's little daughter. 

Something in the curious way in which the crape was fastened on, somethingin the thought of the kindly heart which had planned this token ofsympathy, touched Rosalie, and brought tears to her eyes for the first timeon that sorrowful day. 

For sometimes, when a groat sorrow is so strong as to shut up with a firmhand those tears which would bring relief to the aching heart, a littlething, a very little thing, --perhaps only a flower which our lost oneloved, or something she touched for the last time or spoke of on the lastday; or, it may be, as with Rosalie, only a spark of kindly sympathy wherewe have scarcely looked for it, and an expression of feeling which wasalmost unexpected, --such a little thing as this will open in a moment theflood-gates of sorrow, and give us that relief for which we have beenlonging and yearning in vain. 

So Rosalie found it; the moment her eyes rested on Toby's face and onToby's bit of crape, she burst into a flood of tears, and was able to weepout the intenseness of her sorrow. And after that came a calm in her heart;for somehow she felt as if the angels' song was not yet over, as if theywere still singing for joy over her mother's soul, and as if the Lord, theGood Shepherd, were still saying, 'Rejoice with Me, for I have found Mysheep which was lost. '

Then they left the seaport town, and set off for a distant fair. And littleRosalie was very solitary in her caravan; everywhere and in everything shefelt a sense of loss. Her father came occasionally to see her; but hisvisits were anything but agreeable, and she always felt relieved when hewent away again to the other caravan. Thus the hours by day seemed long andmonotonous, with no one inside the caravan to speak to, no one to care foror to nurse. She often climbed beside Toby and watched him driving, andspoke to him of the things which they passed by the way. But the hours bynight were the longest of all, when the caravan was drawn up on a lonelymoor, or in a thickly-wooded valley; when Rosalie was left alone throughthose long desolate hours, and there was no sound to be heard but thehooting of the owls and the soughing of the wind amongst the trees. Thenindeed little Rosalie felt desolate; and she would kneel upon one of theboxes, and look out towards the other caravans, to be sure that they werenear enough to hear her call to them if anything happened. Then she wouldkneel down and repeat her evening prayer again and again, and entreat theGood Shepherd to carry her in His arms, now that she was so lonely and hadno mother. 

But they soon arrived at the fair for which they were bound, the actingwent on as usual, and Rosalie had once more to take her place on the stage. 

Very dreary and dismal and tawdry everything seemed to her. Her littlewhite dress, the dress in which she had lain by her mother's side, wassoiled and tumbled, and the wreath of roses looked crushed and faded, asRosalie took it from the box There was no mother to fasten it on her hair, no mother to cheer and comfort her as she went slowly up the theatre steps. Her father was looking for her, and told her they were all waiting, andthen the play commenced. 

Rosalie's eyes wandered up and down the theatre, and she wondered how itwas that when she was a very little girl she had thought it so beautiful. It was just the same now as it had been then. The gilding was just asbright, the lamps were just as sparkling, the scenery had been repainted, and was even more showy and striking. Yet it all looked different toRosalie. It seemed to her very poor and disappointing and paltry, as shelooked at it from her place on the stage. 

And then she thought of her mother, and of the different place in which shewas spending that very evening. Rosalie had been reading about it thatafternoon before she dressed herself for the play. She thought of thestreets of gold on which her mother was walking--pure gold, not like thetinsel and gilt of the theatre; she thought of the white robe, clean andfair, in which her mother was dressed, so unlike her little tumbled, soiledfrock; she thought of the new song her mother was singing, so differentfrom the coarse, low songs that were being sung in the theatre; she thoughtof the music to which her mother was listening, the voice of harpersharping with their harps, and she thought how different it was from thenoisy band close to her, and from the clanging music which her father'scompany was making. She thought, too, of the words which her mother wassaying to the Good Shepherd, perhaps even then: 'Thou art worthy; for Thouwast slain, and hast redeemed me to God by Thy blood:' how different werethese words from the silly, foolish, profane words she herself wasrepeating!

Oh, did her mother think of her? How little Rosalie wondered if she did!And oh, how often she longed to be with her mother in the Golden City, instead of in the hot, wearying theatre!

And so the weeks went on; fair after fair was visited; her father's newplay was repeated again and again, till it seemed very old to Rosalie; thetheatre was set up and taken down, and all went on much as usual. 

There was no change in the child's life, except that she had found a newoccupation and pleasure. And this was teaching Toby to read. 

'Miss Rosie, ' he had said one day, 'I wish I could read the Testament!'

'Can't you read, Toby?'

'Not a word, missie; I only wish I could. I've not been what I ought to be, Miss Rosie; and I do want to do different. Will you teach me?'

And so it came to pass that Rosalie began to teach poor Toby to read. Andafter that she might often be seen perched on the seat beside Toby, withher Testament in her hand, pointing out one word after another to him asthey drove slowly along. And when Toby was tired of reading, Rosalie wouldread to him some story out of the Bible. But the one they both loved best, and the one they read more often than any other, was the parable of theLost Sheep. Rosalie was never tired of reading that, nor Toby of hearingit. 

There was one thing for which Rosalie was very anxious, and that was tomeet little Mother Manikin again. At every fair they visited she lookedwith eager eyes for the 'Royal Show of Dwarfs'; but they seemed to havetaken a different circuit from that of the theatre party, for fair afterfair went by without Rosalie's wish being gratified. But at length oneafternoon, the last afternoon of the fair, Toby came running to the caravanwith an eager face. 

'Miss Rosie, ' he said, 'I've just found the "Royal Show of Dwarfs. " They'rehere, Miss Rosie; and as soon as I caught sight of the picture over thedoor, thinks I to myself, "Miss Rosie will be glad. " So I went up to thedoor and spoke to the conductor (they've got a new one, Miss Rosie), and hesaid they were going to-night, so I ran off at once to tell you--I knew youwould like to see little Mother Manikin again. '

'Oh dear!' said the child, 'I am glad. '

'You'll have to go at once, Miss Rosie; they're to start to-night themoment the performance is over; they're due at another fair to-morrow. '

'How was it that you didn't see the show before, Toby?'

'I don't know how it was, Miss Rosie, unless that it's at the very far endof the fair, and I haven't happened to be down that way before. Now, MissRosie dear, if you like I'll take you. '

'But I daren't leave the caravan, Toby, and father has the key; it wouldn'tbe safe, would it, with all these people about?'

'No' said Toby, as he looked down on the surging mass of people, 'I don'tsuppose it would; you'd have all your things stolen, Miss Rosie. '

'What shall I do?' said the child. 

'Well, if you wouldn't mind going by yourself, Miss Rosie, I'll keep guardhere. '

Rosalie looked rather fearfully at the dense crowd beneath her; she hadnever wandered about the fair, but had kept quietly in the caravan, as hermother had wished her to do so; she knew very little of what was going onin other parts of the ground. 

'Where is it, Toby?' she asked. 

'Right away at the other end of the field, Miss Rosie. Do you hear thatclanging noise?'

'Yes, ' said Rosalie, 'very well; it sounds as if all the tin trays in thetown were being thrown one upon another!'

'That's the Giant's Cave, Miss Rosie, where that noise is, and the DwarfShow is close by. Keep that noise in your ears, and you will be sure tofind it. '

So Rosalie left Toby in the caravan, and went down into the pushing crowd. It was in the middle of the afternoon, and the fair was full of people. They were going in different directions, and it was hard work for Rosalieto get through them. It was only by very slow degrees that she could makeher way through the fair. 

It was a curious scene. A long row of bright gilded shows was on one sideof her, and at the door of each stood a man addressing the crowd, andsetting forth the special merits and attractions of his show. First, therewere the Waxworks, with a row of specimen figures outside, and theirchampion proclaiming--

'Ladies and gentlemen, here is the most select show in the fair! Here isamusement and instruction combined! Here is nothing to offend the moral andartistic taste! You may see here Abraham offering up Aaron, and Henry IV. In prison; Cain and Abel in the Garden of Eden, and William the Conquerordriving out the ancient Britons!'

Then, as Rosalie pressed on through the crowd, she was jostled in front ofthe show of the Giant Boy and Girl. Here there was a great concourse ofpeople, gazing at the huge picture of an enormously fat Highlander, whichwas hung over the door. There was a curious band in front of this show, consisting of a man beating a drum with his right hand and turning a barrelorgan with his left, and another man blowing vociferously through atrumpet. In spite of all this noise, a third man was standing on a raisedplatform, addressing the crowds beneath. 

'I say, I say! now exhibiting, the great Scotch brother and sister, thegreatest man and woman ever exhibited! All for twopence; all for twopence!children half-price! You're _just_ in time, you're in capital time;I'm so glad to see you in such good time. Come now, take your seats, takeyour seats!'

Rosalie struggled on, but another enormous crowd stopped her way. This timeit was in front of the show of marionettes, or dancing dolls. On theplatform outside the show was a man, shaking a doll dressed as an iron-cladsoldier. 

'These are not living actors, ladies and gentlemen, ' cried the man outside;'yet if you come inside you will see wonderfully artistic feats! None ofthe figures are alive, which makes the performance so much more interestingand pleasing. Now's your chance, ladies and gentlemen! now's your chance!There's plenty of room. It isn't often I can tell you so; it is the rarestoccurrence, but now there is nice room! Now's your chance!'

Past all these shows Rosalie pushed, longing to get on yet unable to hurry. 

Then she came to a corner of the fair where a Cheap Jack was crying hiswares. 

'Here's a watch, ' said the man, holding it up, 'cost two pounds ten! Icouldn't let you have it for a penny less! I'll give any one five poundsthat will get me a watch like this for two pounds ten in any shop in thetown. Come now, any one say two pounds ten?' giving a great slap on hisknee. 'Two pounds ten; two pounds ten! Well, I'll tell you what, I'll takeoff the two pounds--I'll say ten shillings! Come, ten shillings! Tenshillings! Ten shillings! Well, I'll be generous, I'll say five shillings;I'll take off a crown. Come now, five shillings!' This was said withanother tremendous slap on his knee. Then, without stopping a moment, hewent from five shillings to four-and-sixpence, four shillings, three-and-sixpence. 'Well, I don't mind telling my dearest relation andfriend, that I'll let you have it for two-and-six. Come now, two-and-six, two shillings, one-and-six, one shilling, sixpence. Come now, sixpence!Only sixpence!'

On this a boy held out his hand, and became for sixpence the possessor ofthe watch, which the man had declared only two minutes before he would notpart with for two pounds ten shillings!

Rosalie pressed on and turned the corner. Here there was another row ofshows: the Fat Boy, whose huge clothes were being paraded outside as anearnest of what was to be seen within; the Lady Without Arms, whosewonderful feats of knitting, sewing, writing, and tea-making were beingrehearsed to the crowd; the Entertaining Theatre, outside which was astuffed performing cat playing on a drum, and two tiny children, of aboutthree years old, dressed up in the most extraordinary costumes, anddancing, with tambourines in their hands; the Picture Gallery, in which youcould see Adam and Eve, Queen Elizabeth, and other distinguished persons:all these were on Rosalie's right hand, and on her left was a longsuccession of stalls, on which were sold gingerbread, brandysnap, nuts, biscuits, cocoa-nuts, boiled peas, hot potatoes, and sweets of all kinds. Here was a man selling cheap walking-sticks, and there another offering theboys a moustache and a pair of spectacles for a penny each, and assuringthem that if they would only lay down the small sum of twopence, they mightbecome the greatest swells in the town. 

How glad Rosalie was to get past them all, and to hear the clanging soundfrom the Giant's Cave growing nearer and nearer. And at last, to her joy, she arrived before the 'Royal Show of Dwarfs. ' 'Now, ' she thought, 'I shallsee Mother Manikin. '

The performance was just about to begin, and the conductor was standing atthe door inviting people to enter. 

'Now, miss, ' he said, turning to Rosalie, 'now's your time; only a penny, and none of them more than three feet high! Showing now! Showing now!'

Rosalie paid the money, and pressed eagerly into the show. The littlepeople had just appeared, and were bowing and paying compliments to thecompany. But Mother Manikin was not there. Rosalie's eyes wandered up anddown the show, and peered behind the curtain at the end, but Mother Manikinwas nowhere to be seen. Rosalie could not watch the performance, so anxiouswas she to know if her dear little friend were within. At last theentertainment was over, and the giant and dwarfs shook hands with thecompany before ushering them out. Rosalie was the last to leave, and whenthe tall thin giant came up to her, she looked up timidly into his face andsaid--

'Please, sir, may I see Mother Manikin?'

'Who are you, my child?' said the giant majestically. 

'I'm Rosalie, sir, --little Rosalie Joyce; don't you remember that MotherManikin sat up with my mother when she was ill?'

The child's lips quivered as she mentioned her mother. 

'Oh dear me! yes, I remember it; of course I do, ' said the giant. 

'Of course, of course, ' echoed the three little dwarfs. 

'Then please will you take me to Mother Manikin?'

'With the greatest of pleasure, if she were here, ' said the giant, with abow; 'but the unfortunate part of the business is that she is not here!'

'No, she's not here, ' said the dwarfs. 

'Oh dear! oh dear!' said the child, with a little cry of disappointment. 

'Very sorry, indeed, my dear, ' said the giant. 'I'm afraid _I_ sha'n'tdo as well?'

'No, ' said Rosalie mournfully. 'It was Mother Manikin I wanted; she knewall about my mother. '

'Very sorry indeed, my dear, ' repeated the giant 'Very sorry, very sorry!'re-echoed the dwarfs. 

'Where is Mother Manikin?' asked the child. 

Why, the fact is, my dear, she has retired from the concern. Made herfortune, you see. At least, having saved a nice sum of money, shedetermined to leave the show. Somehow, she grew tired of entertainingcompany, and told us "old age must have its liberties. "'

'Then where is she?' asked Rosalie. 

'She has taken two little rooms in a town in the south of the county; verycomfortable, my dear. You must call and see her some day. '

'Oh dear!' said little Rosalie; 'I'm so very, very sorry she is not here!'

'Poor child!' said the giant kindly. 

'Poor child! poor child!' said the dwarfs as kindly. 

Rosalie turned to go, but the giant waved her back. 

'A glass of wine, Susannah!' he said. 

'Yes, a glass of wine, ' said Master Puck and Miss Mab. 

'Oh no, ' said the child; 'no, thank you, not for me!'

'A cup of tea, Susannah!' called the giant. 

'Oh no, ' said Rosalie; 'I must go. Toby is keeping guard for me; I mustn'tstay a minute. '

'Won't you?' said the giant reproachfully; 'then goodbye, my dear. I wish Icould escort you home, but we mustn't make ourselves too cheap, you know. Good-bye, good-bye!'

'Good-bye, my dear, good-bye!' said Master Puck and Miss Mab. 

So Rosalie sorrowfully turned homewards, and struggled out through thesurging mass of people. The conductor at the door pointed out to her ashorter way to the theatre caravan. She was glad to get out of the clangingsound of the Giant's Cave, from the platform of which a man was assuringthe crowd that if only they would come to this show, they would be sure tocome again that very evening, and would bring all their dearest friendswith them. 

Then the child went through a long covered bazaar, in which was a multitudeof toys, wax dolls, wooden dolls, china dolls, composition dolls, ragdolls, and dolls of all descriptions; together with wooden horses, donkeys, elephants, and every kind of toy in which children delight. After this shecame out upon a more open space, where a Happy Family was being displayedto an admiring throng. 

It consisted of a large cage fastened to a cart, which was drawn by acomfortable-looking donkey. Inside the cage were various animals, living onthe most friendly terms with each other--a little dog, in a smart coat, playing with several small white rats, a monkey hugging a little whitekitten, a white cat, which had been dyed a brilliant yellow, superintendingthe sports of a number of mice and dormice; and a duck, a hen, and aguinea-pig, which were conversing together in one corner of the cage. Overthis motley assembly was a board which announced that this Happy Family wassupported entirely by voluntary contributions; and a woman was going aboutamongst the crowd shaking a tin plate at them, and crying out against theirstinginess if they refused to contribute. 

Rosalie passed the Happy Family with difficulty, and made her way downanother street in the fair. On one side of her were shooting-galleriesmaking a deafening noise, and on the other were all manner of contrivancesfor making money. First came machines for the trial of strength, consistingof a flat pasteboard figure of the Shah, or some other distinguishedperson, holding on his chest a dial-plate, the hand of which indicated theamount of strength possessed by any one who hit a certain part of themachine with all his might. 

'Come now! have you seen the Shah?' cried the owner of one of thesemachines. 'Come now, try your strength! I believe you're the strongestfellow that has passed by to-day! Come now, let's see what you can do!'

The required penny was paid, and there followed a tremendous blow, atinkling of bells on the pasteboard figure, and an announcement from theowner of the show of the number of stones which the man had moved. 

Then there were the weighing-machines, arm-chairs covered with red velvet, in which you were invited to sit and be weighed; there was thesponge-dealer, a Turk in a turban, who confided to the crowd, in brokenEnglish, not only the price of his sponges, but also many touching andinteresting details of his personal history. There was also the usualgathering of professional beggars, some without arms and legs, others deaf, or dumb, or blind, or all three; cripples and imbeciles and idiots, who gofrom fair to fair and town to town, and get so much money that they makefive or six shillings a day, and live in luxury all the year round. 

The child went quickly past them all, and came upon the region ofwhirligigs, four or five of which were at work, and were whirling indifferent directions, and made her feel so dizzy that she hardly knew whereshe was going. 

Oh, how glad she was to see her own caravan again!--to get safely out ofthe restless, noisy multitude, out of the sound of the shouting of theshow-people and the swearing of the drunken men and women, and out of thepushing and jostling of the crowd. She thought to herself, as she went upthe caravan steps, that if she had her own way she would never go near afair again; and oh, how she wondered that the people who had their own waycame to it in such numbers!

Toby was looking anxiously for her from the caravan window. 

'Miss Rosie dear, ' he said, 'I thought you were never coming; I got quitefrightened about you; you're such a little mite of a thing to go fightingyour own way in that great big crowd. '

'Oh, Toby, ' said Rosalie, 'I haven't seen Mother Manikin!' and she told himwhat she had heard from the giant of Mother Manikin's prospects. 

'I am sorry, ' said Toby. 'Then you have had all your walk for nothing?'

'Yes, ' said the child; 'and I never mean to go through the fair again if Ican possibly help it--never again!'

CHAPTER XIV

BETSEY ANN

There was still some time before Rosalie need dress herself for the play. She sat still after Toby had left her, thinking over all she had seen inthe fair; and it made her very sad indeed. There were such a number of liesbeing told--she knew there were; such a number of things were being passedoff for what they really were not. And then, after all, even if the showswere what they pretended to be, what a poor miserable way it seemed oftrying to be happy! The child wondered how many in that moving multitudewere really happy. 

