[Illustration: [_See p. _ 35. ]

 POPPY'S PRESENTS BY MRS. WALTON

 _Author of 'Christie's Old Organ, ' 'A Peep Behind the Scenes, ' etc. _

 London THE RELIGIOUS TRACT SOCIETY

 56, PATERNOSTER ROW; AND 65, ST. PAUL'S CHURCHYARD

 BUTLER & TANNER, THE SELWOOD PRINTING WORKS, FROME, AND LONDON. 

CONTENTS. 

 I. THE LITTLE RED CLOAK 7

 II. POPPY'S WORK 18

 III. A HOLIDAY 26

 IV. A LONG NIGHT 35

 V. FOUND AT LAST 44

 VI. POPPY WRITES A LETTER 53

 VII. A VISIT FROM GRANDMOTHER 63

 VIII. JACKY AND JEMMY 71

 IX. JOHN HENRY'S BAIRN 81

 X. THE MOTHER'S LEGACY 90

 XI. THE STORY OF THE RING 100

 XII. THE WONDERFUL FIRE 112

 XIII. POPPY'S FATHER COMES HOME 119

CHAPTER I. 

THE LITTLE RED CLOAK. 

The great cathedral bell was striking twelve. Slowly and solemnly itstruck, and as it did so people looked at their watches and alteredtheir clocks, for every one in the great city kept time by that graveold bell. Every one liked to hear it strike; but the school childrenliked it best of all, for they knew that with the last stroke of twelvelessons would be over, and they would be able to run home to dinner. 

'Good morning, children, ' said Miss Benson, the mistress. 

'Good morning, ma'am, ' said the girls, and then they marched out likesoldiers in single file. So quiet they were, so grave, so orderly theywent, almost as solemnly as the old bell itself. 

But only till they reached the school door. Then they broke up into amerry noisy crowd, running and shouting, chasing each other from side toside, jumping, hopping, and skipping as they went down the street. 

'Oh dear, what a noise them children do make!' said old Mrs. North, asshe got up and shut her cottage door. 

But the noise soon died away, for the children were hungry, and theywere hurrying home to dinner. 

What is that little bit of red that we see in front of the crowd? It isa little girl in a scarlet cloak, and she is turning down a longstraight road which leads into the heart of the city. Let us follow herand see where she is going. She is very tidily dressed; there is a cleanwhite holland pinafore under the scarlet cloak, and although her shoesare old, they are well patched and mended. But she is turning into avery poor part of the city--the streets are getting narrower and morecrowded, and they are getting darker, too, for the quaint, old-fashionedhouses overhang the pavement, and so nearly meet overhead, that verylittle light or air can get into the dismal street below. 

Still on and on goes the little red cloak. And now she is turning down acourt on the left-hand side of the street. An open court it ought to be, with a row of houses on each side, and an open space in the middle; butit is not an open space to-day, for it is everybody's washing-day inGrey Friars Court, and long lines are stretched from side to side, andshirts and petticoats and stockings and all manner of garments arewaving in the breeze. 

The little red cloak threads her way underneath; sometimes the corner ofa wet towel hits her in the face, sometimes she has to bend almostdouble to get underneath a dripping blanket or sheet. But she makes herway through them all, and passes on to the last house in that longdingy court, and as she does so she notices a little crowd of womenstanding by her mother's door. There is old Mrs. Smith leaning on hercrutches, and Sarah Anne Spavin and her mother, and Mrs. Lee with herbaby in her arms, and Mrs. Holliday, with Tommy and Freddy and AnnEliza. And as she looks up she sees several faces looking out of thewindows overhead. 

What could be the matter? Had anything happened to her mother? Was hermother dead? That was her first thought, poor child. But nobody waslooking particularly grave, and they laughed as they caught sight of thelittle red cloak coming under the white sheets and table-cloths. 

'Why, here's Poppy!' said Mrs. Holliday, as she came up to them. 

'Well, Poppy, ' cried another, 'have you heard the news?'

'Your mother's got a present for you, Poppy, ' said Sarah Anne Spavin;'you'd better hurry in and have a look at it. '

'A present for me, ' said the child; 'what is it?'

But the women only laughed and bade her go and see. 

And the faces at the window overhead laughed too, and said there wassuch a thing as having too much of a good thing. 

Poppy passed them all and went in, and then she heard her mother's voicecalling to her to come upstairs. Her mother was in bed, and she beckonedPoppy to come up to her. 

'Poppy, child, ' she said, rather sorrowfully, 'I've got a present foryou. '

Just what the neighbours had told her; and the child wondered more andmore what this present could be. It was a very long time now since Poppyhad had a present; she had never had one since her father went away, andit was six months since he had left them. 

Poppy often wondered where he had gone. Her mother never talked abouthim now, and the neighbours shook their heads when he was mentioned, and said he was a bad man. But he had often brought Poppy a present on aSaturday night when he got his wages; sometimes he brought her a packetof sweets, sometimes an apple, and once a beautiful box of dolls'tea-things. But since he went away there had been no presents for Poppy. Her mother had had to work very hard to get enough money to pay the rentand to get bread for them to eat--there was no money to spare foranything else. 

What could this present be, about which all the neighbours knew?

'Look here, Poppy, ' said her mother; and she pointed to a little bundleof flannel lying on one side of the bed. 

Poppy went round and peeped into it; and there she saw her present--atiny baby with a very red face and a quantity of black hair, and withits little fists holding its small fat cheeks. 

'Oh, what a beauty!' said Poppy, in an awestruck voice. 'Is it for me, mother?'

'Yes, ' said the mother, with a sigh; 'it's for you, Poppy. '

'But that isn't all, ' said old Mrs. Trundle, who was standing at thefoot of the bed; 'that's only half your present, Poppy. Look here!'

And in her arms Poppy saw another bundle, and when she had opened it, loand behold, what should there be but another little baby, also with avery red face and plenty of black hair, and with its little fistsholding its fat cheeks!

'Two of them?' said Poppy, in amazement. 'Are you sure they are both forus, mother?'

'Yes, they are both for us, ' said the poor woman; 'both for us, Poppy. '

'Who sent them?' asked the child. 

'God sent them, poor little things!' said her mother, lookingsorrowfully at the two little bundles. 

'Are they God's presents to me?' asked Poppy. 

'Yes, to you and to me, Poppy, ' said her mother; 'there's nobody elseto look after them. '

'Ay, you'll have your work set now, Poppy, ' said old Mrs. Trundle. 

But Poppy did not think of the work just then. Two dear little babies!And for her own! She was very very happy. She could scarcely eat anydinner, although Mrs. Lee took her across the court into her house, thatshe might get some with her children, and it was a great trial to herwhen her mother told her she must go back to school as usual. 

'You'll get little enough schooling now, go while you may, Poppy, ' shesaid. 

The excitement in the court was not over when the child passed down iton her way to school. 

The neighbours came to their doors when they caught sight of her redcloak, and some of them said, 'Poor Poppy!' and some of them shook theirheads mournfully without saying anything. The child could not understandwhy they all pitied her so much. She thought they ought to be glad thatsuch a nice present had come for her. 