Rosalie was thinking about this when she heard a sound close to her, a verydifferent sound from the shouting of the cheap-jacks or the noisyproclamations of the showmen. It was the sound of singing. She went to thedoor of the caravan and looked out. The little theatre was set up at theedge of the fair. Close to the street, and very near the caravan, --so nearthat Rosalie could hear all they said, --was standing a group of men. One ofthem had just given out a hymn, and he and all the rest were singing it. The child could hear every word of it distinctly. There was a chorus at theend of each verse, which came so often, that before the hymn was finishedshe knew it quite perfectly--

 'Whosoever will, whosoever will; Sound the proclamation over vale and hill; 'Tis a loving Father calls His children home: Whosoever will may come!'

By the time that they had finished the first verse of the hymn, a greatcrowd had collected round the men, attracted perhaps by the contrastbetween that sweet, solemn hymn, and the din and tumult in every other partof the fair. 

Then one of the men began to speak. 

'Friends, ' he said--and as he spoke a great stillness fell on the listeningcrowd--'Friends, I have an invitation for you to-night; will you listen tomy invitation? You are being invited in all directions to-night. Each maninvites you to his own show, and tells you that it is the best one in thefair. Each time you pass him, he calls out to you, "Come! come! Come now!Now's your time!"

'My friends, I too have an invitation for you to-night. I too would say toyou, "Come! come! Come now! Now's your time!" Jesus Christ, my friends, hassent me with this invitation to you. He wants you to _come_. He says, "Come unto Me, all ye that labour and are heavy laden. " He wants you tocome now. He says, "Come _now_, iet us reason together; though yoursins be as scarlet, they shall be as white as snow; though they be red likecrimson, they shall be as wool. " He says to you, "Now is your time. ""Behold, " He says, "now is the accepted time, now is the day of salvation. "

'My friends, this is the invitation; but it is a very different one fromthe one that man is giving at that show over there. What does he say tothose people who are listening to him just now? Does he say, "Here's myshow; the door is open, any one who likes may walk in; there's nothing topay"? Does he say that, my friends? Does he ever give his invitation inthat way? No, my friends; he always follows up his "Come, come now! now'syour time!" with some such words as these, "Only twopence; only twopence;only twopence to pay! Come now!" And, if you do not produce your twopence, will he let you in?--if you are so poor that you have not twopence in theworld, will he say to you, "Come, come now! now's your time"? No, myfriends, that he will not. 

'Now, the Lord Jesus Christ invites you quite differently. He cries out, "Ho! every one that thirsteth, Come. Come without money! Come withoutprice! Whosoever will may come!" Yes, my friends, the words "Whosoeverwill" are written over the door which the Lord Jesus Christ wants you toenter. This is one way in which His invitation is quite different from thatwhich that man is giving from the door of the show. 

'We will sing another verse of the hymn, and then I will tell you the othergreat difference between the two invitations. '

So again they sang--

 'Whosoever will, whosoever will; Sound the proclamation over vale and hill; 'Tis a loving Father calls His children home; Whosoever will may come!'

My friends, ' said the speaker, when the verse was finished, 'there was oncein Russia a very curious palace. 

It was built of nothing but ice. The walls were ice, and the roof was ice, and all the furniture was ice. There were ice sofas, ice chairs, icefireplaces, ice ornaments. The water was made different colours, and thenfrozen, so that everything looked real and solid. At night the palace waslighted up, and it shone and sparkled as if it were set with diamonds. Every one said, "What a beautiful palace!"

'But it did not last, my friends, it did not last. The thaw came, and theice palace faded away; there was soon nothing left of it but a pool ofdirty water. It was all gone; it was very fine for a time; but there wasnothing solid in it, and it melted away like a dream. 

'My friends, yonder in that fair is the world's ice-palace! It sparkles, itglitters, it looks very fine; but it isn't solid, it won't last. To-morrowit will all be over; it will have melted away like a dream. Nothing will beleft but dust, and dirt, and misery. There will be many aching heads andaching hearts this time to-morrow. 

'My friends, the world's grandest display is a very disappointing thingafter all. And this is the second way in which the Lord Jesus Christ'sinvitation is so different from that of the man at that show-door. When theLord Jesus Christ says "Come, " He has always something good to give, something that is solid, something that will last, something that will notdisappoint you. He has pardon to give you, He has peace to give you, He hasheaven to give you. All these are good gifts, all these are solid, allthese will last, not one of them will disappoint you. 

'Oh, will you come to Him, my friends? He calls to you "Come! come now!"Now's your time! There's room now, there's plenty of room now! Yet there isroom; to-morrow it may be too late!

'Will you not come to Him to-night?

 '"Whosoever cometh need not delay; Now the door is open: enter while you may; Jesus is the true, the only living way; Whosoever will may come. 

 '"Whosoever will, whosoever will; Sound the proclamation over vale and hill; 'Tis a loving Father calls His children home; Whosoever will may come!"'

'Rosalie' said her father's voice, 'be quick and get ready' and Rosalie hadto close the caravan door and dress for the play. But the hymn and thesermon were treasured up in the child's heart, and were never forgotten byher. 

That was the last fair which Augustus Joyce visited that year. The coldweather was coming on; already there had been one or two severe frosts, andthe snow had come beating down the caravan chimney, almost extinguishingthe little fire. 

Augustus thought it was high time that he sought for winter quarters; and, having made an engagement in a low town theatre for the winter months, hedetermined to go to the town at once, and dismiss his company until thespring. 

On the road to the town they passed many other caravans, all bound on thesame errand, coming like swallows to a warmer clime. 

Rosalie's father went first to an open space or stable-yard, where thecaravans were stowed away for the winter. Here he left Rosalie for sometime, whilst he went to look for lodgings in the town. Then he and the menremoved from the caravans the things which they would need, and carriedthem to their new quarters. When all was arranged, Augustus told the childto follow him, and led the way through the town. 

How Rosalie wondered to what kind of a place she was going! They went downseveral streets, wound in and out of different squares and courts, and thechild had to run every now and then to keep up with her father's longstrides. At last they came to a winding street full of tall, gloomy houses, before one of which her father stopped and knocked at the door. Some raggedchildren, without shoes or stockings, were sitting on the steps, and movedoff as Rosalie and her father came up. 

The door was opened by a girl about fifteen years old, with a miserable, careworn face, and dressed in an untidy, torn frock, which had lost all itshooks, and was fastened with large white pins. 

'Where's your mistress?' said Augustus Joyce. 

The girl led the way to the back of the house, and opened the door of adismal parlour, smelling strongly of tobacco. 

Rosalie gazed round her at the dirty paper on the walls, and the greasychair-covers and the ragged carpet, and was not favourably impressed withher new abode. There were some vulgar prints in equally vulgar frameshanging on the walls; a bunch of paper flowers, a strange mixture of pinkand red, blue and green and orange, was standing on the table, and severalpenny numbers and low periodicals were lying on the chairs, as if some onehad just been reading them. 

Then the door opened, and the mistress of the house entered. She was anactress, Rosalie felt sure of that the first moment she saw her; she wasdressed in a faded, greasy silk dress which swept up the dust of the flooras she walked in, and she greeted her new lodgers with an overpowering bow. 

She took Rosalie upstairs, past several landings, where doors opened andpeople peered out to catch a glimpse of the new lodger, up to a littleattic in the roof, which was to be Rosalie's sleeping-place. It was full ofboxes and lumber, which the lady of the house had stowed there to be out ofthe way; but in one corner the boxes were pushed on one side, and a littlebed was put up for the child to sleep on, and a basin was set on one of theboxes for her to wash in. Rosalie's own box was already there; her fatherhad brought it up for her before she arrived, and she was pleased to findthat it was still uncorded. There were treasures in that box which no onein that house must see!

The lady of the house told Rosalie that in a few minutes her supper wouldbe ready, and that she must make haste and come downstairs. So the childhastily took off her hat and jacket, and went down the numerous stairs to aroom in the front of the house, where tea was provided for those lodgerswho boarded with the lady of the house. 

The child was most thankful when the meal was over. The rude, coarse jestsand noisy laughter of the company grated on her ears, and she longed tomake her escape. As soon as she could, she slipped from her father's side, and crept upstairs to her little attic. Here at least she could be aloneand quiet. It was very cold, but she unfastened the box and took out hermother's shawl, which she wrapped tightly round her. Then she opened outher treasures and stowed them away as best she could. She opened thelocket, and looked at the sweet, girlish face inside and oh, how she wishedshe were with her Aunt Lucy. How would she ever be able to keep that locketsafely? that was her next thought. There was no key to the attic door, norwas there a key to her box. How could she be sure, when she was out at thetheatre, that the people of the house would not turn over the contents ofher box?

It was clear that the locket must be hidden somewhere, for Rosalie wouldnever forgive herself if, after her mother had kept it safely all thoseyears, she should be the one to lose it. She sat for some time thinking howshe should dispose of it, and then came to the conclusion that the only waywould be to wear it night and day round her neck underneath her dress, andnever on any account to let any one catch sight of it. It was some timebefore she could carry out this plan to her satisfaction. She tied thelocket carefully up in a small parcel, in which she placed the preciousletter which her mother had written to her Aunt Lucy, and she concealed thepacket inside her dress, tying it round her neck. 

After this Rosalie felt more easy, and took out her little articles ofclothing, and hung them on some nails which she found on the attic door. Then she took from her pocket her own little Testament, and crept up to thewindow to read a few verses before it was too dark. The light was fastfading, and the lamplighter was going down the street lighting the lamps;there was no time to lose. 

So the child opened her book and began to read: 'Casting all your care uponHim, for He careth for you'--those were the first words which met her eyes. She repeated them over and over again to herself, that she might be able toremember them when the attic was quite dark. And they seemed just the wordsshe needed; they were the Good Shepherd's words of comfort which Hewhispered to the weary lamb on His bosom. 

For, as the shadows grew deeper and the room became darker, Rosalie feltvery lonely and miserable. Once she thought she would go downstairs to lookfor her father; but whenever she opened the door, there seemed to be such anoise and clamour below, that she did not like to venture; she felt as ifher mother would have liked her to stay where she was. She could not readnow, and it was very cold indeed in the attic. The child shivered from headto foot, and wondered if the long hours would ever pass away. At last shedetermined to get into bed, for she thought she should be warmer there, andhoped she might get to sleep; but it was still early, and sleep seemed faraway. 

And then Rosalie thought of her text, 'Casting all your care upon Him, forHe careth for you. ' '"All _your_ care, "--that means _my_ care, 'thought the weary child, --'my own care. "_All_ your care;"_all_--all the care about losing my mammie, and about having to stayin this noisy house, and about having to go and act in that wicked theatre, and about having to take care of my locket and my letter. 

'"Casting all your care upon _Him_"--that means my own Good Shepherd, who loves me so. I wonder what casting it on Him means, ' thought littleweary Rosalie. 'How can I cast it on Him? If my mammie was here, I wouldtell her all about it, and ask her to help me. Perhaps that's what I've gotto do to the Good Shepherd; I'll try. '

So Rosalie knelt up in bed, and said, 'O Good Shepherd, plase, here's alittle lamb come to speak to you. Please I'm very lonely, and my mammie isdead, and I'm so afraid someone will get my locket; please keep it safe. And I'm so frightened in the dark in this wicked house; please take care ofme. And don't let me get wicked; I want to love you, dear Good Shepherd, and I want to meet my mammie in heaven: please let me; and wish my sins inthe blood of Jesus. Amen. '

Then Rosalie lay down again, and felt much happier; the pain at her heartseemed to be gone. 

'He careth for you. ' How sweet those last words of the text were! She hadnot her mother to care for her, but the Good Shepherd cared for her; Heloved her; He would not let her go wrong. 

Rosalie was thinking of this, and repeating her text again and again, whenshe felt something moving on the bed, and something very cold touched herhand. She started back Blank Page [Illustration: "Is it time to get up?"]at first, but in a moment she found it was nothing but the nose of a littlesoft furry kitten, that had crept in through the opening of the door; forRosalie had left her door a little ajar, that she might get a ray of lightfrom the gas-lamp on the lower landing. The poor little kitten was verycold, and the child felt that it was as lonely and dull as she was. She putit in a snug place in her arms and stroked it very gently, till the tinycreature purred softly with delight. 

Rosalie did not feel so lonely after the kitten had come to her. She hadbeen lying still for some time, when she heard a step on the stairs, andher father's voice called--

'Rosalie, where are you?'

'I'm in bed, ' said little Rosalie. 

'Oh, all light!' said her father. 'I couldn't find you. Good-night. '

Then he went downstairs, and the child was once more alone; she laystroking the kitten, and wondering if she should ever get to sleep. It wasthe longest night she ever remembered; it seemed as if it would never bebed-time--at least, the bed-time of the people downstairs; the talking andlaughing still went on, and Rosalie thought it would never cease. 

But at last the weary hours went by, and the people seemed to be going tobed. Then the light on the landing was put out, and all was quite still. The kitten was fast asleep; and Rosalie at length followed its example, anddropped into a peaceful slumber. 

She had been asleep a long, long time, at least so it seemed to her, whenshe woke up suddenly, and, opening her eyes, she saw a girl standing by herbedside with a candle in her hand, and looking at her curiously. It was thelittle servant girl who had opened the door for her and her father. 

'What is it?' said Rosalie, sitting up in bed; 'is it time to get up?'

'No, ' said the girl; 'I'm only just coming to bed. '

'Why, isn't it very late?' asked the child. 

'Late? I should think it is late, ' said the poor little maid; 'it's alwayslate when I come to bed. I have to wash the pots up after all the othershas gone upstairs; ay! but my back does ache to-night! Bless you! I've beenupstairs and downstairs all day long. '

'Who are you?' said Rosalie. 

'I'm kitchen-maid here, ' said the girl; 'I sleep in the attic next you. What did you come to bed so soon for?'

'I wanted to be by myself, ' said Rosalie; 'there was such a noisedownstairs. '

'La! do you call _that_ a noise? said the girl; 'it's nothing to whatthere is sometimes; I thought they were pretty peaceable to-night. '

'Do you like being here?' asked the child. 

'Like it?' said the girl. 'Bless you! did you say like it? I hate it; Iwish I could die. It's nothing but work, work, scold, scold, from morningtill night. '

'Poor thing!' said Rosalie. 'What is your name?'

'Betsey Ann, ' said the girl, with a laugh; 'it isn't a very pretty name, isit?'

'No, ' said the child; 'I don't like it very much. '

'They gave me it in the workhouse; I was born there, and my mother diedwhen I was born, and I've never had a bit of pleasure all my life; I wish Iwas dead!'

'Shall you go to heaven when, you die?' asked Rosalie. 

'La, bless you! I don't know, ' said the girl; 'I suppose so. '

'Has the Good Shepherd found you yet?' asked the child; 'because if Hehasn't, you won't go to heaven, you know. '

The girl stared at Rosalie with a bewildered air of amazement and surprise. 

'Don't you know about the Good Shepherd?' asked the child. 

'Bless you! I don't know anything, ' said the girl; 'nothing but my A B C. '

'Shall I read to you about it; are you too tired?'

'No, not if it's not very long. '

'Oh, it's short enough; I've got my book under my pillow. '

So Rosalie read the parable of the Lost Sheep; and the girl put down hercandle on one of the boxes and listened. 

'It's very pretty, ' she said, when Rosalie had finished, 'but I don't knowwhat it means. '

'Jesus is the Good Shepherd, ' said Rosalie; 'you know who He is, don't you, Betsey Ann?'

'Yes, He's God, isn't He?'

'Yes and He loves you so much, ' said the child. 

'Loves me?' said Betsey Ann; 'I don't believe He does. There's nobody lovesme, and nobody never did!'

'Jesus does, ' said Rosalie. 

'Well, I never!' said the girl. 'Where is He? what's He like?'

'He's up in heaven, ' said Rosalie, 'and yet He's in this room now, and Hedoes love you, Betsey Ann; I know He does. '

'How do you know? did He tell you ?'

'Yes; He says in this book that He loved you, and died that you might go toheaven; you couldn't have gone to heaven if He hadn't died. '

'Bless you! I wish I knew as much as you do, ' said the girl. 

'Will you come up here sometimes, and I'll read to you?' said Rosalie. 

'La! catch missus letting me. She won't let me wink scarcely! I never get aminute to myself, week in week out. '

'I don't know what I can do then, ' said Rosalie. 'Could you come onSunday?'

'Bless you! Sunday? busiest day in the week here; lodgers are all in, andwant hot dinners!'

'Then I can't see a way at all, ' said Rosalie. 

'I'll tell you what, ' said the girl; 'I'll get up ten minutes earlier, andgo to bed ten minutes later, if you'll read to me out of that little book, and tell me about somebody loving me. Ten minutes in the morning and tenminutes at night: come, that will be twenty minutes a day!'

'That would be very nice!' said Rosalie. 

'But I get up awful soon, ' said Betsey Ann, 'afore ever there's a glimmerof light; would you mind being waked up then?'

'Oh, not a bit, ' said Rosalie, 'if only you'll come. '

'I'll come safe enough, ' said the girl. 'I like you!'

She took up her candle and was preparing to depart when she caught sight ofthe kitten's tail peeping out from Rosalie's pillow. 

'La, bless you! there's that kit!'

'Yes, ' said the child; 'we're keeping each other company, me and thekitten. '

'I should think it's glad to have a hit of quiet, ' said Betsey Ann; 'itgets nothing but kicks all day long, and it's got no mother--she was founddead in the coal-cellar last week; it's been pining for her ever since. '

'Poor little thing!' said Rosalie; and she held it closer to her bosom; itwas a link of sympathy between her and the kitten; they were bothmotherless, and both pining for their mother's love. She would pet andcomfort that little ill-used kitten as much as ever she could. 

Then Betsey Ann wished Rosalie good-night, took up her candle, and went toher own attic, dragging her shoes after her. 

And Rosalie fell asleep. 

CHAPTER XV

LIFE IN THE LODGING-HOUSE

True to her promise, Betsey Ann appeared in the attic the next morning atten minutes to five. Poor girl, she had only had four hours' sleep, and sherubbed her eyes vigorously to make herself wide awake, before she attemptedto wake Rosalie. Then she put down her candle on the box and looked at thesleeping child. She was lying with one arm under her cheek, and the otherround the kitten. It seemed a shame to wake her; but the precious tenminutes were going fast, and it was Betsey Ann's only chance of hearingmore of what had so roused her curiosity the night before; it was her onlyopportunity of hearing of some one who loved her. 