On her way to school Poppy passed under a curious old gateway, which hadbeen built many hundred years ago, and which still stood in the old wallof the city. Under the shadow of this ancient Bar was a shop--such apretty shop Poppy thought it, and it was very seldom that she went underthe gateway without stopping to look in at the window. For there, sitting in a row, and looking out at her, were a number ofdolls--beautiful wax dolls with curly hair and blue eyes and pinkcheeks. And Poppy had never had a wax doll of her own. Her only doll wasan old wooden creature with no real hair, and with long straight arms;she could never even sit down, for her back and her legs would not bend, and when Poppy came home and looked at her after she had been gazing inthe toy-shop window she thought her very ugly indeed. 

One day when Poppy was standing under the Bar, a lady and a little girlcame up to the shop. The little girl was just as tall as Poppy, and shestood beside her gazing at the row of dolls. 

'I should like that one, mother, ' she said; 'the one with yellow hairand a red necklace. '

That was Poppy's favourite too; _she_ would have chosen that one, shesaid to herself. 

The lady had gone into the shop and bought the doll, and Poppy watchedthe happy little girl walk away with it in her arms. And then poor Poppywent into a dark corner under the Bar, and cried a little to herselfbefore she went on to school. If only _her_ mother had money enough tobuy her a wax doll!

But on the day Poppy's presents came she did not even stop for a momentto look at the wax dolls. What stupid creatures they seemed to her now!_Her_ babies could open and shut their eyes, and none of these dollscould do that. 

_Her_ babies could move, and yawn, and cry, and kick; they were farbetter than dolls. 

And mother said God had sent them! He must have known how much she hadwanted one of those wax dolls, Poppy thought. 

CHAPTER II. 

POPPY'S WORK. 

Poppy's work soon began in good earnest. Her mother had to go out towork, and whilst she was away there was no one but Poppy to take care ofthe babies. She liked her work very much at first. Their eyes were asblue as those of the wax dolls in the shop window, and their hair wasquite as pretty. 

But, as the days went by, Poppy could not help wishing that her babieswould sometimes be as quiet as the row of dolls in the shop under theBar. Poppy's babies were never quiet, except when they were asleep, andunfortunately it was very seldom that they were both asleep at the sametime. Poor little Poppy! her small arms ached very often as she carriedthose restless babies, and sometimes she felt so tired she thought shemust let them fall. 

Oh, how they cried! Sometimes they went on hour after hour withoutstopping. And then at length, one baby would fall asleep quite tiredout, but no sooner did its weary little cry cease than the other onewould scream more loudly than before, and would wake it up again. 

There was no end to Poppy's work. She was warming milk and fillingbottles, --she was pacing up and down the room, --she was singing all thehymns she had learned at school to soothe them to sleep, --she wasnursing and patting, and rocking her babies from morning till night. 

Brave little Poppy! The tears would come in her eyes sometimes, when thebabies were more cross than usual, and she would think how nice it wouldbe to feel rested sometimes; she was always so tired now. But she nevergave up her work; she would not have left her babies for the world; sheloved them through it all. 

Even when her mother came home in the evening Poppy's work was notfinished. Poor tired mother, she came slowly and wearily up the court, and then sank down upon a chair just inside the door, almost tooexhausted to speak. 

'Give me the babies, Poppy darling, ' she would say. 

But Poppy knew that her mother had been standing all the day at awashing-tub, and that she was almost too tired to speak, and so shewould say, 'Oh, I'll keep them a bit, mother; get a cup of tea first. '

And so the evening wore away, and bedtime came; the time when mostlittle girls of Poppy's age get into soft, cosy beds, and sleeppeacefully till the sunbeams wake them gently in the morning. But evenat night Poppy's work was not over. One or other of the babies wascrying nearly all the night, and sometimes both were crying together. Poppy used to see her poor mother pacing up and down, backwards andforwards on the bedroom floor, trying to hush one of the fretfulchildren to sleep. And then she would creep out of bed and say, 'Give itto me, mother, you are so tired and so cold. '

And then Poppy would take her turn in that constant tramp, tramp acrossthe floor, and at last, when the happy moment came, if it ever did come, in which both babies were worn out with crying and were laid asleepbeside her mother, Poppy would creep cold and shivering into bed, andthe night would seem all too short for her. 

Yet, in spite of all the work the babies gave her, Poppy was very proudof her presents. And when her mother got out two white frocks whichPoppy had worn when she was a baby, and dressed the poor little twins inthem one Sunday afternoon, Poppy danced for joy. 

'Don't they look lovely, mother?' she said. 

'You must pray for them, Poppy, when we get to church, ' said her mother. 'We are going to give them to God. '

'What will He do with them, mother?' said Poppy. 'He won't take themaway, will He?'

'No, ' said her mother, 'He won't take them away just yet; but I wantthem to belong to Him as long as they live, and then He'll take themhome by-and-by. '

Poppy was very attentive at church that day. How pretty her babieslooked as the clergyman took them in his arms! Her mother had been veryanxious that they should have Bible names, and after much searching, andafter many long talks with Poppy on the subject, she had fixed on Enochand Elijah as the names for the little brothers. 

Poppy was very happy that Sunday as she walked home with little Enoch inher arms. But when they got into the house, her mother sat down andburst into tears. 

'What is it, mother dear?' said the child. 'Are you tired?'

'No, my dear, it isn't that, ' she said. 'I'll tell you some time whenthe babies are asleep. '

They were asleep much sooner than usual that night; the fresh air hadmade them sleepy, and Poppy and her mother had a quiet evening. 

'Tell me why you were crying, mother dear, when we came home fromchurch. '

'Oh, Poppy!' said her mother, 'I don't know how to tell you, my poorlittle lassie. '

'What is it, mother? Do tell me. '

'You know you said God had sent a present for you, Poppy, when thebabies came?'

'Yes--for me and you, mother, ' said the child. 

'Poppy, ' said her mother, 'I think He's going to give you the biggestshare of it. I think I'm going to die, Poppy, and leave you all. Oh!Poppy, Poppy, Poppy!' and she sobbed as if her heart would break. 

Poppy felt as if she were dreaming, and could not understand what hermother was saying. Mrs. Byres, in the house opposite, had died a littletime before, but then she had been ill in bed for many a month; and Mrs. Jack's little boy and girl had died, but then they had had a fever. Hermother could walk about, and could go out to work, and could look afterthe babies. How _could_ she be going to die?

'I didn't like to tell you, Poppy, ' her mother went on; 'but it is true, my darling, and it's better you should know before it comes. '

'But, mother, you are not ill, are you?' said the child; and as she saidthis she looked at her mother. Yes, she certainly did look very thin, and pale, and tired, as she sat by the fire. 

'I'm failing fast, Poppy, ' said her mother; 'wasting away. I've felt itcoming on me a long time, dear--before your father went away. And lastweek I got a ticket for the dispensary, and the doctor said he couldn'tdo nothing for me; it was too late, he said. If it wasn't for you andthe babies, Poppy, I would be glad to go, for I'm very, very tired. '

'Mother, ' said Poppy, with a great sob, 'however will we get alongwithout you?'

'I don't know, ' said the poor woman. 'I don't know, Poppy; but the goodLord knows; and He _is_ a good Lord, child. He's never failed me yet, and I know He'll help you--I know He will. Come to me, my darling. '

And the mother took her little girl in her arms, and held her to herbosom, and they had a good cry together. 

But before very long the twins awoke, and Poppy and her mother begantheir work again. 

CHAPTER III. 

A HOLIDAY. 

The next morning when Poppy woke she felt as if she had had a bad dream. Her mother's words the night before came back to her mind. 'I think I amgoing to die and leave you all. ' It could not be true, surely! Sheraised herself in bed and looked round. Her mother was up already; shecould hear her moving about downstairs, and she had lighted the fire, for Poppy could hear the sticks crackling in the grate. The twins werestill asleep, lying in bed beside her, and the child peeped at theirlittle peaceful faces, and stooped to kiss Elijah's tiny hand, which waslying on the coverlet of the bed. They knew nothing about it, poorlittle things. It could not be true, Poppy said to herself; her mothercould not be going to die; she must have dreamt it all. 

She crept out of bed very quietly, so as not to wake the babies, dressedherself, and went downstairs to help her mother to get breakfast ready. But she found everything done when she got into the kitchen, the clothwas on the table, and a cup for Poppy, and another for her mother, andtwo slices of bread, and two cups of tea. 

'Oh, mother, ' said Poppy, 'I didn't know I was so late. '

'You're going to have a holiday to-day, Poppy, ' said her mother; 'do youknow it's your birthday?'

'My birthday, mother?' repeated the child. 

'Yes, you're nine years old to-day, my poor little lass, ' said hermother; 'I reckoned that up as I was walking about with the babies lastnight, and I mean you to have a rest to-day; you've been a-toiling anda-moil-ing with them babies ever since they was born; it's time you hada bit of quiet and peace. '

'But you're poorly, mother, ' said the child. 

'No worse nor usual, ' said her mother, 'and I've got no work to-day. Mrs. Peterson isn't going to wash till to-morrow, so you're to have areal quiet day, Poppy. '

But Poppy, like a good child, could not sit idle when she saw her motherworking, and so in the afternoon, as soon as dinner was over, her mothersent her out for a walk, and told her not to come home till tea-time. 

'There's Jack and Sally, they've got holidays, Poppy; get them to gowith you, ' she said. 

Jack and Sally lived in a house on the opposite side of the court; theywent to the same school to which Poppy had gone before the babies came, and they had always played together since they were tiny children. 

So Poppy put on her scarlet cloak, and the three children started infine spirits. It was such a bright, sunny day, and everything lookedcheerful and happy. There had been a hard frost the night before, andthe road was firm and dry under their feet, and the three children ranalong merrily. They went a long way outside the walls till they came toa river, by the side of which was a small footpath following the riverin all its windings, and leading across grassy fields, which in summertime were filled with wild flowers, and which were now covered with purewhite snow. 

Oh, how much Poppy enjoyed that walk! She had been so long shut up inthat tiny house, she had so long been imprisoned like a wild bird in asmall cage, that now, when she found herself free to run where she likedin the clear, frosty air, she felt full of life and spirits. 

She had forgotten for a time the sorrow of the night before. All was sobright and beautiful around her, there was nothing to remind her ofsickness or of death. She was very happy, and skipped along like alittle wild goat. 

They walked more slowly when they got into the city again, for they weretired with their long walk, and as they passed the great cathedral Jackproposed that they should go inside and rest for a little time on thechairs in the nave. 

'There's lots of time yet, Poppy, ' he said; 'it isn't tea-time, I'msure. '

It was getting dark for all that, and the lamps were lighted in thecathedral. Jack took off his hat as he pushed open the heavy oaken door, and the little girls followed him. Service was going on in the choir, and they could hear the solemn tones of the organ pealing through thebuilding, and with them came the sweet sound of many voices singing. 

'Isn't it beautiful?' said Poppy; 'let us sit down and listen. '

They were very quiet until the service was over, and when the last Amenwas sung, and the doors of the choir were thrown open for the people toleave, they got up to go home. 

But as they were walking across the cathedral to the door which stoodnearest the direction of their home, Jack suddenly stopped. 

'Hullo, Poppy, ' he whispered, 'look here, ' and he pointed to a littledoor in the wall which stood ajar. 

'What is it, Jack?' said both little girls at once; 'where does it goto? Is it a tomb?'

'Oh, no, ' said Jack; 'it's the way folks go up to the top of the tower;you know we often see them walking about on the top; my father went uplast Easter Monday. I always thought they kept it locked; let's go a bitof the way up, and see what it's like. '

'Oh, no, Jack, ' said Sally; 'it looks so dark in there. '

'Don't be a silly baby, Sally, ' he said. 'Poppy isn't afraid; are you, Poppy?'

'No, ' said Poppy, in a trembling voice; 'no, I'm not frightened, Jack. '

'Come in then, quick, ' said the boy; 'I'll go first, and you can followme. '

'But isn't it tea-time?' said Poppy. 

Jack did not stop to answer her; he led the way up the steep, windingstone steps, and the two little girls followed. 

'Jack, Jack, stop a minute!' said Poppy, when they had wound round andround three or four times; 'I don't think we ought to go. '

'I believe you're frightened now, Poppy, ' he said; 'I thought you'd morepluck than that! We won't go far. I just want to get to that place onthe roof where we see the people stand when they're going up; it's onlyabout half way to the top; come on, we shall soon be there!'

It took a longer time than Jack expected, however, for the steps werevery steep, winding round and round like a corkscrew, and the childrenwere tired, and could not climb quickly. They stood for a few moments onthe roof outside and looked down into the city, but they could not seemuch, for it was getting very dark, and even Jack was willing to ownthat it was time to go home. 

It did not take them quite so long to go down the steps as it had takenthem to go up, but they were slippery and much worn in places, and thelittle girls felt very much afraid of falling, and were very glad whenJack, who was going first, said they were near the bottom. 

But Poppy and Sally a moment afterwards were very much startled, forJack gave a sudden cry of horror as he reached the bottom step. 

The little door through which they had come was closed. Jack shook it, and hammered it with his fists, but he could not open it; it was locked, and they were prisoners in the tower. The verger who had the charge ofthe door had remembered that he had left it unfastened, and had turnedthe key in the lock soon after the children had entered the tower. Noone had been near when they had crept inside, and so the verger had noidea that any one had gone up the steps. 

'Oh! Jack, Jack, Jack, what shall we do?' said Poppy. 

CHAPTER IV. 

A LONG NIGHT. 

Yes, they were locked in, there was no doubt about it!

'But don't cry, Poppy, ' said Jack, as she burst into tears, 'we'll soonmake them hear; the verger sits on that bench close by. '

Jack hammered with his fists on the door, and the sound echoed throughthe hollow building. Then the three children waited, and listened, hoping to hear the verger's footsteps approaching the door. And whensome moments had passed and no one came, he knocked again, and once morethey waited and listened. But it was all in vain; no one heard therapping on the door, no one came to let the little prisoners out. 

'He must have gone into the crypt, ' said Sally; 'he goes down there whenfolks come to see the cathedral; maybe he'll be back soon. '

But Jack did not answer her; he was on his knees on the ground, peepingunder the crack of the door. 

'What can you see, Jack?' asked Poppy. 

'It's all dark, ' said Jack; 'the cathedral lights are out, andeverybody's gone home; whatever shall we do?'

The two little girls sat down on the bottom step, and cried and sobbedas if their hearts would break. 