And to be loved was quite a new idea to the workhouse child. She had beenfed, and clothed, and provided for, to a certain extent; but none in thewhole world had ever done anything for Betsey Ann because they loved her;that was an experience which had never been hers. And yet there had been astrange fascination to her in those words Rosalie had spoken the nightbefore: 'He loves you so much'--she must hear some more about it. So shegave Rosalie's hand, the hand which was holding the kitten, a very gentletap. 

'I say, ' she said--'I say, the ten minutes are going!'

The sleepy child turned over, and said dreamily, 'I'll come in a minute, father; have you begun?'

'No; it's me, ' said the girl; 'it's me; it's Betsey Ann. Don't you know yousaid you would read to me? Bless me! I wish I hadn't waked you, you look sotired!'

'Oh yes, I remember, ' said Rosalie, jumping up. I'm quite awake now. Howmany minutes are there?'

'Oh, seven or eight at most, ' said Betsey Ann, with a nod. 

'Then we mustn't lose a minute, ' said the child, pulling her Testament fromunder her pillow. 

'La! I wish I was a good scholar like you, ' said Betsey Ann, as Rosaliequickly turned over the leaves, and found the verse she had fixed on thenight before for her first lesson to the poor ignorant kitchen-maid. 

'For ye know the grace of our Lord Jesus Christ, that, though He was rich, yet for your sakes He became poor, that ye through His poverty might berich. '

'Isn't that a beautiful verse?' said little Rosalie; 'I used to read it tomy mammie, and she liked it so much. '

'Tell me about it, ' said Betsey Ann; 'put it plain like for me. '

'"Ye know, "' said Rosalie, --'that's how it begins. You don't know, BetseyAnn, but you will do soon, won't you?'

'La! yes, ' said the girl; 'I hope I shall. '

'"Ye know the grace. " I'm not quite sure what grace means; I was thinkingabout it the other day. And now my mammie's dead, I've no one to ask aboutthings; but I think it must mean love; it seems as if it ought to mean lovein this verse; and He does love us, you know, Betsey Ann, so we can't befar wrong if we say it means love. '

'"Ye know the love of our Lord Jesus Christ, "--that's the One we talkedabout last night, the One who loves you, Betsey Ann. "That though He wasrich, "--that means He lived in heaven, my mammie said, and had ever somany angels to wait on Him, and everything He wanted, all bright andshining. "Yet for your sakes, "--that means your sake, Betsey Ann, just asmuch as if it had said, "You know the love of the Lord Jesus Christ, that, though He was rich, yet for Betsey Ann's sake He became poor. "'

'Well, I never!' said Betsey Ann. 

'Poor, ' repeated the child; 'so poor, my mammie said, that He hadn't ahouse, and had to tramp about from one place to another, and had to work ina carpenter's shop, and used to be hungry just like we are. '

'Well, I never!' said Betsey Ann; 'whatever did He do that for?'

'That's the end of the verse, 'said Rosalie. '"That ye through His povertymight be rich. " That is, He came to be poor and die, that you might be richand go to live up where He came from, --up in the City of Gold, and have theangels wait on you, and live with Him always up there. '

Betsey Ann opened her eyes wider and wider in astonishment. 'Well, now, Inever heard the like! Why didn't nobody never tell me nothink about itafore?'

'I don't know, ' said Rosalie. 'Is the time up?'

'Very near, ' said Betsey Ann, with a sigh. 'There's lots to do afore missusis up; there's all the rooms to sweep out, and all the fires to light, andall the breakfasts to set, and all the boots to clean. '

'Can you wait one minute more?' asked the child. 

'Yes, ' said Betsey Ann; 'bless you! I can wait two or three. I'll take offmy shoes and run quick downstairs; that will save some time. '

'I wanted you just to speak to the Lord Jesus Christ before you go, ' saidRosalie. 

'Me speak to Him! Why, bless you! I don't know how. '

'Shall we kneel down?' said the child. 'He's in the room, Betsey Ann, though you can't see Him, and He'll hear every word we say. '

'O Lord Jesus, please, we come to you this morning. Thank you very much forleaving the Gold City for us. Thank you for coming to be poor, and forloving us, and for dying for us. Please make Betsey Ann love you. Pleasesave Betsey Ann's soul. Please forgive Betsey Ann's sins. Amen. '

'I shall think about it all day; I declare I shall!' said Betsey Ann, asshe took off her slipshod shoes and prepared to run downstairs. 'My word! Iwonder nobody never told me afore. '

When Rosalie went downstairs that morning, she found her father and thelady of the house in earnest conversation over the fireplace in the bestparlour. They stopped talking when the child came into the room, and herfather welcomed her with a theatrical bow. 

'Good morning, madam, ' he said; 'glad to find that you have benefited byyour nocturnal slumbers. '

Rosalie walked up to the fire with the kitten in her arms, and the lady ofthe house gave her a condescending kiss, and then took no further notice ofher. 

It was a strange life for little Rosalie in the dirty lodging-house, withno mother to care for or to nurse, and with no one to speak kindly to herall day long but poor Betsey Ann. 

Clatter, clatter, clatter, went those slipshod shoes, upstairs anddownstairs, backwards and forwards, hither and thither. Sweeping, anddusting, and cleaning, and washing up dishes from morning till night, wentpoor Betsey Ann; and whenever she stopped a minute, her mistress's voicewas heard screaming from the dingy parlour--

'Betsey Ann, you lazy girl! what are you after now?'

That afternoon, as Rosalie was sitting reading in her little attic, sheheard the slipshod shoes coming upstairs, and presently Betsey Ann enteredthe room. 

'I say, ' she said, 'there's a young boy wants to speak to you below; canyou come?'

Rosalie hastened downstairs, and found Toby standing in the passage, hishat in his hand. 

'Miss Rosie, I beg pardon, ' he said, 'but I've come to say good-bye. '

'Oh, Toby! are you going away?'

'Yes, ' said Toby; 'master doesn't want us any more this winter; he's got nowork for us, so he has sent us off. I'm right sorry to go, I'm sure I am. '

'Where are you going, Toby?'

'I can't tell, Miss Rosie, ' said he, with a shrug of his shoulders; 'whereI can get, I suppose. '

'Oh dear! I _am_ sorry you must go!' said the child. 

'I shall forget all my learning, ' said Toby mournfully. 'But I tell youwhat, Miss Rosie, I shall be back here in spring; master will take me onagain, if I turn up in good time, and then you'll teach me a bit more, won't you?'

'Yes, ' said Rosalie, 'to be sure I will; but, Toby, you won't forgeteverything, will you?'

'No, Miss Rosie, ' said Toby, 'that I won't! It's always coming in my mind;I can't curse and swear now as I used to do; somehow the bad words seem asif they would choke me. The last time I swore (it's a many weeks ago now, Miss Rosie), I was in a great passion with one of our men, and out camethose awful words, quite quick, before I thought of them. But the nextminute, Miss Rosie, it all came back to me--all about the Good Shepherd, and how He was looking for me and loving me, and I at that very time doingjust what vexes Him. Well, I ran out of the caravan, and I tried to forgetit; but somehow it seemed as if the Good Shepherd was looking at me quitesorrowful like; and I couldn't be happy, Miss Rosie, not until I'd askedHim to forgive me, and to help me never to do so no more. '

'I'm so glad, Toby!' said little Rosalie. 'If you love the Good Shepherd, and don't like to grieve Him, I think He must have found you, Toby. '

'Well, I don't know, Miss Rosie; I hope so, I'm sure. But now I must beoff; only I couldn't go without bidding you good-bye; you've been so goodto me, Miss Rosie, and taught me all I know. '

After this, Rosalie's life went on much the same from day to day. Everymorning she was waked by Betsey Ann's touch upon her hand, and she read andexplained a fresh verse from the Testament to the poor little maid. Rosalieused to choose the verses the night before, and put a mark in the place, sothat she might begin to read the moment she awoke, and thus not one of theten minutes might be wasted. 

Betsey Ann always listened with open mouth and eyes. And she did not listenin vain; a little ray of light seemed, after a time, to be breaking in uponthat poor, dark, neglected mind--a little ray of sunshine, which lighted upher dark, dismal life, and made even poor Betsey Ann have something worthliving for. 'He loves me;' that was the one idea which was firmly fixed inher mind. 'He loves me so much that He died for me. ' And that thought wasenough to make even the dismal lodging-house and the hard life seem lessdark and dreary than they had done before. 

Slowly, very slowly, a change came over the girl, which Rosalie could nothelp noticing. She was gentler than she used to be, more quiet and patient. And she was happier too. She did not wish to die now, but seemed to betrying to follow the Good Shepherd, who had done so much for her. 

These morning talks with Betsey Ann were the happiest parts of Rosalie'sdays. She did not like the company she met in the large lodging-house; theywere very noisy, and the child kept out of their way as much as possible. Many of them were actors and actresses, and were in bed till nearlydinner-time. So the morning was the quietest time in thelodging-house, --even the lady of the house herself was often not up. ThenRosalie would sit with the kitten on her knee before the fire in the dingyparlour, thinking of her mother and of her Aunt Lucy, and putting her handevery now and then inside her dress, that she might be quite sure that herprecious locket and letter were safe. 

The poor little kit had a happy life now. Rosalie always saved somethingfrom her own meals for the motherless little creature; many a nicesaucerful of bread and milk, many a dainty little dinner of gravy andpieces of meat did the kitten enjoy. And every night when Rosalie went tobed it was wrapped up in a warm shawl, and went to sleep in the child'sarms. And so it came to pass that wherever Rosalie was to be found, thekitten was to be found also. It followed her upstairs and downstairs, itcrept to her feet when she sat at meals, it jumped upon her knee when shesat by the fire, it was her constant companion everywhere. 

There was only one time when the kitten and Rosalie were separated, andthat was when sue went to perform in the theatre. Then it would scamperdownstairs after her, as she went to the cab in her little white frock; itwould watch her drive away, and wander restlessly about the house, cryinguntil she returned. 

No words can describe how much Rosalie disliked going to the theatre now. It was a low, dirty place, and filled every evening with very bad-lookingpeople. Rosalie went there night after night with her father, and the ladyof the house, who was an actress in the same theatre, went with them. Shewas not unkind to Rosalie, but simply took no notice of her. But toRosalie's father she was very polite; she always gave him the best seat inthe dingy parlour, and the chief place at table, and consulted his comfortin every possible way. Often when Rosalie came suddenly into the room, shefound her father and the lady of the house in earnest conversation, whichwas always stopped the moment that the child entered. And as they drovetogether in the cab to the theatre, many whispered words passed betweenthem, of which Rosalie heard enough to make her feel quite sure that herfather and the lady of the house were on the best of terms. 

And so the weeks and months passed by, and the time drew near when the dayswould be long and light again, and her father's engagement at the theatrewould end, and he would set out on his summer rounds to all the fairs inthe country. Rosalie was eagerly looking forward to this time; she waslonging to get out of this dark lodging-house; to have her own caravan toherself, where she might read and pray undisturbed; to breathe once morethe pure country air; to see the flowers, and the birds, and the treesagain; and to see poor old Toby, and to continue his reading-lessons. Toall this Rosalie looked fopward with pleasure. 

But Betsey Ann grew very mournful as the time drew near. 

'La!' she would say, again and again; 'whatever shall I do without you?Whoever shall I find to read to me then?'

And the slipshod shoes dragged more heavily at the thought, and the eyes ofpoor Betsey Ann filled with tears. 

Yet she knew now that, even when Rosalie went away, the Good Shepherd lovedher, and would be with her still. 

CHAPTER XVI

A DARK TIME

One morning, when Rosalie was upstairs in her attic reading quietly toherself, the door opened softly, and Betsey Ann came in with a verytroubled look in her face, and sat down on one of the boxes. 

'What's the matter, Betsey Ann?' asked the child. 

'Deary me, deary me!' said the girl; 'I'm real sorry, that I am!'

'What is it?' said Rosalie. 

'If it only wasn't her, I shouldn't have minded so much, ' explained BetseyAnn; 'but she is--I can't tell you what she is; she's dreadful sometimes. Oh dear! I am in a way about it!'

'About what?' asked Rosalie again. 

'I've guessed as much a long time, ' said Betsey Ann; 'but they was verydeep, them two, and I couldn't be quite sure of it. There's no mistakeabout it now, more's the pity!'

'Do tell me, please, Betsey Ann!' pleaded the child. 

'Well, Rosalie, ' said the girl, 'I may as well tell you at once. You'regoing to have a ma!'

'A what?' said the child. 

'A ma--a new mother. She's going to be Mrs. Augustus Joyce. '

'Oh, Betsey Ann, ' said Rosalie mournfully, 'are you sure?'

'Sure? yes, ' said the girl, 'only too sure. One of the lodgers told me;and, what's more, them two have gone off in a cab together just now, andit's my belief that they've gone to church to finish it off. Ay, but I amsorry!'

'Oh, Betsey Ann, ' sobbed little Rosalie, 'what shall I do?'

'I never was so cut up about anything, ' said the girl. 'She's been justdecent to you till now; but when she's made it fast she'll be anotherwoman, you'll see. Oh dear, oh dear! But I must be off; I've lots to doafore she comes back, and I shall catch it if I waste my time. 

'Oh, Rosalie, I wish I hadn't told you!' she added, as she listened to thechild's sobs. 

'Oh, it's better I should know, ' said Rosalie; 'thank you, dear BetseyAnn. '

'I'm real sorry, I am!' said the girl, as she went downstairs. 'I'm a greatstrong thing, but she's such a weakly little darling. I'm real sorry, Iam!'

When Betsey Ann was gone, Rosalie was left to her own sorrowfulmeditations. All her dreams of quiet and peace in the caravan were at anend. They would either remain in the large lodging-house, or, if they wenton their travels, the lady of the house would be also the lady of thecaravan. And how would she ever be able to keep her dear letter and locketsafe from those inquisitive eyes?

What a wretched life seemed before the child as she looked on into thefuture! She seemed farther from her Aunt Lucy than ever before. And howwould she ever be able to do as her mother had asked her--to read herBible, and pray, and learn more and more about the Good Shepherd. 

Life seemed very dark and cheerless to little Rosalie. The sunshine hadfaded from her sky, and all was chill and lifeless. She lost hope and shelost faith for a time. She thought the Good Shepherd must have forgottenall about her, to let this new trouble come to her. And she was very muchafraid that she would grow up a bad woman, and never, never, never see hermother again. 

When she had cried for some time, and was becoming more and more miserableevery moment, she stretched out her hand for her little Testament, to seeif she could find anything there to comfort her. She was turning quicklyover the leaves, not knowing exactly where to read, when the word sheepattracted her attention. 

Ever since the old man had given her the picture, she had always lovedthose texts the best which speak of the Lord as the Shepherd and Hischildren as the sheep. This was the one on which her eyes fell thatsorrowful day--

'My sheep hear My voice, and I know them, and they follow Me; and I giveunto them eternal life; and they shall never perish, neither shall any manpluck them out of My hand. '

The words seemed to soothe and comfort the troubled child, even before shehad thought much about them. But when she began to think the verses overword by word, as was her custom, they seemed to Rosalie to be everythingshe wanted just then. 

'"My sheep. " It's the Good Shepherd speaking, ' thought Rosalie, 'speakingabout His sheep. "My sheep, " He calls them. Am I one of them? I hope I am. I have asked the Good Shepherd to find me, and I think He has. 

'"My sheep hear My voice. " Oh, please Good Shepherd, said little Rosalie, 'may I hear your voice; may I do all that you tell me, and always try toplease you!

'"And I know them. " I'm glad the Good Shepherd knows me, ' said Rosalie;'because if He knows me, and knows all about me, then He knows just howworried and troubled I am. He knows all about father getting married, andthe lady of the house coming to live in our caravan; and He knows how hardit is to do right when I've only bad people round me; yes, He knows allthat. 

'"My sheep hear My voice, and I know them, and they follow Me. " "Theyfollow Me. " Where the Good Shepherd goes the sheep go, ' said Rosalie toherself. 'He walks first, and they walk after; they go just where He went. Oh dear! I'm sure I don't think He ever went to fairs or theatres or shows. And I _must_ go; can I be a sheep after all? But then I don't want togo; I don't like going a bit. As soon as ever I can, I won't go any more. And the Good Shepherd must know that, if He knows His sheep. And I do wantto follow Him, to walk after Him, and only say and do what the GoodShepherd would have said and done. I do hope I am a little sheep, though Ido live in a caravan. '

But the second verse seemed to Rosalie even more beautiful than the first:'I give unto them eternal life. '

She knew what _eternal_ meant; it meant for ever and for ever; hermother had taught her that. And this was the Shepherd's present to Hissheep. Eternal life; they were to live for ever and ever. It was awonderful thought; Rosalie's little mind could not quite grasp it, but itdid her good to think of it. It made present troubles and worries seem verysmall and insignificant. If she was going to live for ever, and ever, andever, what a little bit of that long time would be spent in this sorrowfulworld! All the troubles would soon be over. She would not have to live in acaravan in heaven; she would never be afraid there of doing wrong, orgrowing up wicked. Oh, that was a very good thought. The sorrow would notlast always; good times were coming, for Rosalie had received the GoodShepherd's present, even eternal life. 

'And they shall never perish, neither shall any man pluck them out of Myhand. '

'After all, ' thought Rosalie, 'that is the very sweetest bit of all thetext. If I am one of the sheep, and if I am in the Good Shepherd's hand, noone can pluck me out of it. What a strong hand He must have to hold all Hissheep so fast!'

'Oh, Good Shepherd, ' prayed Rosalie again, 'hold me fast; don't let any onepluck me out of Thy hand, not father, not the new mother, nor any of thepeople here. Please hold me very tight; I am so afraid. I'm only a littlesheep, and I have no one to help me, so please hold me tighter than therest. Amen. '

Oh, how this prayer lightened little Rosalie's heart! She rose from herknees comforted. Safe in the Good Shepherd's hand, who or what could harmher?

It was well she had been thus strengthened and comforted, for a few minutesafterwards she heard her father's voice calling her, and, going downstairs, she found him sitting in the parlour with the lady of the house. 

'Rosalie, ' said her father, with a theatrical bow, 'allow me to introduceyou to your lady mother!'

He evidently expected her to be very much astonished, but Rosalie tried tosmile, and gave her hand to the lady of the house. And, as she put herlittle trembling hand in that of her new mother, it seemed to Rosalie as ifthe Good Shepherd tightened the hold of His hand on His little forlornlamb. 

Her father, after a few heartless remarks about Rosalie having a motheragain, dismissed her, and she went up again to her attic. 