'What's the use of crying?' said Jack, rather angrily; 'what we've gotto do is to try to get out. Let's climb up again, and get out on theroof; maybe we can make some one hear if we shout loud enough. '

'It's so dark up there now, ' said Sally, glancing fearfully at thenarrow, winding staircase; 'we can't see our way a bit. '

'Never mind that, we can _feel_, ' said the boy; 'come along. '

'Oh! I shall fall--I shall fall!' sobbed Sally. 

'You stop down here, then, ' said her brother. 'Poppy and I will go. '

'Oh no, --no, --no!' cried the frightened child; 'don't leave me; I don'twant to stop here by myself. '

Very slowly and carefully the three children felt their way up the steepsteps, and many a tear fell on the old stones as the girls followedJack. It seemed a long, long way to them, far farther than it had donebefore; and the wind, which had been rising all the afternoon, camehowling and whistling through the narrow window-slits in the tower, andmade them cold and shivering. 

At last they reached the open place on the roof, but they found it wasimpossible to stand upon it; such a hurricane of wind had arisen, thatthey would have been blown over had they tried to leave the shelter ofthe tower. So all they could do was to remain where they were, and toshout as loudly as they could for help; but the cathedral close was verylarge, and no one passed through it on that cold, stormy evening, andthe street was far away--so far that the voices of the children couldnot be heard by the passers-by, but were drowned by the noisy, blustering wind. They shouted until they were hoarse, but no help came, and at last even Jack was obliged to acknowledge that he was afraidthere was no help for it, but that they must make up their minds to staythere for the night. 

'Oh, dear, whatever will mother do without me!' said Poppy; 'she'll havenobody to help her; I _must_ get back to my babies. Oh, Jack, Jack, I_must_ get back to my babies. '

'But you _can't_ get back, Poppy, ' said Jack mournfully; 'there's nothingfor it but waiting till morning. '

'I'm so cold, ' sobbed Sally, 'and I want my tea; whatever shall we dowithout our tea?'

'It can't be helped, ' said Jack, 'and it's no good crying; let's go tothe bottom of the tower again, it's not so windy there as it is uphere. '

It was hard work getting down in the dark, and with the whistling windrushing in upon them at every turn; the old stone steps were worn awayin many places, for thousands of feet had trodden them since the daythey were put in their places, and the children sometimes lost theirfooting, and would have fallen had they not held so tightly to eachother. 

When they reached the bottom of the stone staircase they crouchedtogether close to the door, in the most sheltered corner they couldfind, and tried to keep each other warm. But it was a bitterly coldnight, and the rough noisy wind came tearing and howling down thestaircase, and found them out in their hiding-place, and made themshiver from head to foot. And as the hours went by, they felt more andmore hungry; their long walk had given them a good appetite, and theyhad had a very early dinner. 

Poor little Sally cried incessantly, and the others did all they couldto cheer her; but she refused to be comforted, and at last she was sotired and exhausted that she sobbed herself to sleep. Jack soonafterwards followed her example and fell asleep beside her, and onlypoor Poppy was awake, crying quietly to herself, and thinking of hermother and of Enoch and Elijah. She was too anxious and too muchtroubled to sleep, and the hours seemed very long to her. It was such alonely place in which to spend the night: there was no sound to be heardbut the howling of the wind and the striking of the great cathedralclock, which made Poppy jump every time it struck the hour. 

How long it seemed to Poppy from one hour to another; the time went muchmore slowly than usual that night, she thought. Once she became so verylonely and frightened that she felt as if she must wake the others; butshe was an unselfish little girl, and she remembered how much poor Sallyhad cried, and felt glad that she and Jack could forget their troublefor a little time. So she crept quietly away without disturbing them, and climbed slowly up the steep steps to the place where she rememberedthe first window-slit in the tower came. She thought she would feel lesslonely if she could see the lamps burning in the streets, and would feelthat the world was not quite so far away as it had seemed to her duringall those long, quiet hours. 

Poppy did not like to go so far from the other children, and once ortwice she turned back, but at length she climbed as far as the slit, andlooked out. There were the lamps on either side of the long street whichled to the cathedral, but they seemed a great way off, and the cathedralclose was quite dark and empty. 

'There isn't anybody near, ' said Poppy to herself, as she looked down. And then she looked up, --up into the sky. It was covered with cloudswhich the wind was driving wildly along, but, as Poppy looked, therecame a break in the clouds, and one little patch of sky was left clearand uncovered. And there, shining down upon Poppy, was a star, --such abright beautiful star. 

It made her think of heaven, and of God who made the stars. 'God isnear, ' said Poppy to herself. 'Mother says He is always close beside us. Oh, dear, I quite forgot--I've never said my prayers to-night. '

The child knelt down at once on the cold stone steps, and prayed, andher little prayer went up higher than the towers of that greatcathedral--to the ears of the Lord, who loves little children to speakto Him. 

'O God, ' prayed Poppy, 'please take care of me, and Jack, and Sally, andplease don't let mother be frightened, and please make the babies go tosleep; for Jesus Christ's sake. Amen. '

Poppy felt comforted after she had prayed; she crept down the stepsagain, and wrapping her little red cloak as tightly round her as shecould, she lay down beside Sally, and fell asleep. 

CHAPTER V. 

FOUND AT LAST. 

That was a terrible night, and one which would never be forgotten inGrey Friars Court. Hardly any of the people of the court went to bed, for they were all helping in the search for the lost children. Thebellman was sent up and down the city till late at night, that he mighttry to hear tidings of them; the policemen were making inquiries in alldirections; the neighbours were scouring the city from one end to theother. 

Jack and Sally's father and mother were walking about the whole night, looking for their children in all places, likely and unlikely. AndPoppy's poor mother, who could not leave the babies, paced up and downher room, and looked anxiously from her window, and trembled each timethat footsteps came down the court. 

She could do nothing herself to help her little girl, but she had astrong Friend who could help her. Again and again, through that longanxious night, Poppy's mother asked the Lord to watch over her child, and to bring her safe home again. 

Only one trace of the children had been found when morning dawned; Sallyhad dropped her little handkerchief on the path leading to the river;this handkerchief had been found by a policeman, and it had been shownto Sally's mother, and she had said, with tears in her eyes, that itbelonged to her little girl. 

Could the children be drowned in the river? This was the terrible fearwhich the neighbours whispered to each other, as they met together afterthe night's search. But no one mentioned it to Poppy's mother. 

'I wouldn't tell her about that there handkercher, poor thing, ' said oneto another 'maybe they're not in the river after all. '

In the morning, as soon as it was light, search was to be made in thewater for the bodies, and every one in Grey Friars Court waitedanxiously for the result. 

Very early in the morning the cathedral door was unlocked, and one ofthe vergers, an old man of the name of Standish, entered with his wife, old Betty Standish, and with his daughter Rose Ann, to make thecathedral fires, and put all in readiness for the services of the day. As the two women raked out the cinders and ashes from the stoves, thesound echoed through the hollow building, and woke the sleeping childrenin the tower. 

Jack sprang to his feet at once, as he saw the dim grey light stealingdown the staircase, and as he heard the voices in the cathedral. 

'It's morning at last, ' he said; 'now we shall get out;' and he hammeredwith all his might on the door. 

But the women were making so much noise themselves that the sound didnot attract their attention; they went on with their fire-lighting andtook no notice. Then the children began to call out--

'Let us out--let us out, please; we're locked in!'

The two women paused in their work and listened. 