But the very next day Rosalie saw clearly that Betsey Ann's predictionswere likely to be fulfilled. 

'Rosalie, ' said her stepmother, as soon as she came downstairs, 'I intendthat you shall make yourself useful now. I'm not going to have a daughterof mine idling away her time as you have been doing lately. Fetch somewater and scour the sitting-room floor. And when you've done that, there'splenty more for you to do! _I_ know how to make girls work!'

Rosalie thought she could very easily believe that. 

Her father was standing by, and only laughed at what his wife said. 

'It will do her good, ' Rosalie heard him say, as she went out of the room;'she wants a bit of hard work. '

And a bit of hard work Rosalie certainly had; it was difficult to saywhether she or Betsey Ann had the more to do. Perhaps Rosalie's life wasthe harder, for every night she had to go, weary and footsore as she was, to the theatre, and take her usual part in the play. And when she came homeat night, she was so worn out that she could hardly drag herself up to theattic to bed. 

But the hard work was not what Rosalie minded most. There was fault-findingfrom morning till night, without one single word of praise andencouragement; there were unkind, cruel words, and even blows to bear. Butwhat was worse than all these was that the child had to wait upon many ofthe rude and noisy and wicked lodgers, and heard and saw much, very much, that was so bad and unholy, that the very thought of it made her shudder asshe knelt at night to pray in her little attic. 

Would she ever be kept from harm in this dreadful place? Sometimes littleRosalie felt as if she would sink under it; but the Good Shepherd's handwas around her, and she was kept safe; no one could pluck her out of thathand. No evil thing could touch her; the Good Shepherd's little sheep wasperfectly safe in His almighty grasp. 

Rosalie saw very little of her father at this time. He was out nearly allthe afternoon, only coming home in time to go with them to the theatre atnight; and then, when the performance was over, he often did not go homewith his wife and Rosalie, but sent them off in a cab, and went with one ofhis friends in another direction. Where they went Rosalie never knew; shefeared it was to one of the gin-palaces, which stood at the corner ofalmost every street in that crowded neighbourhood. 

And Rosalie never knew when her father returned home. He had a latch-key, and let himself in after all in the house were asleep; and Rosalie saw himno more until dinner-time the next day, when he would come downstairs in avery bad temper with every one. 

She was often unhappy about him, and would have done anything she could tomake him think about his soul. But it seemed of no use speaking to him;ever since his wife's death he had appeared quite hardened, as if he hadburied his last convictions of sin in her grave. Augustus Joyce hadresisted the Spirit of God; and that Spirit seemed to strive with him nolonger. The Good Shepherd had longed and yearned to find him; but thewayward wanderer had refused to hear His voice, he had preferred the farcountry and wilderness of sin to the safe folds and the Shepherd's arms. Hehad hardened his heart to all that would have made him better, and for thelast time had turned away from the tender mercies of God!

One night, when Rosalie had gone to bed, with the kitten beside her on thepillow, and had fallen asleep from very weariness and exhaustion, she wasstartled by a hand laid on her shoulder, and Betsey Ann's voice saying--

'Rosalie, Rosalie! what can it be?'

She started up quickly, and saw Betsey Ann standing beside her, lookingvery frightened. 

'Rosalie, ' she said, 'didn't you hear it?'

'Hear what?' asked the child. 

'Why, I was fast asleep, ' said Betsey Ann, 'and I woke all of a minute, andI heard the door-bell ring. '

'Are you sure?' said Rosalie. 'I heard nothing. '

'No, ' said Betsey Ann; 'and missis doesn't seem to have heard; every one'sbeen asleep a long time; but then, you see, I have to go so fast to open itwhen it rings in the day, I expect the sound of it would make me jump up ifI was ever so fast asleep. '

'Are you quite sure, Betsey Ann?' said Rosalie once more. 

But she had hardly spoken the words before the bell rang again very loudly, and left no doubt about it. 

'Do you mind coming with me, Rosalie?' said Betsey Ann, as she prepared togo downstairs. 

'No not at all, ' said the child; 'I'm not afraid. '

So the two girls hastily put on their clothes and went downstairs. Just asthey arrived at the bottom of the steep staircase, the bell rang again, louder than before, and the lady of the house came on the landing to seewhat it was. 

'Please, ma'am, ' said Betsey Ann, 'it's the house bell; me and Rosalie arejust going to open the door. '

'Oh, it's nothing, I should think, ' said she; 'it will be some one who hasarrived by the train, and has come to the wrong door. '

Whilst they were talking, the bell rang again, more violently than before, and Betsey Ann opened the door. It was a dark night, but she could see aman standing on the doorstep. 

'Is this Mrs. Joyce's?' he inquired. 

'Yes, ' said the girl; 'she lives here. '

'Then she's wanted, ' said the man; 'tell her to be quick and come. '

'What's the matter?' asked Rosalie. 

'It's an accident, ' said the man. 'He's in the hospital, is her husband;he's been run over by a van. I'll take her there if she'll be quick; I'm amate of Joyce's, and I was passing at the time. '

Rosalie stood as if she had been stunned, unable to speak or move, whilstBetsey Ann went upstairs to tell her mistress. 

'It's all along of that drink, ' said the man, more as if talking to himselfthan to Rosalie. 'It's an awful thing is drink. He never saw the van norheard it, but rolled right under the wheels. I was passing by, I was, and Isaid to myself, "That's Joyce. " So I followed him to the infirmary, andcame to tell his wife. Dear me! it's a bad job, it is. '

In a few minutes Mrs. Augustus Joyce came downstairs dressed to go out. Rosalie ran up to her and begged to go with her, but she was ordered to goback to bed, and her stepmother hastened out with the man. 

What a long night that seemed to Rosalie! How she longed for morning todawn, and lay awake straining her ears for any sound which might tell herthat her stepmother had returned. 

At length, as the grey morning light was stealing into the room, thedoor-bell rang again, and Betsey Ann went to open the door for hermistress. Rosalie felt as if she did not dare to go downstairs to hear whathad happened. 

Presently the slipshod shoes came slowly upstairs, and Betsey Ann came intothe attic. 

'Tell me, ' said the child, 'what is it?'

'He's dead, ' said Betsey Ann solemnly; 'he was dead when she got there; henever knew nothing after the wheels went over him. Isn't it awful, though?'

Little Rosalie could not speak and could not cry; she sat quite still andmotionless. 

What of her father's soul? That was the thought uppermost in her mind. Oh, where was he now? Was his soul safe? Could she have any hope, even thefaintest, that he was with her mother in the bright home above?

It was a terrible end to Augustus Joyce's ungodly and sinful life. Cut offin the midst of his sins, with no time for repentance, no time to take hisheavy load of guilt to the Saviour, whose love he had scorned and rejected. Oh, how often had he been called and invited by the Good Shepherd's voiceof love! but he would not hearken, and now it was too late. 

CHAPTER XVII

ALONE IN THE WORLD

It was the day after her father's funeral. Rosalie was busily engagedsweeping the high staircase, when her stepmother came out of the dingyparlour, and called to the child to come down. 

As soon as Rosalie entered the room, Mrs. Joyce told her to shut the door, and then asked her in a sharp voice how long she intended to stop in herhouse. 

'I don't know, ma'am, ' said Rosalie timidly. 

'Then you ought to know, ' returned Mrs. Joyce. 'I suppose you don't expectme to keep you, and do for you? You're nothing to me, you know. '

'No, ' said Rosalie; 'I know I'm not. '

'So I thought I'd better tell you at once, ' she said, 'that you might knowwhat to expect. I'm going to speak to the workhouse about you--that's thebest place for you now; they'll make you like hard work, and get a goodplace for you, like Betsey Ann. '

'Oh no!' said Rosalie quickly; 'no, I don't want to go there. '

'Don't want?' repeated Mrs. Joyce; 'I daresay you don't want; but beggarscan't be choosers, you know. If you'd been a nice, smart, strong girl, Imight have kept you instead of Betsey Ann; but a little puny thing like youwouldn't be worth her salt. No, no, miss; your fine days are over; to thehouse you'll go, sure as I'm alive. '

'Please, ma'am, ' began Rosalie, 'my mother, I think, had some relations'--

'Rubbish, child!' said her stepmother, interrupting her. 'I never heard ofyour mother having any relations; I don't believe she had any, or if shehad, they're not likely to have anything to say to you. No, no; theworkhouse is the place for you, and I shall take care you go to it beforeyou're a day older. Be off now, and finish the stairs. '

'Betsey Ann, ' said Rosalie, as they went upstairs together that night, longafter every one else in that large house was fast asleep--'Betsey Ann, dearBetsey Ann, I'm going away!'

'La, bless me!' said Betsey Ann; 'what do you say?'

'I'm. Going away to-morrow, dear!' whispered Rosalie; 'so come into myattic, and I'll tell you all about it. '

The two girls sat down on the bed, and Rosalie told Betsey Ann what herstepmother had said to her, and how she could not make up her mind to gointo the workhouse, but had settled to leave the lodging-house beforebreakfast the next morning, and never to come back any more. 

'But, Rosalie, ' said Betsey Ann, 'whatever will you do?

You can't live on air, child; you'll die if you go away like that!'

'Look here, ' said Rosalie, in a very low whisper, 'I can trust you, BetseyAnn, and I'll show you something. '

She put her hand in her bosom, and brought out a little parcel, and whenshe had opened it she handed the locket to Betsey Ann. 

'La, how beautiful!' said the girl; 'I never saw it before. '

'No, ' said Rosalie. 'I promised my mammie I would never lose it; and I'vebeen so afraid lest some one should see it, and take it from me. '

'Whoever is this pretty little lady, Rosalie?'

'She's my mammie's sister. Oh, such a good, kind lady! That is her picturewhen she was quite young: she is married now, and has a little girl of herown. So now I'll tell you all about it, ' said Rosalie. 'Just before mymammie died, she gave me that locket, and she said, if ever I had anopportunity, I was to go to my Aunt Lucy. She wrote a letter for me to takewith me, to say who I am, and to ask my Aunt Lucy to be kind to me. 

'Here's the letter, ' said the child, taking it out of the parcel; 'that'smy mammie's writing. 

 "MRS. LESLIE, Melton Parsonage. "

Didn't she write beautifully?'

'Well, but Rosalie, ' said Betsey Ann, 'what do you mean to do?'

'I mean to go to my Aunt Lucy, dear, and give her the letter. '

'She'll never let you go, Rosalie; it's no use trying. She said you shouldgo to the workhouse, and she'll keep her word!'

'Yes, I know she'll never give me leave, ' said Rosalie; 'so I'm goingto-morrow morning before breakfast. She doesn't get up till eleven, and Ishall be far away then. '

'But, Rosalie, do you know your way?'

'No, ' said the child wearily; 'I shall have to ask, I suppose. How far isPendleton from here, Betsey Ann? Do you know?'

'Yes, ' said Betsey Ann; 'there was a woman in the workhouse came fromthere. She often told us of how she walked the distance on a cold, snowyday; it's fourteen or fifteen miles, I think. '

'Well, that's the town, ' said Rosalie, 'where the old man gave me mypicture; and it was the first village we passed through after that where myAunt Lucy lived. Melton must be about five miles farther than Pendleton. '

'Oh, Rosalie, ' said Betsey Ann, 'that's near upon twenty miles! You'llnever be able to walk all that way!'

'Oh yes, ' said the child; 'I must try; because if once I get there--oh, Betsey Ann, just think--if once I get there, to my own dear Aunt Lucy!'

But Betsey Ann buried her face in her hands and began to sob. 

'La, bless you, it's all right!' she said, as Rosalie tried to comfort her;'you'll be happy there, and it will be all right. But, oh dear me! to thinkI've got to stay here without you!'

'Poor Betsey Ann!' said the child, as she laid her little hand on thegirl's rough hair; 'what can I do?'

'Oh, I know it's all right, Rosalie; it's better than seeing you go to theworkhouse; but I didn't think it would come so soon. Can't you tell theGood Shepherd, Rosalie, and ask Him to look after me a bit, when you'regone?'

'Yes, dear, ' said the child; 'let us tell Him now. '

So they knelt down, hand in hand, on the attic floor, and Rosalie prayed--

'Oh, Good Shepherd, I am going away; please take care of Betsey Ann, andcomfort her, and help her to do right, and never let her feel lonely'orunhappy. And please take care of me, and bring me safe to my Aunt Lucy. Andif Betsey Ann and I never meet again in this world, please may we meet inheaven. Amen. '

Then they rose from their knees comforted, and began to make preparationsfor Rosalie's departure. 

She would take very little with her, for she had so far to walk that shecould not carry much. She filled a very small bag with the things that sheneeded most; and wrapped her little Testament up, and put it in the centre, with the small pair of blue shoes which had belonged to her little brother. Her picture, too, was not forgotten, nor the card with the hymn upon it. When all was ready, they went to bed, but neither of them could sleep muchthat night. 

As soon as it was light, Rosalie prepared to start. She wrapped herself inher mother's warm shawl, for it was a raw, chilly morning, and took herlittle bag in her hand. Then she went into Betsey Ann's attic to saygood-bye. 

'What am I to tell the missis, when she asks where you've gone?' said thegirl. 

'You can say, dear, that I've gone to my mother's relations, and am notcoming back any more. She won't ask any more, if you say that; she'll onlybe too glad to get rid of me. But I'd rather she didn't know where my AuntLucy lives; so don't say anything about it, please, Betsey Ann, unlessyou're obliged. '

The girl promised, and then with many tears they took leave of each other. 

Just as Rosalie was starting, and Betsey Ann was opening the door for her, she caught sight of something very black and soft under the child's largeshawl. 

'La, bless me!' she cried; 'what's that?'

'It's only the poor little kit, ' said Rosalie; 'I couldn't leave herbehind. She took a piece of fish the other day, and the mistress was soangry, and is going to give her poison. She said last night she wouldpoison my kit to-day. She called out after me as I went out of the room, "Two pieces of rubbish got rid of in one day. To-morrow _you_ shall goto the workhouse, and that wretched little thief of a kitten shall bepoisoned. " And then she laughed, Betsey Ann. So I couldn't leave my dearlittle kit behind, could I?' and Rosalie stroked its black fur verylovingly as she spoke. 

'But how will you ever carry it, Rosalie? It won't be good all that way, rolled up like that. '

'Oh, I shall manage, dear. It will walk a bit when we get in the country;it follows me just like a dog. '

'And what are you going to eat on the way, Rosalie? Let me fetch you a bitof something out of the pantry. '

'Oh no, dear!' said Rosalie decidedly; 'I won't take anything, because itisn't mine. But I have a piece of bread that I saved from breakfast, and Ihave twopence which my father gave me once, so I shall manage till I getthere. '

So Rosalie went out into the great world alone, and Betsey Ann stood at thedoor to watch her go down the street. Over and over again did Rosalie comeback to say good-bye, over and over again did she turn round to kiss herhand to the poor little servant-girl, who was watching her down the street. And then when she turned the corner, and could no longer see Betsey Ann'sfriendly face, Rosalie felt really alone. The streets looked very wide anddismal then, and Rosalie felt that she was only a little girl, and had noone to take care of her. And then she looked up to the blue sky, and askedthe Good Shepherd to help her, and to bring her safely to her journey'send. 

It was about six o'clock when Rosalie started, the men were going to theirwork, and were hurrying quickly past her. Rosalie did not like to stop anyof them to ask them the way, they seemed too busy to have time to speak toher. She ventured timidly to put the question to a boy of fifteen, who wassauntering along, whistling, with his hands in his pockets; but he onlylaughed, and asked her why she wanted to know. So Rosalie walked on, verymuch afraid that after all she might be walking in the wrong direction. Shenext asked some children on a doorstep; but they were frightened at beingspoken to, and ran indoors. 

Then Rosalie went up to an old woman who was opening her shutters, andasked her if she would be so very good as to tell her the way to Pendleton. 

'What, my dear?' said the old woman. 'Speak up. I'm deaf. '

But though Rosalie stood on tiptoe to reach up to her ear, and shoutedagain and again, she could not make the old woman hear, and at last had togive it up, and go on her way. She was feeling very lonely now, poor child, not knowing which way to turn, or to whom to go for help. True, there woremany people in the street, but they were walking quickly along, and Rosaliewas discouraged by her unsuccessful attempts, and afraid to stop them. Shehad come some way from the street in which she had lived with herstepmother, and had never been in this part of the town before. She wasfeeling very faint and hungry, from having come so far before breakfast;but she did not like to eat her one piece of bread, for she would need itso much more later in the day. But she broke off a small piece and gave itto the poor hungry little kit, which was mewing under her shawl. 

'Oh, ' thought Rosalie, 'if I only had some one to help me just now-some oneto show me where to go, and what to do!'

There was a story which the child had read in her little Testament, whichcame suddenly into her mind just then. It was a story of the Good Shepherdwhen He was on earth. The story told how He sent two of His disciples intothe city of Jerusalem to find a place for Him and them, where they mighteat the Passover. The two men did not know to which house to go; they didnot know who, in the great city of Jerusalem, would be willing to give aroom. But Jesus told them that as soon as they came inside the city gatethey would see a man walking before them. He told them the man would becarrying a pitcher of water; and that when they saw this man, they were tofollow him, and go down just the same streets as he did. He told them thatby and by the man would stop in front of a house, and go into the house, and then, when they saw him go in, they were to know that that was theright house, the house in which they were to eat the Passover. 

Rosalie remembered this story now, as she stood at the corner of a street, not knowing which way to turn. How she wished that a man with a pitcher ofwater would appear and walk in front of her, that she might know which wayto go! But though she looked up and down the street, she saw no one at alllike the man in the story. There were plenty of men, but none of them hadpitchers, nor did they seem at all likely to guide her into the right way. 

But the Good Shepherd was the same, Rosalie thought, as kind now as He wasthen, so she spoke to Him in her heart, in a very earnest little prayer. 

'Oh, Good Shepherd, please send me a man with a pitcher of water to show methe way, for I am very unhappy, and I don't know what to do. Amen. '

CHAPTER XVIII

THE LITTLE PITCHER

Rosalie had shut her eyes as she said her little prayer; and when sheopened them she saw before her a little girl about five years old, in avery clean print frock and white pinafore, with a pitcher in her hand. Rosalie almost felt as if she had fallen from heaven. She was not a man, tobe sure, and the pitcher was filled full of milk, and not water; yet itseemed very strange that she should come up just then. 