Again the shout came, 'Let us out--let us out; we can't get out; openthe door, please. '

'Whatever on earth is it?' said Rose Ann, coming up to her mother withan awestruck face. 

'Ay, my dear, _I_ don't know, ' said her mother, who was trembling fromhead to foot. 'I never heard the like; I never did. Call your father, Rose Ann. '

The verger was in the choir, putting the books in order, and making allready for the service. He came at once when his daughter called him. 

'Listen, Joshua, listen, ' said old Betty. 

And once more the children called. 'Let us out, please; we're lockedin; let us out. '

'Do ye think it's a ghost, Joshua?' said his wife, looking fearfully atthe old tombs by which she was surrounded on all sides. 

'Ghost! Rubbish!' said her husband; but he was as white as a sheet, andalmost as frightened as she was. 

'Let's go and tell the Dean, ' said Rose Ann. 

'Nonsense, ' said the verger, who had recovered himself a little; 'let'slisten where the sound comes from. '

'Let us out; unlock the door, please!' shouted the children again. 

'It's some one in the tower, ' said the old man; 'though how on earth anyone could have got there it passes me to think. '

So the old people and their daughter went in the direction of the cries, and the verger took the great old key from his pocket which unlocked thetower door. Yet even when the key was in the key-hole he paused amoment, as if he did not like to turn it in the lock. 

'I wonder whoever it can be, ' he said timidly. 

'It's a ghost; I'll be bound it's a ghost, ' said old Betty; 'they saythey _do_ haunt all these queer old places. '

'Well, we'll have a look, ' said her husband, summoning up all hiscourage; 'so here goes. ' He turned the key, the door flew open, and outcame the three poor children, weary, pale, and shivering with cold. 

'Well, I never!' said the verger's wife, holding up her hands inamazement. 

'Wherever on earth have you come from?' said her husband. 

'I know, father, ' said Rose Ann; 'these must be the three children ofGrey Friars Court. I heard the bellman crying them last night. '

'Poor little cold things!' said old Betty, 'and have ye been locked inthe tower all night?'

'Yes, ma'am, ' said Poppy, 'all night. '

'But however did you get there?' said the verger. 'That's what I want toknow. '

'Please, sir, don't be angry, ' said Jack; 'we found the door open, andwe went in. '

'Well, I never heard the like, ' said Rose Ann. 'I declare they'reshaking from head to foot. Such a night as it has been, too; it'll be awonder if it isn't the death of them. '

'Come along, my poor bairns, ' said the old woman. 'I've got some hotcoffee on the hob at home; you shall have a drink at once. '

'Oh no, thank you, ' said Poppy; 'I must go home to mother. '

'So you shall, my dear; so you shall, ' said old Betty; 'but you'll goall the quicker for getting a bit of warmth into you; why, you're stiffwith cold, I declare. Poor lambs, you _must_ have had a night of it!Bring them across, Rose Ann. ' And the kind old woman trotted on in frontto stir her fire into a blaze, and to pour out the hot coffee for thepoor children. 

She made them sit with their feet on the fender whilst they weredrinking it, and she gave them each a piece of a hot cake, which shebrought out of the oven. And all the time they were eating it she andRose Ann were crying over them by turns, and the old verger was shakinghis head and saying: 'I never heard the like; it's a strange businessaltogether, it is. '

As soon as they were warmed and fed, the verger, and his wife, and RoseAnn took the children home; and I wish you could have seen their arrivalin Grey Friars Court. There was such a kissing, and hugging, and crying;such an excitement and stir; such a rejoicing over the children, who hadbeen lost but were found again, and such a thanksgiving in the heart ofPoppy's mother, as she saw the answer to her prayer. 

No one could make too much of the three children that day. They wereinvited out to tea to every house in the court, and sweets, and cakes, and pennies were showered upon them, till the two mothers declared theywould be quite spoilt, and till Jack announced he would not much mindspending another night in the tower, if they got all these good thingswhen they came home. But Poppy and Sally shook their heads at this, andwould not agree with him. 

CHAPTER VI. 

POPPY WRITES A LETTER. 

'Poppy, I want you to write a letter for me, darling, ' said her motherone day. 

'Is it to my father?' asked the child. 

'No, Poppy; it isn't to your father. '

'Why do you never write to my father, mother?' asked Poppy. 

Her mother did not answer her at once, and Poppy did not like to ask heragain. But after a few minutes her mother got up suddenly and shut thedoor. 

'Poppy, I'll tell you, ' she said, 'for I am going to leave you, and youought to know. ' And then, instead of telling her, the poor woman burstinto tears. 

'Don't cry, mother, don't cry, ' said the child; 'don't tell me if you'drather not. '

'But I _must_ tell you, Poppy, ' she said, as she dried her eyes andlooked into the fire. 'Poppy, I loved your father more than I can tellyou, and he loved me, child; yes, he _did_ love me; never you believeany one who tells you he didn't love me. He loved _me_, and he loved_you_, Poppy; he was very good to you, wasn't he, my child?'

'Yes, mother, very good, ' said Poppy, as she remembered how kind healways was to her when he came in from work. 

'But he got into bad company, Poppy, and he took to drinking. I wouldn'ttell you, dear, only I'm going away, and so I think you ought to know. Well, bit by bit he was led away. Sometimes, dear, I blame myself, andthink perhaps I might have done more to keep him at home; but he wasalways so pleasant with all his mates, and they made so much of him, andthey led him on--yes, Poppy, they led him on--they did, indeed. And Isaw him getting further and further wrong, and I could not stop him, andthere were things which I didn't know about, dear--horse-racing, andcard-playing, and all that sort of thing. And one day, Poppy, ' said hermother, lowering her voice ('I wouldn't tell you, my dear, if I wasn'tgoing away), one day he went out to his work as usual. I made him a cupof hot coffee to drink before he started; I always made him that, dear, if he was off ever so early. 

'Well, he was ready to go, but he turned round at the door, and says he, "Is Poppy awake?" "No, the bairn was fast asleep when I came down, " saysI. He put down his breakfast-tin by the door, and he crept upstairs, andI could hear his steps in the room overhead, and then, Poppy, I listenedat the foot of the stairs, and I heard him give you a kiss. I didn't sayanything, child, when he came down, for I thought maybe he wouldn't likeme to notice it, and he hurried out, as if he was afraid I should askhim what he was doing. 

'Well, dear, dinner-time came, and I always had it ready and waiting forhim, for I think it's a sin and a shame, Poppy, when them that works forthe meat never has time given them to eat it. But the dinner waitedlong enough that day, child, for he never came home. I began to thinksomething must be wrong, for he always came home of a dinner-hour. Ithought maybe he had had some drink; but, Poppy, it was worse than that, for oh! my darling, he never came home no more. '

'What was wrong with him, mother?'

'He was in debt, child, and had lost money in them horrid races; andthere were more things than that, but I can't tell you all, my dear, norI don't want to tell. Only this I want to say: if he ever comes back, Poppy, tell him I loved him to the last, and I prayed for him to thelast, and I shall look to meet him in heaven; mind you tell him that, Poppy, my dear. '

'Yes, mother, ' said the child, with tears in her eyes; 'I won't forget. '

'And now about the letter; I wish I _could_ write to your father, Poppy, but I've never had a word from him all this cruel long time--not asingle word, child; and where he is at this moment I know no more thanthat table does. '

'Then who is the letter to be written to, mother?' asked the child. 