The little girl was gazing up into Rosalie's face, and wondering why shewas shutting her eyes. As soon as Rosalie opened them, she said--

'Please, will you open our shop-door for me? I'm afraid of spilling themilk. '

Rosalie turned round, and behind where she was standing was a very smallshop. In the window were children's slates and slate-pencils, with colouredpaper twisted round them, and a few wooden tops, and balls of string, andlittle boxes of ninepins, and a basket full of marbles, and pink and blueshuttlecocks. It was a very quiet little shop indeed, and it looked as ifvery few customers ever entered it. The slate-pencils and battledores andmarbles looked as if they had stood in exactly the same places long beforethe little girl was born. 

Rosalie lifted the latch and opened the door of the little shop for thechild to go in. And the little pitcher went in before her. 

Rosalie felt sure she must follow it, and that here she would find some oneto tell her the way. 

'Popsey, ' said a voice from the next room--'little Popsey, is that you?'

'Yes, grannie, ' said the child; 'and I've not spilt a drop--not one singledrop, grannie. '

'What a good, clever little Popsey!' said grannie, coming out of the backparlour to take the milk from the child's hands. 

'Please, ma'am, ' said Rosalie, seizing the opportunity, 'would you be sovery kind as to tell me the way to Pendleton?'

'Yes, to be sure, ' said the old woman. 'You're not far wrong here; take thefirst turn to the right, and you'll find yourself on the Pendleton road. '

'Oh, thank you very much, ' said Rosalie. 'Is it a very long way toPendleton, please, ma'am?'

'Ay, my dear, ' said the old woman; 'it's a good long step--Popsey, take themilk in to grandfather, he's waiting breakfast--it's a good long way toPendleton, my dear, maybe fourteen or fifteen miles. '

'Oh dear! that sounds a very long way!' said Rosalie. 

'Who wants to go there, my dear?' asked the old woman. 

'I want to go, ' said Rosalie sorrowfully. 

'You want to go, child? Why, who are you going with? and how are you going?You're surely not going to walk?'

'Yes, I am, ' said Rosalie. 'Thank you, ma'am; I must walk as fast as Ican. '

'Why, you don't look fit to go, I'm sure!' said the old woman; 'such a poorlittle weakly thing as you look! Whatever is your mother about, to let yougo?'

'I haven't got a mother!' said Rosalie, bursting into tears; 'she's dead, is my mother. I haven't got a mother any more. '

'Don't cry, my poor lamb!' said the old woman, wiping her eyes with herapron. 'Popsey hasn't got a mother neither--her mother's dead; she liveswith us, does Popsey. Maybe your grandmother lives in Pendleton; does she?'

'No, ' said Rosalie; 'I'm going to my mother's sister, who lives in avillage near Pendleton. I was to have gone to the workhouse to-day, but Ithink perhaps she'll take care of me, if I only can get there. '

'Poor lamb!' said the old woman; 'what a way you have to go! Have you hadyour breakfast yet? You look fit to faint. '

'No, ' said Rosalie; 'I have a piece of bread in my bag, but I was keepingit till I got out of the town. '

'Jonathan, ' called out the old woman, 'come here. '

Rosalie could hear a chair being pushed from the table on the stone floorin the kitchen, and the next moment a little old man came into the shop, with spectacles on his nose, a blue handkerchief tied round his neck, and ablack velvet waistcoat. 

'Look ye here, Jonathan, ' said his wife, 'did you ever hear the like?Here's this poor lamb going to walk all the way to Pendleton, and never hada bite of nothing all this blessed day! What do you say to that, Jonathan?'

'I say, ' said the old man, 'that breakfast's all ready, and the coffee willbe cold. '

'Yes; so do I, Jonathan, ' said the old woman; 'so come along, child, andhave a sup before you start. '

The next minute found Rosalie seated by the round table in the little backkitchen, with a cup of steaming coffee and a slice of hot cake before her. Such a cosy little kitchen it was, with a bright fire burning in the grate, and another hot cake standing on the top of the oven, to be kept hot untilit was wanted. The fireirons shone like silver, and everything in the roomwas as neat and clean and bright as it was possible for them to be. 

Popsey was sitting on a high chair between the old man and woman, and thepitcher of milk was just in front of her; she had been pouring some of itinto her grandfather's coffee. 

The old man was very attentive to Rosalie, and wanted her to eat ofeverything on the table. He had heard what she had told the old woman inthe shop, for the kitchen was so near that every word could be hearddistinctly. 

But before Rosalie would eat a morsel herself, she said, looking up in theold woman's face, 'Please, ma'am, may my little kit have something to eat?it's so very, very hungry. '

'Your little kit?' exclaimed the old woman. 'Why, what do you mean, child?Where is it?'

But the kitten answered this question by peeping out from the child'sshawl. They were all very much astonished to see it; but when Rosalie toldits story, and the old woman heard that it was motherless, like Popsey, itreceived a warm welcome. The pitcher of milk was emptied for the hungrykitten, and when its breakfast was over, it sat purring in front of thebright fire. 

It was a very cosy little party, and they all enjoyed themselves very much. Rosalie thought she had never tasted such good cakes, nor drunk suchdelicious coffee. Popsey was delighted with the kitten, and wanted to giveall her breakfast to it. 

When breakfast was over, Popsey got down from her high chair and went to achest of drawers, which stood in a corner near the fireplace. It was a veryold-fashioned chest of drawers, and on the top of it were arranged someequally old-fashioned books. In the middle of these was a large well-wornfamily Bible. 

Popsey put a chair against the chest of drawers, and, standing on tiptoe onit, brought down the Bible from its place. It was almost as much as shecould lift, but she put both her arms round it, and carried it to hergrandfather. The old man cleared a space for it on the table, and laid itbefore him. Then, looking up at the old woman, he said--

'Are you ready, grandmother?'

To which the old woman answered, 'Yes, Jonathan, quite ready;' and pushedher chair a little way from the table, and folded her arms. Rosaliefollowed her example and did the same. Popsey had seated herself on awooden stool at her grandfather's feet. 

Then there was a pause, in which the old man took an extra pair ofspectacles from a leathern case, fixed them on his nose, and turned overthe leaves of his Bible. And then, when he had found his place, he began toread a psalm. The psalm might have been chosen on purpose for Rosalie; shealmost started when the old man began--

'The Lord is my shepherd: I shall not want. '

That was the first verse of the psalm; and it went on to tell how theShepherd leads His sheep into green pastures, and makes them to lie downbeside still waters; and how the sheep need fear no evil, for He is withthem; His rod and His staff they comfort them. 

Then, when he had finished reading, the old man offered up a very suitablelittle prayer, in which Rosalie and Popsey were both named, and committedto the Shepherd's care. 

And then, when they rose from their knees, Rosalie felt it was high timeshe should go on her journey. But the old woman would not hear of her goingtill she had wrapped up all that was left of the cake in a little parcel, and slipped it into the child's bag. After this, they all three--the oldman, the old woman, and Popsey--went to the door to see Rosalie start. 

Popsey could hardly tear herself from the kitten, and the old woman couldnot make up her mind to stop kissing Rosalie. But at length the good-byeswere over, and the child set off once more on her travels, feeling warmedand comforted and strengthened. 

It was about eight o'clock now, so there was no time to lose. She easilyfound the Pendleton road, and the old man had directed her when she foundit to go straight on, turning neither to the right hand nor to the left, till she reached Pendleton itself. She would pass through several villages, he said, but she was not to turn aside in any direction. So Rosalie had nofurther anxiety about the way she was to go. All she had to do was to walkalong as quickly as possible. 

The first part of the road lay through the outskirts of the town; on eitherside of the way were rows of red-brick houses and small shops, and everynow and then a patch of field or garden. 

By degrees the houses and shops became fewer, and the patches of field andgarden became more numerous. 

And then, after a time, the houses disappeared altogether, and there wasnothing on both sides of the road but fields and gardens. 

The sun was shining now, and the hedges were covered with wild roses. OverRosalie's head there was a lark singing in mid-air, and by the side of thepath grew the small pink flowers of the wild convolvulus. Rosalie could nothelp stopping to gather some sprays of this, and to twist them round herhat. It was so many months since she had seen any flowers; and they broughtthe old days back to her, when Toby used to put her down from the caravan, that she might gather the flowers for her mother. 

For the first few miles Rosalie enjoyed her walk very much, everything wasso bright and pleasant. Every now and then she put the kitten on theground, and it ran by her side. 

Then the child sat on a bank and ate the cake which Popsey's grandmotherhad given her. And the little black kit had Benjamin's share of the littleentertainment. 

But as the day went on the poor little kit became tired, and would walk nomore; and Rosalie grew tired also. Her feet went very slowly now, and shefelt afraid that night would come on long before she reached Pendleton. Then the sun was hidden by clouds, and wind began to sweep through thetrees, and blew against the child, so that she could hardly make any wayagainst it. 

And then came the rain, only a few drops at first, then quicker andquicker, till Rosalie's shawl became wet through, and her clothes clungheavily to her ankles. Still on she walked, very heavily and wearily, andthe rain poured on, and the kitten shivered under the shawl. Rosalie didher very best to keep it warm, and every now and then she stroked its wetfur, and spoke a word of comfort to it. 

How wearily the child's little feet pressed on, as she struggled againstthe cold and piercing wind!

How would she ever reach the town? How would she ever hold on till shearrived at her Aunt Lucy's?

CHAPTER XIX

SKIRRYWINKS

Rosalie was almost in despair, almost ready to give up and sit down by theroadside, when she heard a sound behind her. It was the rumbling sound ofwheels, and in another minute Rosalie saw coming up to her two largecaravans, so [Illustration: A REST BY THE WAYSIDE. ]

[Blank Page] like the caravan in which she used to travel with her mother, that the child felt as if she were dreaming as she looked at them. 

The caravans were painted a brilliant yellow, just as her father's caravansused to be; and there were muslin curtains and pink bows in the littlewindows, just like those through which she had so often peeped. 

When the caravans came up to Rosalie, she saw a woman standing at the doorof the first one, and talking to the man who was driving. 

The woman caught sight of the child as soon as they overtook her. 

'Halloa!' she called out; 'where are you off to?'

'Please, ' said Rosalie, 'I'm going to Pendleton, if only I can get there. '

'Give her a lift, John Thomas, ' said the woman; 'give the child a lift. It's an awful day to be struggling along against wind and storm. '

'All right, ' said John Thomas, pulling up; 'I've no objections, if the lasslikes to get in. '

Rosalie was very grateful indeed for this offer, and climbed at once intothe caravan. 

The woman opened the door for her, and took off her wet shawl as she wentin. 

'Why, you've got a kitten there!' she said as she did so. 'Wherever are youtaking it to? it's half drowned with the rain. '

'Yes, poor little kit!' said Rosalie; 'I must try to dry it, it is socold!'

'Well, I'll make a place for both of you near the fire, ' said the woman, 'if only my children will get out of the way. '

Rosalie looked in vain for any children in the caravan; but the womanpointed to a large black dog, a pigeon, and a kitten, which were sittingtogether on the floor. 

'Come, Skirrywinks, ' said the woman, addressing herself to the kitten;'come to me. '

As soon as she said 'Skirrywinks, ' the kitten, which had appeared to beasleep before, lifted up its head and jumped on her knee. The great blackdog was ordered to the other end of the caravan, and the pigeon perchedupon the dog's head. 

Then the woman gave Rosalie a seat near the little stove, and the childwarmed her hands and dried and comforted her poor little kitten. No wordscan tell how thankful she was for this help on her way. She felt sure thatJohn Thomas must be a man with a pitcher of water, sent to help her on herjourney. 

For some time the woman leant out of the caravan, continuing herconversation with her husband, and Rosalie was able to look about her. Theinside of the caravan was very like that in which she had been born, andhad lived so many years. There was a little cooking-stove, just like thatwhich her mother had used; and in the corner was a large cupboard, filledwith cups and saucers and plates, just like the one which Rosalie herselfhad arranged so often. But what struck her more than anything else was thaton the side of the caravan was nailed up her picture, the picture of theGood Shepherd and the sheep. 

It was exactly the same picture, and the same text was underneath it--

'Rejoice with Me; for I have found My sheep which was lost. ' 'There is joyin the presence of the angels of God over one sinner that repenteth. '

Rosalie could not help feeling in her bag to be sure that her own picturewas safe, so precisely did the picture on the wall resemble it. 

The picture seemed to have hung there for some time, for it was very smokyand discoloured, but still it looked very beautiful, Rosalie thought; andher eyes filled with tears as she gazed at it. Oh, how it brought hermother's dream to her mind, and carried her thoughts away from the caravanto the home above, where even now, perhaps, her mother was being called bythe Good Shepherd to rejoice with Him over some sheep which was lost, butwhich the Good Shepherd had found again. 

When the woman put her head into the caravan she began to talk to Rosalie, to ask her where she had come from, and where she was going, and what shewas going to do. She seemed a friendly woman, though she spoke in a roughvoice. All the time she was talking, Skirrywinks was sitting on hershoulder and the pigeon on her head. Rosalie's kitten seemed afraid of thelarge black dog, and crept into the child's arms. 

When they had chatted together for some time, Rosalie ventured to mentionthe picture, saying that it seemed so strange to see it here, for that shehad one exactly like it. 

'Oh, have you?' said the woman. 'That's Jinx's picture. An old man gave itto him just a year ago, it will be; it was at Pendleton fair. '

'Why, that's where I got mine!' said Rosalie. 'It must be the same oldman. '

'I should say it was, ' said the woman; 'he came to the caravans on a Sundayafternoon. '

'Oh yes; it's the same old man, ' said Rosalie. 'I have my picture here, inmy bag. I wouldn't ever part with it. '

'Wouldn't you?' said the woman. 'Well, I don't believe Jinx would. Henailed it up that very Sunday, and there it's been ever since. '

'Who's Jinx?' asked Rosalie. 

'He's our boy; at least he lives with us. Me and John Thomas haven't gotany children of our own, so we keeps a few. There's Jinx, he's chief ofthem; and then there's Skirrywinks, and Tozer, and Spanco, and then there'sJeremiah--you haven't seen Jeremiah; he's in bed--you'll see him when Jinxcomes. '

'Where is Jinx?' asked Rosalie, almost expecting he would turn out to besome kind of animal which was hidden away in a corner of the caravan. 

'Oh, he's in the next van, with Lord Fatimore, ' said the woman; 'he'll behere soon, when it's time for these young people to be fed and trained. He's very clever, is Jinx; you never saw any one so clever in all yourlife. I'll be bound he can make 'em do anything. We might just as well shutup, if we hadn't Jinx; it's a deal more popular than Lord Fatimoreis--folks say they never saw such a sight as when Jeremiah and Skirrywinksdance the polka together; and it's all Jinx that has taught them. '

In about half an hour the caravans were stopped, and the wonderful Jinxarrived. He was very short, not taller than Rosalie; he was so humpbacked, that he seemed to have no neck at all; and he had a very old and wizenedand careworn face. It was hard to tell whether he was a man or a boy, hewas so small in stature, and yet so sunken and shrivelled in appearance. 

'Jinx, ' said the woman as he entered, 'here's a young lady come to yourperformance. '

'Most happy, miss, ' said Jinx, with a bow. 

The moment that he came into the caravan, Skirrywinks and the dog sat ontheir hind legs, and the pigeon alighted on his head. As soon as he spoke, Rosalie heard a noise in a basket behind her as of something struggling toget out. 

'I hear you, Jeremiah, ' said Jinx; 'you shall come, you shall. '

He took the basket, and put his hand inside. 

'Now, Jeremiah, ' he said--'now, Jeremiah, if I can find you, Jeremiah, comeout, and show the company how you put on your new coat. '

Out of the basket he brought a hare, which was wonderfully tame, andallowed itself to be arrayed in a scarlet jacket. 

And then Jinx made all the animals go through their several performances, after which each received his proper share of the mid-day meal. ButSkirrywinks seemed to be Jinx's favourite; long after the others weredismissed she sat on his shoulders, watching his every movement. 

'Well, what do you think of them?' he said, turning to Rosalie when he hadfinished. 

'They're very clever, ' said the child--'very clever indeed!'

'That kit of yours couldn't do as much, ' said Jinx, looking scornfully atthe kitten which lay in Rosalie's lap. 

'No, ' said the child; 'but she's a very dear little kit, though she doesn'tjump through rings nor dance polkas. '

'Well, tastes differ, ' said Jinx; 'I prefer Skirrywinks. '

'You've got a picture like mine, ' said Rosalie, after a time, when she sawthat Jinx seemed inclined to talk. 

'Yes, ' he said; 'have you one like it? I got it at Pendleton fair. '

'And so did I, ' said Rosalie; the same old man gave one to me. 

'Has He found _you_, Mr. Jinx?' said Rosalie, in a lower voice. 

'Who found me? what do you mean?' said Jinx, with a laugh. 

'Why, haven't you read the story about the picture?' said the child. 'Itsays where it is underneath. '

'No, not I, ' said Jinx, laughing again; 'thinks I, when the old man gave itto me, it's a pretty picture, and I'll stick it on the wall; but I've nevertroubled my head any more about it. '

'Oh, my mother and I--we read it nearly every day, ' said Rosalie; 'it'ssuch a beautiful story!'

'Is it?' said Jinx. 'I should like to hear it; tell it to me; it will passthe time as we go along. '

'I can read it, if you like, ' said Rosalie. 'I have it here in a book. '

'All right! read on, ' said Jinx graciously. 

Rosalie took her Testament from her bag; but before she began to read, Jinxcalled out to the woman, who was leaning out of the caravan talking to herhusband. 

'Old mother, ' he called out, 'come and hear the little 'un read; she'sgoing to give us the history of that there picture of mine. You knownothing about it, I'll be bound. '

But Jinx was wrong, for when Rosalie had finished reading, the womansaid, 'That will be the Bible you read out of. I've read that often when Iwas a girl. I went to a good Sunday school then. '

'And don't you ever read it now?' said Rosalie. 

'Oh, I'm not so bad as you think, ' said the woman, not answering herquestion; 'I think of all those things at times. I'm a decent woman in myway. I know the Bible well enough, and there's a many a deal worse than Iam!'

'If you would like, ' said Rosalie timidly, 'I'll find it for you in yourBible, and then you can read it again, as you used to do when you were agirl. '

The woman hesitated when Rosalie said this. 

'Well, to tell you the truth, I haven't got my Bible here, ' she said. 'Myhusband sent all the things we wasn't wanting at the time to his relationsin Scotland; and somehow the Bible got packed up in the hamper. It will bea year since now. I was very vexed about it at the time. '

'Has the Good Shepherd found you, ma'am?' asked the child. 