'It's to your granny, Poppy, I want to write; _his_ mother, yourfather's mother. I never saw her, child, but she's a good old woman, Ibelieve; he always talked a deal about his mother, and many a time I'vethought I ought to write and tell her, but somehow I hadn't the heart todo it, Poppy. But now she must be told. '

'When shall I write it, mother?'

'Here's a penny, child; go and get a sheet and an envelope from the shopat the end of the street, and if the babies will only keep asleep, we'llwrite it at once. '

The paper was bought, and Poppy seated herself on a high stool, andwrote as her mother told her:--

 'MY DEAR GRANDMOTHER, 'This comes, hoping to find you quite well, as it leaves my mother very ill, and the doctor says she'll never be no better, and my Father went away last year, and nobody knows what has become of him, and he never writes nor sends no money nor nothing, and Mother has got two little babies, and they are both boys, and she wants me to ask you to pray God to take care of us, and will you please write us a letter?

 'Your affectionate grand-daughter, 'POPPY. '

It was well that the letter was finished then, for that very nightPoppy's mother was taken very much worse, and the next morning she wasnot able to rise from her bed. 

And now began a very hard time for the little girl. Two babies to lookafter, and a sick mother to nurse, was almost more than it was possiblefor one small pair of arms to manage. The neighbours were very kind, andcame backwards and forwards, bringing Poppy's mother tempting things toeat, and carrying off dirty clothes to wash at home, or any little pieceof work which Poppy could not manage. And often, very often, one oranother of them would come and sit by the sick woman, or would carry offthe crying babies to their own homes, that she might have a little restand quiet. 

[Illustration]

But, in spite of all this kind help, it was a very hard time for Poppy. The neighbours had their own homes and their own families to attend to, and could only give their spare time to the care of their sickneighbour. And at night Poppy had a weary time of it. Her mother wasweak and restless, and full of fever and of pain, and she tossed abouton her pillow hour after hour, watching her good little daughter withtears in her eyes, as she walked up and down with the babies, trying tosoothe them to sleep. 

Sometimes she would try to sit up in bed, and hold little Enoch orElijah for a few moments: but she had become so terribly weak that theeffort was too much for her, and after a few minutes she would fall backfainting on her pillow, and Poppy had to take the baby away and batheher mother's forehead with water before she could speak to her again. 

So it was a weary and anxious time for the child. The neighbours saidshe was growing an old grandmother, so careworn and anxious had shebecome, and Poppy herself could hardly believe that she was the samelittle girl who had gazed in the toy-shop window only a few months agoand had longed for one of those beautiful wax-dolls. She felt too oldand tired ever to care to play again. 

CHAPTER VII. 

A VISIT FROM GRANDMOTHER. 

The summer began very early that year, and it was the hottest summerthat Poppy had ever known. Even at the end of May and the beginning ofJune the heat was so great that it made people ill and tired and cross. Poppy's mother, who was never able to leave her bed, felt it very much. The court was close and stifling, and the old window in the smallbedroom would only open a little way at the bottom, so that very littleair could get into the room, and the poor woman lay hour after hourpanting for breath, and almost fainting with the heat. 

It was no easy time for Poppy. The neighbours were still very kind, butthe heat made them unable to do as much as before, and somehoweverybody's temper went wrong with the hot weather, and there was a gooddeal of quarrelling in the court. Mrs. Brown quarrelled with Mrs. Jonesabout something, and Ann Turner would not speak to Mrs. Smith becauseshe had offended her about something else, and once or twice there wereangry voices in the court, which troubled the poor sick woman. And whenthe neighbours came in to see her they would pour out the history oftheir grievances, and this worried and distressed her a good deal. 

The babies, too, felt the hot weather very much. They were seven monthsold now, but they were poor sickly little creatures, quite unable toroll about the floor like other babies of that age, and needing almostas much nursing and care as they had done when they were first born. Poppy did her very best for them and for her mother, but she was only achild after all, and she could not keep them as clean as they ought tohave been kept, nor the house as tidy and free from dirt as it used tobe when her mother was able to look after it, and sometimes poor Poppy, brave though she was, felt almost inclined to give up in despair. 

There was one day when she was very much cast down and troubled. It was, if possible, a hotter day than the ten very hot days which had gonebefore it. And it was everybody's washing-day. The court was filled withclothes, steaming in the hot sun, and shutting out what little air mightpossibly have crept down to the rooms below. But there seemed to be noair anywhere that sultry day. 

Poppy's mother was very much worn and exhausted, and Enoch and Elijahdid nothing but cry. Hour after hour they cried, not a loud, angryscream, such as strong babies might give, but a weak, weary wail, whichwent on, and on, and on, till Poppy felt as if she could bear it nolonger. 

She left them on the bed for a few minutes beside her mother, and randownstairs to make a cup of tea and a piece of toast for mother'sdinner. They lived on bread and tea now, for they had nothing but whatthey got from the parish, and if the neighbours had not been very kind, and brought them in little things from time to time, even the parishmoney would not have been enough to keep them from starving. 

When Poppy went downstairs she had a little quiet cry. There was so muchto do, and somehow that hot day it seemed impossible to do it. She knewthat the house was untidy, and the babies needed washing, and there weredirty clothes waiting to be made clean, and cups and plates and basinsstanding ready to be washed up. And it seemed too hot and tiring to doanything. 

Poppy went to the window for a minute, and putting her fingers in herears that she might not hear the wail of the babies, she stood lookingup at the strip of blue sky, which she could just see between the housesof the court. How pure and lovely it looked! And God lived somewhere upthere Poppy knew. And God loved her--Poppy knew that, too. Her mothersaid He had sent His dear Son to die for her--the only Son He had--Hehad sent Him to die on the cross, that she might go to live with Him inheaven. God must love her very much to do that, Poppy said to herself. She thought she would ask God to help her that hot day, --if He loved hershe was sure He would feel sorrow for her, now that she was so tired andhad so much to do. 

So, looking up at the blue sky, Poppy said aloud, 'O God, please helpme, for I'm very tired, and I don't know how ever to get everythingdone, and please make me a good girl; for Jesus Christ's sake. Amen. 'Would God hear her prayer? Poppy asked herself, as she came away fromthe window; she wondered very much if he would. And, if He did hear her, how would the help come? It was not likely that He would send one of theneighbours in to help her, for they were all too busy with their washingto have much time to spare. There were the angels, _they_ were God'sservants, and Poppy had learnt at school that they came to help God'speople; but she had never heard of an angel washing up cups and saucers, or cleaning a house, or nursing a baby, and that was the help Poppywanted just then. Well, she had prayed to God, and mother said Godalways heard prayer; she would wait and see. 

Poppy filled the kettle, and was trying to put a few things in order inthe untidy kitchen when there came a knock at the door. Poppy started. Could some one be coming to help her? The neighbours never knocked--theyopened the door and walked in--and Poppy thought the angels would notknock, for her teacher told her they could come in when the door wasshut. Who could it be?

She went to the door and opened it, and there she found an old womanwith a large market-basket on her arm, who wanted to know if Mrs. Fenwick lived there. Yes, that was her mother's name, Poppy said. Whereupon the old woman came in, put down her basket, and then seizedPoppy and gave her a good hearty kiss on both her cheeks. 