'Oh, I don't know, child; I don't want much finding. I'm not so bad as allthat; I'm a very decent woman, I am. John Thomas will tell you that. '

'Then, I suppose, ' said Rosalie, looking very puzzled, 'you must be one ofthe ninety-and-nine. '

'What do you mean, child?' asked she. 

'I mean, one of the ninety-and-nine sheep which don't need any repentance, because they were never lost; and the Good Shepherd never found them, norcarried them home, nor said of them, "Rejoice with Me; for I have found Mysheep which was lost. "'

'Well, 'said Jinx, looking at Rosalie with a half-amused face, if the oldmother's one of the ninety-and-nine, what am I?'

'I don't know, ' said Rosalie gravely; 'you must know better than I do, MrJinx. '

'Well, how is one to know?' he answered. 'If I'm not one of theninety-and-nine, what am I, then?'

'Do you really want to know?' said the child gravely; 'because if not, wewon't talk about it, please. '

'Yes, ' said Jinx, in quite a different tone; 'I really do want to knowabout it. '

'My mother said one day, ' said Rosalie, 'that she thought there were onlythree kinds of sheep in the parable. There are the ninety-and-nine sheepwho were never lost, and who need no repentance, because they've never doneanything wrong or said anything wrong, but have always been quite good, andholy, and pure. That's _one_ kind; my mother said she thought theninety-and-nine must be the angels; she didn't think there were any in thisworld. '

'Hear that, old mother?' said Jinx; 'you must be an angel, you see. Well, little 'un, go on. '

'And then there are the lost sheep, ' said Rosalie, 'full of sin, and faraway from the fold; they don't love the Good Shepherd, and sometimes theydon't even know that they _are lost_. They are very far from the rightway--very far from being perfectly good and holy. '

'Well, ' said Jinx, 'and what's the _third_ kind of sheep?'

'Oh, that's the sheep which was lost, but is found again!'

'And what are they like?' asked the lad. 

'They love the Good Shepherd; they listen to His voice, and follow Him, andnever, never want to wander from the fold. '

'Is that _all_ the kinds?' asked Jinx. 

'Yes, ' said Rosalie, 'that's all. '

'Well, ' said Jinx thoughtfully, 'I've made up my mind which I am. '

'Which, Mr. Jinx?' asked the child. 

'Well, ' he said, 'you see I can't be one of the ninety-and-nine, becauseI've done lots of bad things in my life. I've got into tempers, and I'vesworn, and I've done heaps of bad things: so _that's_ out of thequestion. And I can't be a _found_ sheep, because I don't love theGood Shepherd--I never think about Him at all; so I suppose I'm a_lost_ sheep. That's a very bad thing to be, isn't it?'

'Yes, very bad; if you are always a lost sheep, ' said the child; 'but ifyou are one of the lost sheep, then _Jesus came to seek you_ and to_save you_. '

'Didn't He come to seek and save the old mother?' asked Jinx. 

'Not if she's one of the ninety-and-nine, ' said Rosalie. 'It says, "The Sonof Man is come to seek and to save that which was _lost_;" so if sheisn't lost, it doesn't mean her. '

The woman looked very uncomfortable when Rosalie said this; she did notlike to think that Jesus had not come to save her. 

'Well, and suppose a fellow knows he's one of the lost sheep, ' said Jinx, 'what has he got to do?'

'He must cry out to the Good Shepherd, and tell Him he's lost, and ask theGood Shepherd to find him. '

'Well, but first of all, I suppose, ' said Jinx, 'he must make himself a_bit ready_ to go to the Good Shepherd--leave off a few of his badways, and make himself decent a bit?'

'Oh no!' said Rosalie; 'he'd never get back to the fold that way. First ofall, he must tell the Shepherd he's lost; and then the Shepherd, who hasbeen seeking him a long, long time, will find him at once, and carry him onHis shoulders home; and then the Good Shepherd will help him to do all therest. '

'Well, I'll think about what you've said, ' Jinx replied. 'Thank you, little'un. '

John Thomas here pulled up, saying it was two o'clock, and time they haddinner. So the caravans were drawn up by the roadside, and the woman tookthe dinner from the oven, and Jinx was sent to the next caravan with LordFatimore's dinner, and Rosalie, offering to help, was sent after him withthe same gentleman's pipe and tobacco. 

She found Lord Fatimore sitting in state in his own caravan. He was animmensely fat man, or rather an enormously overgrown boy, very swollen, andimbecile in appearance. He was lounging in an easy chair, looking thepicture of indolence. He brightened up a little as he saw his dinnerarriving--it was the great event of his day. 

When Rosalie returned to the caravan, the woman was alone, strokingSkirrywinks, who was lying on her knee, but looking as if her thoughts werefar away. 

'Child, ' she said to Rosalie, 'I'm not one of the ninety and-nine; I_do_ need repentance; I'm one of the lost sheep. '

'I'm so glad, ' said Rosalie; 'because then the Good Shepherd is seekingyou: won't you ask Him to find you?'

But before she could answer John Thomas and Jinx came in for their dinner, and they all insisted on Rosalie joining them. 

After dinner John Thomas sat in the caravan and smoked, and Jinx drove, andRosalie sat still thinking. But she was so tired and worn out, that after alittle time the picture on the wall, John Thomas, the woman, Skirrywinks, Tozer, and Spanco faded from her sight, and she fell fast asleep. 

CHAPTER XX

MOTHER MANIKIN'S CHAIRS

When Rosalie awoke it was almost dark. The woman was lighting the littleoil-lamp, and filling the kettle from a large can of water, which stood inthe corner of the caravan. 

'Where are we?' said the child, in a sleepy voice. 

'Close upon Pendleton, little 'un, ' answered Jinx. 'Get up and see thelights in the distance. '

'Oh dear, and it's nearly dark!' said Rosalie. 

'Never mind, my dear; we're just there, ' said John Thomas. He did not knowthat she had five more miles to walk. 

So the wheels of the caravan rumbled on, and in about a quarter of an hourthey came into the streets of the town. It was quite dark now, and thelamps were all lighted, and the men were going home from work. 

Then they arrived at the field where the fair was held; the very fieldwhere the old man had given Rosalie the picture. Not many caravans hadarrived, for John Thomas had come in good time. 

And now Rosalie must leave her kind friends, which she did with manygrateful thanks. But before she said goodbye, she whispered a few words inthe woman's ear. 

To which she made answer, 'Yes, child; this very night I will;' and gaveRosalie a warm, loving kiss on her forehead. 

Then the little girl went down the caravan steps, and turned into theneighbouring street. The Good Shepherd who had helped her so wonderfully asfar as this would never leave her now. This was her one comfort. Yet shecould not help feeling very lonely as she went down the street, and peepedin at the windows as she passed by. In nearly every house a bright fire wasburning, and tea was ready on the table; in some, a happy family party wasjust sitting down to their evening meal; in all, there was an air ofcomfort and rest. 

And Rosalie, little motherless Rosalie, was out in the cold, muddy, dampstreet alone, out in the darkness and the rain, and five miles from herAunt Lucy's house! How could she ever walk so far, that cold, dark night?She trembled as she thought of going alone down those lonely country roads, without a light, without a friend to take care of her. And yet she would bestill more afraid to wander about the streets of this great town, where shewas sure there was so much wickedness and sin. 

Even now there were very few people passing down the street, and Rosaliebegan to feel very much afraid of being out alone. She must find some oneat once to show her the way to Melton. 

The child was passing a small neat row of houses built close upon thestreet. Most of them were shut up for the night, but through the cracks ofthe shutters Rosalie could see the bright light within. 

But the last house in the row was not yet shut up, and as Rosalie came nearto it, she saw a childish figure come out of the door and go up to theshutters to close them. The fasteners of the shutters had caught in thehook on the wall, and the little thing was too short to unloose it. She wasstanding on tiptoe, trying to undo it, when Rosalie came up. 

'Let me help you, ' she said, running up and unfastening the shutter. 

'I'm extremely obliged to you, ' said a voice behind her which made Rosaliestart. 

It was no child's voice; it was a voice she knew well, a voice she hadoften longed to hear. It was little Mother Manikin's voice!

With one glad cry of joy, Rosalie flung herself into the little woman'sarms. 

Mother Manikin drew back at first; it was dark, and she could not seeRosalie's face. 

But when the child said, in a tone of distress, 'Mother Manikin, dearMother Manikin, don't you know me? I'm little Rosalie Joyce, ' the dearlittle old woman was full of love and sympathy in a moment. 

She dragged Rosalie indoors into a warm little kitchen at the back of thehouse, where the table was spread for tea, and a kettle was singingcheerily on the fire; and she sat on a stool beside her, with both herlittle hands grasping Rosalie's. 

'And now, child, ' she said, 'how ever did you find me out?'

'I didn't find you out, Mother Manikin, ' said Rosalie; 'you found me out. '

'What do you mean, child?' said the old woman. 

'Why, dear Mother Manikin, I didn't know you were here. I didn't know whoit was till I had finished unfastening the shutter. '

'Bless me, child! then what makes you out at this time of night? Has yourcaravan just arrived at the fair?'

'No, dear Mother Manikin, I've not come to the fair. I'm quite alone, and Ihave five miles farther to walk. '

'Tell me all about it, child, ' said Mother Manikin. 

So Rosalie told her all--told her how and where her mammie had died; toldher about the great lodging-house, and the lady of the house; told herabout her father's marriage and death; told her of her Aunt Lucy, and theletter and the locket; told her everything, as she would have told her ownmother. For Mother Manikin had a motherly heart, and Rosalie knew it; andthe tired child felt a wonderful sense of comfort and rest in pouring outher sorrows into those sympathising ears. 

But in the middle of Rosalie's story the little woman jumped up, sayinghurriedly--

'Wait a minute, child; here's a strange kitten got in. '

She was just going to drive out the little black stranger, which was mewingloudly under the table, when the child stopped her. 

'Please dear Mother Manikin, that's my little kit; she has come with me allthe way, and she's very hungry--that's why she makes such a noise. '

In another minute a saucer of milk was placed on the rug before the fire, and the poor little kitten had enough and to spare. 

Rosalie was very grateful to Mother Manikin, and very glad to be with her;but just as she was finishing her story, the large eight-day clock in thecorner of the kitchen struck seven, and Rosalie started to her feet. 

'Mother Manikin, ' she said, 'I must be off. I've five miles farther towalk. '

'Stuff and nonsense, child!' said the old woman; 'do you think I'm going tolet you go to-night? Not a bit of it, I can tell you. Old age must have itsliberties, my dear, and I'm not going to allow it. '

'Oh, Mother Manikin, ' said Rosalie, 'what do you mean?'

'What do I mean, child? Why, that you're to sleep here to-night, and thengo, all rested and refreshed, to your aunt's to-morrow. That's what I mean. Why, I have ever such a nice little house here, bless you!' said the littlewoman. 'Just you come and look. '

So she took Rosalie upstairs, and showed her the neatest little bedroom inthe front of the house, and another room over the kitchen which MotherManikin called her greenhouse, for in it, arranged on boxes near thewindow, were all manner of flowerpots, containing all manner of flowers, ferns, and mosses. 

'It's a nice sunny room, my dear, ' said Mother Manikin, 'and it's my hobby, you see; and old age must have its liberties, and these little bits ofplants are my hobby. I live here all alone, and they're company, you see. And now, come downstairs and see my little parlour. '

The parlour was in the front of the house, and it was the shutters of thisroom which Mother Manikin was closing as Rosalie came up. A bright lamphung from the ceiling of the room, and white muslin curtains adorned thewindow; but what struck Rosalie most of all was that the parlour was fullof chairs. There were rows and rows of chairs; indeed, the parlour was sofull of them that Mother Manikin and Rosalie could hardly find a place tostand. 

'What a number of chairs you have here, Mother Manikin!' said the child inamazement. 

The old woman laughed at Rosalie's astonished face. 

'Rosalie, child, ' she said, 'do you remember how you talked to me thatnight--the night when we sat up in the caravan?'

Rosalie's eyes filled with tears at the thought of it. 

'Yes, dear Mother Manikin, ' she answered. 

'Do you remember bow I looked at your picture, and you told me all aboutit?'

'Yes, Mother Manikin, ' said the child, 'I remember that. '

'And do you remember a _question_ that you asked me then, Rosalie, childl! "Mother Manikin, " you said, "has _He_, found _you_?" AndI thought about it a long time; and then I told you the truth. I said, "No, child, He hasn't found me. " But if you asked me that question to-night, Rosalie, child, if you asked little Mother Manikin, "Do you think the GoodShepherd has found you _now_, Mother Manikin?" I should tell you, Rosalie child, I should tell you that He went about to seek and save themwhich were lost, and that one day, when He was seeking, He found littleMother Manikin. 

'Yes, my dear, ' said the old woman; 'He found me. I cried out to Him that Iwas lost, and wanted finding; and He heard me, child. He heard me, and Hecarried me on His shoulders rejoicing. '

Little Rosalie could not help crying when she heard this, but they weretears of joy. 

'So I gave up the fairs, child; it didn't seem as if I could follow theGood Shepherd there. There was a lot of foolishness, and nonsense, anddistraction; so I left them. I told them old age must have its liberties;and I brought away my savings, and a little sum of money I had of my own, and I took this little house. So that's how it is, child, ' said the littleold woman. 

'But about the chairs?' said Rosalie. 

'Yes, about the chairs, ' repeated the old woman; 'I'm coming to that now. Iwas sitting one night thinking, my dear, over the kitchen fire. I wasthinking about the Good Shepherd, and how He had died for me, just that Imight be found and brought back to the fold. And I thought, child, when Hehad been so good to me, it was very bad of me to do nothing for Him inreturn; nothing to show Him I'm grateful, you see. I shook my fist, and Isaid to myself, You ought to be ashamed of yourself, Mother Manikin! youlittle idle, ungrateful old thing!

'But then, Rosalie, child, I began to think, What can I do? I'm so little, you see, and folks laugh at me, and run after me when I go out; and so allthings seemed closed upon me. There seemed nothing for little MotherManikin to do for the Good Shepherd. So I knelt down, child, and I askedHim. I said--

'"_Oh, Good Shepherd, have you got any work for a woman that's only threefeet high? because I do love you, and want to do it_. "

'Well, Rosalie, child, it came quite quick after that. Mr. Westerdalecalled, and, said he--

'"Mother Manikin, I want to have a little Bible Meeting for some of thepoor things round here--the mothers who have little babies, and can't getto any place of worship, and a few more, who are often ill, and can't walkfar. Do you know, " he said, "anybody in this row who would let me have aroom for my class?"

'Well, child, I danced for joy; I really did, child. I danced like I hadn'tdanced since I left the Royal Show. So Mr. Westerdale, he says, "What's thematter, Mother Manikin?" He thought I'd gone clean off my head!

'"Why, Mr. Westerdale, " I cried, "there's something I can do for the GoodShepherd, though I'm only three feet high!"

'So then he understood, child; and he finds the parlour very convenient, and the people come so nicely, and it's a happy night for me. So that'swhat the chairs are for. 

'Mr. Westerdale will be here in a minute, child; he always gets a cup oftea with me before the folks come. That's why I'm so late to-night; Ialways wait till he comes. '

She had no sooner said the words than a rap was heard at the door, and thelittle woman ran to open it for Mr. Westerdale. He was an old man, with arosy, good-tempered face, and a kind and cheerful voice. 

'Well, Mother Manikin, ' he said, as he came into the kitchen, 'a good cupof tea ready for me as usual! What a good, kind woman you are!'

'This is a little friend of mine, Mr. Westerdale, ' said Mother Manikin, introducing Rosalie. 

But Rosalie needed no introduction. She shook hands with the old man, andthen darted out of the room, and in another minute returned with her smallbag, which she had left upstairs. Hastily unfastening it, she took from ither dear picture--the picture which had done so much for her and her motherand little Mother Manikin--and, holding it up before the old man, she criedout--

'Please, sir, it's quite safe. I've kept it all this time; and, please, Ido love it so!'

For Mr. Westerdale was Rosalie's old friend, who had come to see her in thefair, just a year ago. He did not remember her, but he remembered thepicture; and when Rosalie told him where she had seen him, a recollectionof the sick woman and her pretty child came back to his mind. As they satover their comfortable little tea, and Rosalie told how that picture hadbeen the messenger of mercy to her dying mother, the old man's face becamebrighter than ever. 

And after tea the people began to arrive. It was a pleasant sight to seehow little Mother Manikin welcomed them, one by one, as they came in. Theyall seemed to know her well, and to love her, and trust her. She had somany questions to ask them, and they had so much to tell her. There wasFreddy's cough to be inquired after, and grandfather's rheumatism, and thebaby's chickenpox. And Mother Manikin must be told how Willie had got thatsituation he was trying for, and how old Mrs. Joyce had got a letter fromher daughter at last; and how Mrs. Price's daughter had broken her leg, andMrs. Price had told them to say how glad she would be if Mother Manikincould go in to see her for a few minutes sometimes. 

Little Mother Manikin had 'a heart at leisure from itself, to soothe andsympathise, ' and their troubles were her troubles, their joys her joys. 

At last every one had arrived, and the chairs in the sitting-room were allfilled. Then the clock struck eight, and they were all quite still as Mr. Westerdale gave out the hymn. And when the hymn and the prayer were ended, Mr. Westerdale began to speak. Rosalie was sitting close to Mother Manikin, and she listened very attentively to all that her old friend said. 

'Though your sins be as scarlet, they shall be as white as snow:' that wasthe text of the sermon. 

'A long way from here, my friends, ' said Mr. Westerdale, 'a long way fromhere, in the land of Palestine, is a beautiful mountain, the top of whichis covered with the purest, whitest snow. One day, a very great many yearsago, the Apostle John and two of his friends were lying on the mountainasleep, and when they awoke, they saw a wonderful sight. They saw the LordJesus in His glory, and His raiment was exceeding white--as white as snow. 

'A few years later, God let this same Apostle John look into heaven; andthere he saw everything the same colour--pure, unstained white. The LordJesus had His head and His hair as white as wool, as white as snow. He wassitting on a white throne, and all the vast multitude standing round thethrone had white robes on--pure, spotless white; as white as snow. 

'Nothing, my friends, that is not perfect white can enter heaven, for pure, perfect white is heaven's colour. 

'What does all this mean? It means that nothing can enter that holy heaventhat is not perfectly pure, perfectly holy, perfectly free from sin. 

'For there is another colour mentioned in my text, a colour which is justthe opposite to white--_scarlet_--glaring scarlet. And this colour isused as a picture of that which is not pure, not holy, that upon which Godcannot look--I mean sin. 