'Why, you're John Henry's bairn, ' she said, 'and as like him as two pinsis like each other. '

It was grandmother, dear old grandmother, who had come from her home faraway in the country to see her son's wife and children, and to do allshe could to help them. And grandmother had not been long in the housebefore Poppy felt sure that God had sent her, and that she was just thehelp the poor child so much needed. 

Poor old grandmother! she was hot and tired and dusty, and she had beentravelling in the heat for many hours on that hot summer's morning. Shesat down on a chair by the door, fanning herself with her red cottonpocket handkerchief, and kissing Poppy again and again, as she calledher 'my lad's bonny bairn, ' and told her that she was the very pictureof what her father was when he was her age, and how her John Henry wasthe best scholar in all Thurswalden School, and she felt sure his bairnmust be a clever little girl too. 

CHAPTER VIII. 

JACKY AND JEMMY. 

'Now, my dear, ' said grandmother, when she had rested for a minute ortwo, 'where's my lad's wife? Your mother, my lass; where is she?'

'Oh, she's in bed, grandmother!' said Poppy. 'She's very ill, is mymother. '

'I'll go up and see her, ' said the old woman. 'To think that my JohnHenry has been a married man these ten years, and I've never seen hiswife!'

But when she _did_ see John Henry's wife, grandmother sat down andsobbed like a child. She was so white, so thin, so worn, that the kindold woman's heart was filled with love and with shame--love for her poorsuffering daughter-in-law, shame that her son, the lad of whom she hadbeen so proud, should have left her when she needed him so much. 

How long grandmother would have cried it is impossible to say, had not adismal wail come from one side of the bed, followed almost immediatelyby another dismal wail from the other side of the bed. It was Enoch andElijah, who had fallen asleep for a few minutes whilst Poppy wasdownstairs, but who had waked up at the sound of a strange voice. Grandmother sprang from her seat as soon as she heard them cry. She hadnot seen the babies before, for they were covered by the bed-clothes. She held them one in each arm, and kissed them again and again. 

'Oh, my bonny, bonny bairns!' she said; 'my own little darling lambs! Tothink that God Almighty has sent you back again! Why, I'm like Job, mylass; I lost them five-and-forty years ago;--ay, but it seems onlyfive-and-forty days. Oh! my own beautiful little lads. I kicked soreagainst losing them, I did indeed, my lass, poor silly fool that I was!and now here's God given me them back again. I'm a regular old Job now, ain't I? Not that I was patient, like him; he was a sight better thanme--a sight better. Oh, you dear things, won't your grandmother loveyou!'

'Had you twins of your own, grandmother?' asked her daughter-in-law. 

'Ay, my dear, that I had, and little lads, too--the finest children youever saw; why, it was the talk of the country-side, my dear, whatbeautiful bairns they was. '

'And how old were they when you lost them, grandmother?'

'Why, my dear, ' said the old woman, '_my_ child was ten months and oneweek old, and _his_ child was ten months and three weeks old--just afortnight's difference, my dear. '

'I thought you said they were _both_ yours, grandmother, ' said Poppy. 

'Ay, my darling, so they was; but that was how we got to talk of them. You see, me and my master had been married nigh on five years, andnever had no childer (we lived up at the farm at that time), and thenthese babies came, and I think our heads were fairly turned bythem--_he_ was well-nigh crazed, he was indeed, my dear. "Sally, " hesays, when he came in to look at them, "you pick one and I'll have theother--half-and-half, that's fair share, " he says. "Now, Sally, youchoose first. "

'"Well, " says I, "I'll have the ginger-haired one; it's most like me. " Iused to have ginger hair, my dear; you wouldn't believe it, for it's allturned white now, but I had, just like Poppy there, beautiful gingerhair. Some folks don't like the colour, my dear, but your grandfatherused to like it. Why, he said when he was courting me that my hair wasthe colour of marigolds, and they was always his favourite flowers; hehad, 'em in his own little garden when he was a tiny lad, he said. 

'Well, I picked the one with ginger hair, and called it _my_ child, andhe picked the black-haired one, which was the very picture of him--why, he had a head like a crow's back, my dear. And so we each had a baby ofour own, and would you believe it, my lass, he took that care of it, you'd have thought he was an old nurse--you would indeed. He washed itand he dressed it, --ay, but I did laugh the first time, --and he gave itthe bottle, and he got a little girl from the village to come and mindit when he was out, and in the evening we sat one on each side of thefire, he with his child, and I with mine; and then at night, when wewent to bed, his bairn slept in _his_ arms, and my bairn slept in mine. Well then we had them christened, and his was Jacky and mine was Jemmy, and he _was_ proud of his child that day--as proud as Punch; he wasindeed, my dear. He carried him all the way--Oh, dear! oh, dear! what_have_ I done!' said the old woman, as she turned to the bed and sawPoppy's mother in tears. 

'Why, you're crying, my dear; I oughtn't to have told you. What a sillyold goose I am! I ought to have remembered that lad of mine, and howhe's gone and left you, instead of giving a hand with his own babies, asmy master did. Dear me, dear me, whatever was I thinking of?'

'Oh, granny, ' said her daughter-in-law, 'do tell me about them; I liketo hear--I do indeed; please go on. '

'Well, my dear, if you _will_ have it so, I'll go on. They grew upbeautiful babies, they did indeed, and didn't folks admire them!There's lots of people drives through our village when it's theseason at Scarborough; they takes carriages, my dear, and they comedriving out with lads in red jackets riding on them poor tiredhorses--"post-williams, " I think they call them. I'm telling you nolie, my dear, when I tell you them little lads has brought in scoresof threepenny bits that the ladies have thrown them from theircarriages, when the girl took them out by the lodge gate; they wasso taken with the pretty dears, they was. 

'Well, all went on well, my lass, till the teeth began to come, --oh, them teeth, what a nuisance they are! I've lost mine, my dear, all buttwo, and I'm sure it's a good job to have done with 'em--they're nothingbut bother, always aching and breaking and worrying you. Well, theteething went very hard with the babies; his child was the worst, though, and one day little Jacky had a convulsion fit, and didn't mymaster send off for the doctor in a hurry; and all that night he sat upwatching his bairn, for fear it should have another fit. Doctor cameonce or twice after that, for the little lad kept poorly, though thefits did not come back. 

'"Ay, doctor, " I says one day, when he had little Jack in his arms, andwas saying what a pretty boy he was--"Ay, doctor, " I says, "but look at_my_ child, " and I held up little Jemmy. "_He's_ the beauty now, isn'the, doctor?"

'"You're very fond of that boy, aren't you?" says doctor. 

'"Fond of him! Why, doctor, " I says, "I love him till I often think Icould go bare-foot all my life and live on bread and water if it woulddo him a bit of good. "

'"Take care you don't love him too much, " says doctor, looking quitegrave; "folks mustn't make idols even of their own bairns. Don't beoffended, missis, " he says, "but it doesn't do to set your heart toomuch on anything, not even on your own little lad: you might lose him, you know. "

'Well, I was huffy with doctor after that; I was a bit put out, and Isays, "Well, doctor, if I thought I was going to lose him I would lovehim a hundred times better than ever. " So, my dear, doctor shook hishead at me and went away, and (would you believe it!) only five hoursafter I had to send for him all in a hurry to come to _my_ child. He'dtaken a fit like Jacky had; but oh! my dear, he didn't come out of it asJacky did; it was a sore, sore fit, and before doctor could get tohim--and he ran all the way from the village--my bonny bairn was gone. '

'Oh, grandmother, you _would_ feel that, ' said Poppy's mother. 