'Your sins are as scarlet, God says; and no scarlet can enter heaven;nothing is found within the gates of heaven but pure white, as white assnow. Nothing short of perfect holiness can admit you or me into heaven. When we stand before the gate, it will be no good our pleading, I'm almostwhite, I'm nearly white, I'm whiter than my neighbours; nothing but purewhite, nay, white as snow, will avail us anything. One single scarlet spotis enough to shut the gates of heaven against us. 

'Oh, dear friends, this is a very solemn thought. For who in this room, which of you mothers, which of you young girls, can stand up and say, Thereis no scarlet spot on me, I am free from sin. Heaven's gate would be openedto me, for I have never done anything wrong--I am quite white, as white assnow. 

'Which of you can say that? Which of you would dare to say it, if you stoodbefore the gate of heaven to-night?

'There is no hope, then, you say, for me; heaven's gates are for everclosed against me. I have sinned over and over again. I am covered withscarlet spots, nay, I am altogether scarlet. 

 "Red like crimson, deep as scarlet, Scarlet of the deepest dye, Are the manifold transgressions Which upon my conscience lie!

 "God alone can count their number! God alone can look within; Oh, the sinfulness of sinning! Oh, the guilt of every sin!"

'So there is no hope, not the least, for me! Only spotless white can enterheaven, so I must be for ever shut out!

'Must you? Is there indeed no hope?

'Listen, oh, listen again to the text--"though your sins be as scarlet, they shall be as white as snow. "

'Then there is a way of changing the scarlet into white; there is a way ofmaking the deep, glaring scarlet turn into pure white, as white as snow. 

'Oh, what good news for us! What glad tidings of great joy!

'But how is it done? How can you or I, who are so covered with scarletstains of sin, be made as white as snow?

'Dear friends, _this_ is the way. There is One, the Lord Jesus Christ, who has been punished instead of us, who has taken all our sins upon Him, just as if they were His own sins, and has been punished for them, as if Hehad really done them. The great God who loved us so planned all this. Andnow He can forgive us our sins, for the punishment is over. He can not onlyforgive, but He can forget. He can blot them out. He can make us clean andwhite, as white as snow. 

'This then is His offer to you to-night. "Come now, " He cries, "only acceptMy offer. " Only take the Lord Jesus Christ as your Saviour; only ask Him towash you in His blood; only see, by faith, that He died in your place, instead of you; and your sins--your scarlet sins--shall be made as white assnow. This very night, before you lie down to sleep, you may be made sowhite, that heaven's gate will, when you stand before it, be thrown wideopen to you; so white, that you will be fit to stand amongst that greatmultitude which no man can number, who have washed their robes, and madethem white in the blood of the Lamb. 

'My dear friends, will you accept God's offer? Will you come to the LordJesus to be made white? Will you plead this promise, the promise in mytext? Will you, before you lie down to sleep, say--

'O Lord, my sins are indeed as scarlet, make them, in the blood of Christ, as white as snow. 

'Will you, I ask you again, accept God's offer? Yes, or No?'

CHAPTER XXI

IN SIGHT OF HOME

When the little service was over, the people went away, and Mr. Westerdale, Mother Manikin, and Rosalie sat together over the fire talking. The old manwas much encouraged by all that he heard from the child. He had sometimeswondered whether his visits to the fair had done the slightest good to anyone, and now that he heard how God had so largely blessed this one picture, he felt strengthened and cheered to make further efforts for the benefit ofthe poor travellers whose souls so few care for. Next Sunday would be theSunday for him to visit the shows, he said, and he should go there thisyear with more hope and more faith. 

When Rosalie heard this, she begged him to have a little conversation withthe woman with whom she had travelled. She told him to look out for theshow over the door of which was written, 'Lord Fatimore and other PleasingVarieties, ' for there, she felt sure, he would find a work to do. And shedid not forget to ask him, when he went there, to remember to inquire forJinx, and to speak to him also. 

When Mr. Westerdale had said good-night and was gone away, Mother Manikininsisted on Rosalie's going at once to bed, for the child was very wearywith her long and tiring day. 

She slept very soundly, and in the morning awoke to find Mother Manikinstanding beside her with a cup of tea in her hands. 

'Come, child, ' she said, 'drink this before you get up. '

'Oh, dear Mother Manikin, ' said Rosalie, starting up, how good you are tome!'

'Bless you, child!' said the dear little old woman; 'I only wish you couldstay with me altogether. Now mind me, child, if you find, when you get toMelton, that it isn't convenient for you to stay at your aunt's, just youcome back to me. Dear me! how comfortable you and me might be together! I'mlonesome at times here, and want a bit of company, and my little bit ofmoney is enough for both of us. So mind you, child, ' repeated MotherManikin, shaking her little fist at Rosalie, 'if you don't find all quitestraight at Melton, if you think it puts them out at all to take you in, you come to me. Now I've said it, and when I've said it I mean it; old agemust have its liberties, and I must be obeyed. '

'Dear Mother Manikin, ' said Rosalie, putting her arms round the little oldwoman's neck, 'I can never, never, never say thank you often enough. '

After breakfast Rosalie started on her journey, with the little black kitin its usual place in her arms. Mother Manikin insisted on wrapping up alittle parcel, containing lunch, for the child to eat on her way. And asshe stood on the doorstep to see her off, she called out after her--

'Now, child, if all isn't quite straight, come back here to-night; I shallbe looking out for you. '

So Rosalie started on her journey. On her way she passed the field wherethe fair was to be held. What recollections it brought to her mind of theyear before, when she had arrived there in the caravan with her sickmother. 

Not many shows had reached the place, for it was yet three days before thefair would be held. But in one corner of the field Rosalie discovered thebright yellow caravans of the show of 'Lord Fatimore and other PleasingVarieties. ' She could not pass by without going for a moment to the caravanto thank Old Mother, and John Thomas and Jinx, for their kindness to herthe day before. 

Mother was having a great wash of all John Thomas's clothes, and LordFatimore's and Jinx's and her own. She was standing at the door of thecaravan washing, and Jinx was busily engaged hanging out the clothes on aline which had been stretched between the two caravans. 

'Halloa, young 'un!' said he, as Rosalie came up; 'and where have yousprung from?'

Rosalie told him that she had spent the night with a friend who lived inthe town, and was going to continue her journey. 

'Young 'un, ' said Jinx, 'I haven't forgot what you told me about that therepicture. I like my picture a deal more than I did afore. '

Then Rosalie went up to the woman, who did not see her till she was closeto the caravan steps. The woman was hard at work at her washing, withSkirrywinks sitting on her shoulder, and Spanco, the pigeon, on her head. Rosalie could not be quite sure, but she fancied there were tears in hereyes as she bent over her washing. 

'Oh, it's you!' she said to Rosalie. 'I am glad to see you again; I wasthinking about you just then. '

'Were you?' said the child; 'what were you thinking?'

'I was thinking over what we talked about yesterday--about the lost sheep. '

'Did you remember last night to ask the Good Shepherd to find you, ' saidRosalie. 

'Oh yes, ' said the woman, 'I didn't forget; but instead of the GoodShepherd finding me, I think I'm farther away from the fold than ever;leastways, I never knew I was so bad before. '

'Then the Good Shepherd is going to find you, ' said Rosalie; 'He only waitsuntil we know we are lost, and then He is ready to find us at once. '

'Oh, I do hope so, 'said the woman earnestly; 'you'll think of me sometimes, won't you?'

'Yes, I'll never forget you, ' said the child. 

'Will you come in and rest a bit?'

'No, thank you, ma'am, ' said Rosalie; 'I must go now; I have some wayfarther to walk; but I wanted to say good-bye to you, and to thank you forbeing so kind to me yesterday. '

'Bless you!' said the woman heartily; 'it was nothing to speak of. Good-bye, child, and mind you think of me sometimes. '

So Rosalie left the fair-field and turned on to the Melton road. What astrange feeling came over her then! She was within five miles of her AuntLucy, and was really going to her at last! Oh, how she had longed to seethat dear face which she had gazed at so often in the locket! How she hadyearned to deliver her mother's letter, and to see her Aunt Lucy readingit! How often--how very often, all this had been in her mind by day, andhad mingled with her dreams at night!

And yet now--now that she was really on the road which led up to her AuntLucy's door--Rosalie's heart failed her. She looked down at her littlefrock, and saw how very old and faded it was. She took off her hat, and thepiece of black ribbon which Toby had given her had never before seemed sorusty and brown. 

What a shabby little girl her Aunt Lucy would see coming in at thegarden-gate! Her thoughts travelled back to the little girl whom she hadseen in that garden a year ago, her Aunt Lucy's own little girl. Howdifferently she was dressed! How different in every way she was to Rosalie!What if her Aunt Lucy was vexed with her for coming? She had had muchtrouble from Rosalie's father; was it likely she would welcome his child?

Sometimes Rosalie felt inclined to turn back and go to old Mother Manikin. But she remembered how her mother had said--

'If ever you can, dear, you must go to your Aunt Lucy, and give her thatletter. '

And now, whatever it cost her, Rosalie determined she would go. But shegrew more and more shy as she drew nearer the village, and walked far moreslowly than she had done when she first left the town. 

At last the village of Melton came in sight. It was a fine spring morning, and the sunlight was falling softly on the cottages, and farmhouses, andthe beautiful green trees and hedges. 

Rosalie rested a little on a stile before she went farther, and the littleblack kit basked in the sunshine. The field close by was full of sheep, andthe child sat and watched them. It was a very pretty field; there weregroups of trees, under the shadow of which the sheep could lie and rest;and there was a quiet stream trickling through the midst of the field, where the sheep could drink the cool, refreshing water. 

As Rosalie watched the sheep in their happy, quiet field, a verse of thepsalm which Popsey's old grandfather had read came into her mind--

'He maketh me to lie down in green pastures; He leadeth me beside the stillwaters. '

What if the Good Shepherd were about to take her, His poor littlemotherless lamb, to a green pasture, a quiet, restful home, where she mightbe taught more of the Good Shepherd's love? How Rosalie prayed that itmight indeed be so! And then she summoned courage and went on. 

It was about twelve o'clock when she reached Melton. The country peoplewere most of them having their dinner, and few people were in the villagestreet. With a beating heart the child pressed on. 

Soon she came in sight of the little cottage, before which the caravan hadstood when she and her mother were there a year ago. There was the cottagewith its thatched roof, looking just as comfortable as it had done then;there was the garden just the same as before, with the same kind of flowersgrowing in it; there were the cabbage-roses, the southernwood, therosemary, the sweetbriar, and the lavender. And the wind was blowing softlyover them, and wafting their sweet fragrance to Rosalie, just as it haddone a year ago. And there was Rosalie, standing peeping through the gate, just as she had done then. It seemed to Rosalie like a dream which she haddreamt before. Only a year--only a year ago!

And yet one was absent; her mother was no more there; she was gone andlittle Rosalie was alone by the gate!

Tears came in her eyes as she looked through the bars, and fell upon herlittle dusty frock. But she wiped them away, and went on through thevillage street. 

At last she arrived at the large house close to the church which her motherhad longed so much to see. With a trembling hand she opened the iron gateand walked up the broad gravel path. 

There was a large knocker in the middle of the door, and a bell on one sideof it. Rosalie did not know whether to knock or to ring, so she stood stillfor a few minutes without doing either, hoping that some one would see herfrom the window and come to ask what she wanted. 

But as the minutes passed by and no one came, Rosalie ventured, very gentlyand timidly, to rap with the knocker. But no one inside the house heard thesound of the child's knocking. So she gathered courage and pulled the bell, which rang so loudly that it made her tremble more than ever. 

Then she heard a rustling in the hall and the sound of a quick footstep, and the door was opened. A girl about eighteen years of age stood beforeher, dressed in a pretty print dress and very white apron, with a neatround cap on her head. Rosalie was trembling so much now that she cast hereyes on the ground and did not speak. 

'What do you want, dear?' said the girl kindly, stooping down to Rosalie asshe spoke. 

'If you please, ' said Rosalie, 'is Mrs. Leslie in I I have a letter that Iwant very much to give her. '

'No, dear; she's not in just now, ' said the girl; 'will you leave theletter with me?'

'Oh, please, ' said Rosalie timidly, 'I would very much like to give it toher myself, if you will be so kind as to let me wait till she comes. '

'Yes, she won't be very long, ' said the girl. 'Would you like to sit in thesummer-house till she comes I it's very pleasant there. '

'Oh, thank you, ' said the child gratefully; 'I should like it very muchindeed. '

'I'll show you where it is, ' said the girl; 'it's behind these trees. '

As Rosalie was walking to the summer-house, she ventured for the first timeto look into the girl's face. The voice had seemed familiar to her; butwhen she saw the face, the large brown eyes, the dark hair, and the rosycheeks, she felt sure that she had met with an old friend. 

'Oh, please, ' she said, stopping suddenly short in the path--'please, aren't you Britannia?'

'How do you know anything about Britannia?' she inquired hurriedly. 

'I didn't mean to say Britannia, ' said Rosalie. 'I know you don't ever wantto be called _that_ again; but, please, you are Jessie, are you not?'

'Yes, dear, ' said the girl, 'my name is Jessie; but how do you know me?'

'Please, ' said Rosalie, 'don't you remember me? And how we talked in thecaravan that windy night, when my mammie was so ill?'

'Oh, Rosalie, ' said Jessie, 'is it you? Why, to think I never knew you!Why, I shouldn't ever have been here if it hadn't been for you and yourmother! Oh, I am glad to see you again! Where are you going to, dear? Isyour caravan at Pendleton fair?'

'No, Jessie, ' said Rosalie; 'I don't live in a caravan now; and I've walkedhere to give a letter from my mother to Mrs. Leslie. '

'Then your mother got better after all, ' said Jessie. 'I am so glad! shewas so very ill that night. '

'Oh no, no, no!' said Rosalie, with a flood of tears--'no, she didn't getbetter; she wrote that letter a long time ago. '

'Poor little Rosalie!' said Jessie, putting her arms round her, andshedding tears also. 'I am so very, very sorry!'

'Please, Jessie, ' said Rosalie through her tears, 'did you remember to giveMrs. Leslie my mammie's message?'

'Yes, dear, that I did. Do you think I would forget anything she asked me?Why, I should never have been here if it hadn't been for her. '

'Can you remember what you said to Mrs. Leslie, Jessie?'

'Yes, dear. It was the first time she came to our house after I came back. I told her all about what I had done, and where I had been. And then I toldher how I had met with a woman who used to know her many years ago, but whohadn't seen her for a long, long time, and that this woman had sent her amessage. So she asked me who this woman was, and what the message was whichshe had sent her. I told her that the woman's name was Norah, but I didn'tknow her other name, and that Norah sent her respects and her love, and Iwas to say that she had not very long to live, but that the Good Shepherdhad sought her and found her, and that she was not afraid to die. And then, Rosalie, she cried when I told her that, and went away. But she came againabout half an hour after that, and asked me ever so many questions aboutyour mother, and I told her all I could. I told her how ill she was, andhow she liked the hymn, and all about you, and how good you were to yourmother. And then I told her how beautifully your mother talked to me aboutthe Good Shepherd, and how she begged me to ask the Good Shepherd to findme, and how I had done as she begged me, and I hoped that He was carryingme home on His shoulder. And I told her, dear, how kind you both were tome, and how you gave me that money, and made me promise to know which roadthe caravan was on, and which fair it was going to. She asked a manyquestions about that, and wanted to know if I could tell her what townwould be the next you would stop at after the one you were going to when Imet you; but I couldn't. Now I must go in, dear, and get dinner ready; butI'll tell my mistress as soon as she comes. '

So Rosalie sat down in the arbour to wait. But she could hardly sit still aminute, she felt so excited and restless. 

Only now and again she lifted up her heart in prayer to the Good Shepherd, asking Him to make her aunt love her and help her. 

CHAPTER XXII

THE LOST LAMB FOUND

The time that Rosalie waited in the arbour seemed very, very long to her. Every minute was like an hour, and at the least sound she started from herseat, and looked down the gravel path. But it was only a bird, or a fallingleaf, or some other trifling sound, which Rosalie's anxious ears hadexaggerated. 

But at last, when the sound she had been listening for so long did reallycome, when footsteps were heard on the gravel path coming towards thearbour, Rosalie sat still, until they drew close, for in a moment all thefears she had had by the way returned upon her. 

They were very quick and eager footsteps which Rosalie heard, and inanother moment, almost before she knew that her Aunt Lucy had entered thearbour, she found herself locked in her arms. 

'Oh, my little Rosalie, ' said she, with a glad cry, 'have I found you atlast?'

For Jessie had told Mrs. Leslie that it was Norah's child who was waitingto speak to her in the arbour. 

Rosalie could not speak. For a long time after that she was too full offeeling for any words. And her Aunt Lucy could only say, over and overagain, 'My little Rosalie, have I found you at last?' It seemed to Rosaliemore like what the Good Shepherd said of His lost sheep than anything shehad ever heard before. 

'Have you been looking for me, dear Aunt Lucy?' she said at last. 

'Yes, darling, indeed I have!' said her aunt. 'Ever since Jessie came back, I have been trying to find out where you were. I wanted so much to see yourmother; but before I arrived at the place she was dead. I saw her grave, Rosalie, darling; I heard about her dying in the fair; and my husband foundout where she was buried, and we went and stood by her grave. And eversince then, dear child, I have been looking for you; but I had lost allclue to you, and was almost giving it up in despair. But I've found younow, darling, and I am so very thankful!'

Then Rosalie opened her bag, and took out the precious letter. How her AuntLucy's hand trembled as she opened it! It was like getting a letter fromanother world! And then she began to read, but her eyes were so full oftears that she could hardly see the words. 

'MY OWN DARLING SISTER, 'I am writing this letter with the faint hope that Rosalie may one daygive it to you. It ought not to be a faint hope, because I have turned itso often into a prayer. Oh, how many times have I thought of you, sincelast we met, how often in my dreams you have come to me and spoken to me!

'I am too ill and too weak to write much, but I want to tell you that yourmany prayers for me have been answered at last. The lost sheep has beenfound, and has been carried back to the fold. I think I am the greatestsinner that ever lived, and yet I believe my sins are washed away in theblood of Jesus. 

'I would write more, but am too exhausted. But I want to ask you (if it ispossible for you to do so) to save my sweet Rosalie from her mother's fate. She is such a dear child. I know you would love her--and I am so veryunhappy about leaving her amongst all these temptations. 

'I know I do not deserve any favour from you, and you cannot think whatpain it gives me to think how often you have been asked for money in myname. That has been one of the greatest trials of my unhappy life. 

'But if you can save my little Rosalie, oh, dear sister, I think even inheaven I shall know it, and be more glad. I would ask you to do it, not formy sake, for I deserve nothing but shame and disgrace, but for the sake ofHim who has said, "Whoso shall receive one such little child in My namereceiveth Me. "

'Your loving sister, 'NORAH. '

'When did your dear mother write the letter, Rosalie?' Aunt Lucy asked, assoon as she could speak after she had finished reading it. 

Rosalie told her that it was written only a few days before her motherdied. And then she put her hand inside her dress, and brought out thelocket, which she laid in Mrs. Leslie's hand. 

'Do you remember _that_, Aunt Lucy?' she said. 

'Yes, darling, I do, ' said her aunt; 'I gave that to your mother years ago, before she left home. I remember I saved up my money a very long time thatI might buy it. '

'My mother did love that locket so much, ' said the child. 'She said she hadpromised you she would keep it as long as she lived; and I was to tell youshe had kept her promise, and had hidden it away, lest any one should takeit from her. I have tried so hard to keep it safe since she died; but wehave been in a great big lodging-house all the winter, and I was so afraidit would be found and taken from me. '

'Where is your father now, Rosalie?' asked her aunt anxiously. 

'He's dead, ' said the child; 'he has been dead more than a week. ' And shetold of the accident, and the death in the hospital. 

'Then you are my little girl now, Rosalie, ' said her Aunt Lucy--'my ownlittle girl, and no one can take you from me. '

'Oh, dear Aunt Lucy, may I really stay?'

'Why, Rosalie darling, I have been looking for you everywhere, and my onlyfear was that your father would not want to part with you. But now, beforewe talk any more, you must come in and see your uncle; he is very anxiousto see you. '

Rosalie felt rather afraid again when her aunt said this, but she rose upto follow her into the house. And then she remembered the little kitten, which she covered with her shawl, and which was lying fast asleep under itin a corner of the arbour. 

'Please, Aunt Lucy, ' said Rosalie timidly, 'is there a bird?'

'Where, dear?' said Mrs. Leslie, looking round her. 'I don't see one. '

'No, not here in the garden, ' explained Rosalie; 'I mean in your house. '

'No, there's no bird, dear child. What made you think there was one?'

'Oh, I'm so glad, so very, very glad!' said Rosalie, with tears in hereyes. 'Then, may I bring her?'

'Bring who, Rosalie dear? I don't understand. '

'Oh, Aunt Lucy, ' said the child, 'don't be angry. I have a little kit hereunder my shawl. She's the dearest little kit; and we love each other somuch, and if she had to go away from me I think she would die. She loved mewhen no one else in the lodging-house did, except Betsey Ann; and if onlyshe may come, I'll never let her go in any of the best rooms, and I won'tlet her be any trouble. ' When she had said this, she lifted up the shawl, and brought out the black kitten, and looked up beseechingly into heraunt's face. 

'What a dear little kitten!' said her aunt. 'May will be pleased with it, she is so fond of kittens; and only the other day I promised her I wouldget one. Bring her in, and she shall have some milk. '

A great load was lifted off little Rosalie's heart when Mrs. Leslie saidthis, for it would have been a very great trial to her to part from herlittle friend. 

Rosalie's uncle received her very kindly, and said, with a pleasant smile, that he was glad the little prairie flower had been found at last, and wasto blossom in his garden. Then she went upstairs with her Aunt Lucy to getready for dinner. She thought she had never seen such a beautiful room asMrs. Leslie's bedroom. The windows looked out over the fields and trees tothe blue hills beyond. 

Then her aunt went to a wardrobe which stood at one end of the room, andbrought out a parcel, which she opened, and inside Rosalie saw a beautifullittle black dress very neatly and prettily made. 

'This is a dress which came home last night for my little May, ' said heraunt, 'but I think it will fit you, dear; will you try it on?'

'Oh, Aunt Lucy, ' said Rosalie, 'what a beautiful frock! but won't May wantit?'

'No; May is from home, ' said Mrs. Leslie. 'She is staying with your UncleGerald. There will be plenty of time to have another made for her beforeshe returns. '

Rosalie hardly knew herself in the new dress, and felt very shy at first;but it fitted her exactly, and her Aunt Lucy was very much pleased indeed. 

Then Mrs. Leslie brought a black ribbon, and tied the precious locket roundthe little girl's neck; there was no longer any need to hide it. 

After this they went downstairs, and Rosalie had a place given her atdinner between her uncle and her aunt. Jessie looked very much astonishedwhen she was told to put another knife and fork and plate on the table forRosalie; but her mistress, seeing her surprised face, called her intoanother room, and in a few words told her who the little girl was, at thesame time begging her, for Rosalie's sake, not to mention to any one in thevillage where and how she had seen the child before. This Jessie mostwillingly promised. 'There was nothing she would not do for Rosalie'ssake, ' she said; 'for she would never have been there had it not been forRosalie and her mother. '

That afternoon the child sat on a stool at her Aunt Lucy's feet, and theyhad a long talk, which little Rosalie enjoyed more than words can tell. Shegave her aunt a little history of her life, going back as far as she couldremember. Oh, how eagerly Mrs. Leslie listened to anything about her poorsister! How many questions she asked, and how many tears she shed!

When Rosalie had finished, her aunt told her once more how glad andthankful she was to have her there, and more especially as she felt surethat her little Rosalie loved the Good Shepherd and tried to please Him, and therefore would never, never do any harm to her own little May, butwould rather help her forward in all that was right. 

The child slipped her hand in that of her Aunt Lucy when she said this, with a very loving and assuring smile. 'So now, Rosalie dear, you must lookupon me as your mother, ' said Mrs. Leslie; 'you must tell me all yourtroubles, and ask me for anything you want, just as you would have askedyour own dear mother. '

'Please, Aunt Lucy, ' said Rosalie gratefully, 'I think the pasture is verygreen indeed. '

'What do you mean, my dear child?'

'I mean, Aunt Lucy, I have been very lonely and often very miserablelately; but the Good Shepherd has brought me at last to a very greenpasture; don't you think He has?'

But Mrs. Leslie could only answer the little girl by taking her in her armsand kissing her. 

That night, when Rosalie went upstairs to bed, Jessie came into her room tobring her some hot water. 

'Oh, Jessie, ' said Rosalie, 'how are Maggie and the baby?'

'To think you remembered about them!' said Jessie. 'They are quite well. Oh, you must see them soon. '

'Then they were all right when you got home?' said the child, 'were they, Jessie?'

'Oh yes, God be thanked!' said Jessie; 'I didn't deserve it. Oh, how oftenI thought of those children when I lay awake those miserable nights in thecircus! They had cried themselves to sleep, poor little things; when mymother came back, she found them lying asleep on the floor. '

'Wasn't she very much frightened?' asked Rosalie. 

'Yes, that she was, ' said Jessie, with tears in her eyes; 'she was so illwhen I came home that I thought she would die. I thought she would die, andthat I had killed her. She had hardly slept a wink since I went away; andshe was as thin as a ghost. I hardly should have know her anywhere else. '

'But what did she say when you came back?'

'Oh, she wasn't angry a bit, ' said Jessie; 'only she cried so, and was soglad to have me back, that it seemed almost worse to bear than if she hadscolded. And then quite quickly she began to get better; but if I hadn'tcome then, I believe she would have died. '

'Is she quite well now?' asked the child. 

'Yes; quite strong and well again, and as bright as ever. She was so gladwhen Mrs. Leslie said I might come here and be her housemaid. My mothersays it's a grand thing to lie down to sleep at night feeling that herchildren are all safe, and she can never thank God enough for all He hasdone for me. I told her of you and your mother, and she prays for you everyday, my mother does, that God may reward and bless you. '

The next morning, when Rosalie opened her eyes, she could not at firstremember where she was. She had been dreaming she was in the dismallodging-house, and that Betsey Ann was touching her hand, and waking herfor their ten minutes' reading. 

But when she looked up, it was only her little black kitten, which wasfeeling strange in its new home, and had crept up to her, and was lickingher arm. 

'Poor little kit!' said Rosalie, as she stroked it gently; 'you don't knowwhere you are. ' The kitten purred contentedly when its little mistresscomforted it, and the child was at leisure to look round the room. 

It was her Cousin May's little room; and her Aunt Lucy had said she mightsleep there until another room just like it was made ready for her. Rosaliewas lying in a small and very pretty iron bedstead with white muslinhangings. She peeped out of her little nest into the room beyond. 

Through the window she could see the fields and the trees and the bluehills, just as she had done from her Aunt Lucy's windows. The furniture ofthe room was very neat and pretty, and Rosalie looked at it with admiringeyes. Over the washhand-stand, and over the chest of drawers, and over thetable were hung beautiful illuminated texts, and Rosalie read them one byone as she lay in bed. There was also a little bookcase full of May'sbooks, and a little wardrobe for May's clothes. How much Rosalie wonderedwhat her cousin was like, and how she wished the time would arrive for herto come home!

Then the little girl jumped out of bed, and went to the window to look out. The garden beneath her looked very lovely in the bright morning sunshine;the roses and geraniums and jessamine were just in their glory, andunderneath the trees she could see patches of lovely ferns and mosses. Howshe wished her mother could have been there to see them also! She hadalways loved flowers so much. 

Rosalie dressed herself, and went out into the garden. How sweet andpeaceful everything seemed! She went to the gate--that gate which she hadlooked through a year before--and gazed out into the blue distance. As shewas doing so, she heard the sound of wheels, and three or four caravansbound for Pendleton fair went slowly down the road. 

What a rush of feeling came over the child as she looked at them! Oh, howkind the Good Shepherd had been to her! Here she was, safe and sheltered inthis quiet, happy home; and she would never, never have to go to a fair ora theatre again. Rosalie looked up at the blue sky above, and said from thebottom of her heart--

'Oh, Good Shepherd, I do thank Thee very much for bringing me to the greenpasture! Oh, help me to love Thee and please Thee more than ever! Amen. '

CHAPTER XXIII

THE GREEN PASTURE

That morning, after breakfast, Mrs. Leslie took Rosalie with her in thepony carriage to Pendleton. She wanted to buy the furniture for the child'slittle bedroom. 

Rosalie enjoyed the drive very much indeed, and was charmed and delightedwith all the purchases which her aunt made. 

When they were finished, Rosalie said, 'Aunt Lucy, do you think we shouldhave time to call for a minute on old Mother Manikin? she will want so muchto hear whether I got safely to Melton. '

Mrs. Leslie willingly consented; she had felt very grateful to the littleold woman for all her kindness to her poor sister and her little niece, andshe was glad of an opportunity of thanking her for it. 

They found Mother Manikin very poorly, but very pleased indeed to seeRosalie. She had been taken ill in the night, she said, quite suddenly. Itwas something the matter with her heart. In the morning she had asked oneof the neighbours to go for the doctor, and he had said it was not rightfor her to be in the house alone. 

'So what am I to do, ma'am?' said Mother Manikin. 'Here's the doctor says Imust have a girl; but I can't bear all these new-fangled creatures, withtheir flounces, and their airs, and their manners. Old age must have itsliberties; and I can't put up with them. No, I can't abide them, ' she said, shaking her little fist. 'You couldn't tell me of a girl, could you, ma'am?I can't give very high wages, but she should have a comfortable home. '

'Oh, Aunt Lucy, ' cried Rosalie, springing from her seat, 'what do you thinkof Betsey Ann? would she do?'

'And who's Betsey Ann, child?' inquired Mother Manikin. 

Rosalie told Betsey Ann's sad story: how she had been born in a workhouse;how she had never had any one to love her, but how she had been scolded andfound fault with from morning till night. 

Mother Manikin could hardly keep from crying as the story went on. 

'She shall come at once, ' said she decidedly, as soon as Rosalie hadfinished. 'Tell me where she lives, and I'll get Mr. Westerdale to write toher at once. '

'Oh, but she can't read, ' said Rosalie, in a very distressed voice; 'andher mistress would never let her have the letter. What are we to do?'

But when Mother Manikin heard where Betsey Ann lived, she said there wouldbe no difficulty at all about it. Mr. Westerdale knew the Scripture Readerthere; she had often heard him speak of him; and he would be able to go tothe house and make it all right. 

So Rosalie felt very comforted about poor Betsey Ann. 

Rosalie's first week in the green pasture passed by very happily. Shewalked and read and talked with her Aunt Lucy, and went with her to see thepoor people in the village, and grew to love her more day by day, and wasmore and more thankful to the Good Shepherd for the green pasture to whichHe had brought her. 

And after a week May came home. Such a bright little creature she was;Rosalie loved her as soon as she saw her. But it was no strange face toRosalie; it was a face she had often gazed at and often studied, for littleMay was the image of the girl in the locket; it might have been her ownpicture, she was so like what her mother was at her age. 

May and Rosalie were the best friends at once, and from that time hadeverything in common. They did their lessons together, they walkedtogether, and they played together, and were never known to quarrel or todisagree. 

Some little time after May's return, the two children went together in thepony carriage to Pendleton. They had two important things to do there. Onewas, to buy a present for Popsey, the little girl with the pitcher of milk;and the other was, to call on Mother Manikin to see if Betsey Ann hadarrived. 

The two children had each had a half-sovereign given them by Mr. Leslie;and Rosalie wished to spend hers in something very nice for little Popsey. But the difficulty was to choose what it should be. All the way toPendleton, May was proposing different things: a book, a work-box, awriting-case, etc; but at the mention of all these Rosalie shook her head. 'Popsey was too small for any of these, ' she said; 'she could not read, norsew, nor write. ' So then May proposed a doll, and Rosalie thought that wasa very good idea. 

Palmer, the old coachman, was asked to drive to a toyshop; and then, aftera long consultation, and an immense comparison of wax dolls, compositiondolls, china dolls, rag dolls, and wooden dolls, a beautiful china dollvery splendidly dressed was chosen, and laid aside for Rosalie. 

But as she still had some money left, she also chose a very prettyspectacle-case for Popsey's grandfather, and a beautiful little milk-jugfor the kind old grandmother. The milk-jug was a white one, and the handlewas formed by a cat which was supposed to be climbing up the side of thejug and peeping into the milk. Rosalie was delighted with this directly shesaw it, and fixed upon it once. For she had not forgotten the littlepitcher of milk, and the service it had been to her, and she thought thatthe cat on the milk-jug would remind Popsey of the little black kitten ofwhich she had been so fond. 

All these parcels were put carefully under the seat in the pony-carriage, and then they drove to Mother Manikin's. 

Who should open the door but Betsey Ann, looking the picture of happiness, and dressed very neatly in a clean calico dress, and white cap and apron. Betsey Ann's slipshod shoes and her rags and tatters were things of thepast; she looked an entirely different girl. 

'La, bless you!' she cried when she saw Rosalie; 'I'm right glad to see youagain. ' And then she suddenly turned shy, as she looked at the two youngladies, and led the way to the parlour, where Mother Manikin was sitting. 

The old lady was full of the praises of her new maid, and Betsey Ann smiledfrom ear to ear with delight. 

'Are you happy, Betsey Ann?' whispered Rosalie, as May was talking toMother Manikin. 

'Happy?' exclaimed Betsey Ann; 'I should just think I am! I never saw sucha good little thing as she is. Why, I've been here a whole week, and neverhad a cross word, I declare I haven't; did you ever hear the like of that?'

'Oh, I am so glad you are happy!' said Rosalie. 

'Yes, He--I mean the Good Shepherd--_has_ been good to me, ' saidBetsey Ann. 'But wait a minute, Rosalie, ' she said, as she saw that Rosaliewas preparing to go. 'I've got a letter for you. '

'A letter for me?' exclaimed Rosalie. 'Who can it be from?'

'I don't know, ' said Betsey Ann. 'It came the day after you left, and Ikept it, in hope of being able to send it some day or other. I justhappened to be cleaning the doorstep when the postman brought it. Says he, "Does Miss Rosalie Joyce live here?" So I says, "All right, sir; give it tome;" and I caught it up quite quick, and I poked it in my pocket. I wasn'tgoing to let her get it. I'll get it for you if you'll wait a minute. '

When Betsey Ann came downstairs, she put the letter in Rosalie's hand. Itwas very bad and irregular writing, and Rosalie could not in the leastimagine from whom it had come. 

The letter began thus--

'My dear Miss, 'I hope this finds you well, as it leaves me at present; but not so poorToby, who once you knew. Leastways, I hope he is well, because he is in abetter place than this; but he has been very badly off a long while, andlast Saturday he died. 

'But he told me where you lived; he said you was his master's daughter, andit was you as taught him about the Good Shepherd. 

'I told him, as I was one of his mates, I would write, and tell you he diedquite happy, knowing that his sins was forgiven. 

'He was a good lad, was Toby. We was a very bad lot when he came to ourconcern; but he read to us, spelling out the words quite slow like, everyevening; and there's a many of us that is like new men since we heard him. 

'There was one piece he read quite beautiful, and never so much as spelt aword. It was about the Shepherd looking for a sheep, and bringing it homeon His shoulder. 

'And he would talk to us about that as good as a book, and tell of apicture he had seen in your caravan, and what you used to teach him aboutit. 

'And just before he died, says he, "Tom, write and tell Miss Rosie; she'llbe glad like to hear I didn't forget it all. "

'So now I've wrote, and pardon my mistakes, and the liberty. 

'From yours truly, 'THOMAS CARTER. '

Rosalie was very thankful to receive this letter; she had often wonderedwhat had become of poor Toby; and it was a great comfort to her to knowthat he had not forgotten the lessons they had learned together in thecaravan. It was very pleasant to be able to think of him, not in thetheatre or a lodging-house, but in the home above, where her own dearmother was. 

 * * * * *

Rosalie did not grow tired of her green pasture, nor did she wish to wanderinto the wide world beyond. As she grew older, and saw from what she hadbeen saved, she became more and more thankful. 

She was not easily deceived by the world's glitter and glare and vain show;for Rosalie had been behind the scenes, and knew how empty and hollow andmiserable everything worldly was. 

She had learned lessons behind the scenes that she would not easily forget. She had learned that we must not trust to outward appearances. She hadlearned that aching hearts are often hidden behind the world's smilingfaces. She had learned that there is no real, no true, no lasting joy inanything of this world. She had learned that whosoever drinketh of suchwater--the water of this world's pleasures and amusements--shall thirstagain; but she had also learned that whosoever drinketh of the water whichthe Lord Jesus Christ gives, even His Holy Spirit, shall never thirst, butshall be perfectly happy and satisfied. She had learned that the only wayof safety, the only way of true happiness, was to be found in keeping nearto the Good Shepherd, in hearkening to His voice, and in following Hisfootsteps very closely. 

All these lessons Rosalie learnt by her PEEP BEHIND THE SCENES.