'Yes, my dear, I did indeed; and when bedtime came, and he had _his_child laid aside him, and _my_ child was laid dead in the best roomdownstairs, I felt as if my heart would break. He wanted me to take_his_ child, but little Jacky was used to father, and wouldn't come tome, and, my dear, I cried myself to sleep. '

'And how much longer did the other baby live, grandmother?' said Poppy. 

'Only fifteen days, my dear, and we buried 'em both in one littlegrave, --I often go to look at it now;--and when we put _his_ child in, and I saw my child's little coffin at the bottom of the grave, my dear, I wished I could go in too. 

'I was very hard and rebellious, ay, I was, I see it all now, ' saidgrandmother, wiping her eyes. 'But just to think of God giving 'em backto me after five-and-forty years! Why, it's wonderful, ' said the oldwoman in a cheerful voice. '"Bless the Lord, O my soul, and forget notall His benefits. " That's the verse for me, my dear, now, isn't it?'

And grandmother took up first Enoch and then Elijah, and kissed them andhugged them as lovingly as ever she had kissed her own little babies. 

CHAPTER IX. 

JOHN HENRY'S BAIRN. 

I have read the story of a fairy who came down into a dark and dismalroom, where a poor girl clad in rags was cleaning the fireside, and who, by one touch of her wand, changed everything in the room; the girl foundherself dressed in a beautiful robe, and everything around her was madelovely and pleasant to look at. It was a new place altogether. 

Now, I think that grandmother was something like that good fairy, for itwas perfectly wonderful what a change she made, in the course of a fewhours, in that dismal house. No sooner had she had a cup of tea, thanshe took off her bonnet and shawl, and set to work to put things inorder. First, she gave the babies a warm bath, and cried over them, andloved them to her heart's content; and then, as they had no cleanclothes to put on, she wrapped them in some of her own garments whichshe took from her bundle, and, soothed by the unusual comfort andcleanliness, Enoch and Elijah were soon fast asleep. 

Then grandmother trotted downstairs again for more hot water, and washedPoppy's poor sick mother, and brushed her tangled hair, and then dressedher in one of her own clean night-gowns, smelling of the sweet field ofclover in which it had been dried, and put on the bed a pair of her ownsheets, which she had brought with her in case they might be useful. 

Oh, how grateful Poppy's mother was!

'Granny, ' she said, as she gave her a kiss, 'I haven't been socomfortable never since I was ill; I declare I feel quite sleepy. '

'Well, go to sleep, my lass, ' said grandmother; 'that's the very bestthing you can do. ' So she laid the babies beside their mother in bed, and she and Poppy went downstairs. 

'Now, my little lass, ' said the old woman, 'you and me will soon tidythings up here. '

It was wonderful to Poppy to see how quickly her grandmother could work. She was a brisk, active old woman, and in a very short time all thecups, and saucers, and plates were washed and put by, the fireside wasswept, and the kitchen table was scoured. Then, leaving Poppy to washthe floor, her grandmother carried off the heap of dirty clothes lyingin the corner into the tiny back kitchen, and, long before Poppy'smother or the babies woke, there were two lines of little garments hungout to be quickly dried in the scorching afternoon sun. 

'And now, Poppy, ' said grandmother, 'fetch my basket, my good littlelass, and we'll unpack it. '

Oh, what a basket that was! Poppy's eyes opened wide with astonishmentwhen she saw all that it contained. There was a whole pound of freshcountry butter, a loaf of grandmother's own home-made bread, a plumcake she had made on purpose for Poppy, a jar of honey made bygrandmother's bees, and a box of fresh eggs laid by grandmother's hens, a bottle of thick yellow cream, and, what Poppy liked best of all, abunch of roses, and southernwood and pansies, and lavender fromgrandmother's garden. 

It was very pleasant to get tea ready, when there were so many goodthings to put on the table, and it was still more pleasant when Poppy'smother woke, to take her a cup of tea with the good country cream in it, and to watch how she enjoyed some thin slices of grandmother's bread andbutter, and a fresh egg laid that morning by 'little Jenny, the bonniesthen of the lot. '

'Now, Poppy, ' said grandmother, when tea was over, 'you get on your hat, and go out a bit. You're a good little lass if ever there was one--blessyou, my darling, my own John Henry's bairn! But you want a bit of restand play, you do indeed. '

'Yes, that she does, ' said her mother. 'Why, it's weeks since she gotout for a walk--not since I was in bed, bless her!'

So Poppy put on her hat and went out. It was a lovely summer's evening;the great heat of the day was over, and a gentle breeze was blowing, which was very cooling and refreshing to the tired little girl. She wentslowly past the great cathedral, and she thought how beautiful itlooked, standing out against the quiet evening sky. Then she climbed upa flight of stone steep, and these took her to the top of the old wall, which went all round that ancient city. 

And now Poppy had a beautiful view, over the tops of the chimneys, andacross the black smoky courts, to where the green fields were lying inthe evening sunshine, and the river was lighted up by the rays of thesetting sun. And there on the top of the old city wall, in a quietlittle corner where no one could see her, Poppy knelt down, and thankedGod for hearing her prayer, and for sending grandmother to help her. Onher way home she met Jack coming to meet her. 'Poppy, ' he said, 'I'vegot a present for you. '

He put his hand under his thick fustian jacket and pulled out somethingtied up tightly in a red cotton pocket-handkerchief. 

'Come and sit on this doorstep, Poppy, ' he said, 'and look what it is. '

It was a large green apple. 

'Why, Jack, ' said Poppy, 'where did you get it? It's a funny time ofyear to get an apple; I didn't know there was any left. '

'No, it's a real curiosity, ' said Jack, 'and I said to myself when I gotit, "Poppy shall have that big 'un; she was such a plucky girl thatnight in the tower--she never whimpered nor nothing. " So I tied him upin that handkercher, and there he is. '

'Thank you so much, dear Jack, ' said Poppy gratefully. 'But however didyou get it?'

'Why it was old Sellers, the greengrocer, gave him to me, ' saidJack, --'him as has a shop in Newcastle Street; he called me in and hesays, "Do you want a job, my lad?" and when I told him "Yes, I do, " heset me to clean out his apple-room, where he stores his apples inwinter. So he took me in, and it _was_ a sight--such a sight as _you_never saw, Poppy! Scores of 'em all rotten and smelling. Ay, they _were_horrid!' said Jack, making a face, 'all but half a dozen that were quitegood. Well, I picked 'em out, Poppy, and took 'em to old Sellers, and hegave me half of 'em: so I ate one myself, and I gave one to Sally, and Ikept the biggest of 'em all for you. '

'It _was_ good of you, Jack, ' said Poppy. 

'Well, eat it then, ' said the boy--'they're very nice--as good as canbe, ' and he smacked his lips at the recollection. 

But Poppy had rolled her apple up in her pinafore, and did not seeminclined to begin to eat it. 

'Whatever are you keeping it for?' said Jack, in rather a disappointedvoice. 

'Jack, ' said Poppy, stopping short, and looking up in his face, 'is itfor my very own?'

'Why, yes, Poppy--of course. '

'To do just whatever I like with it?'

'Why, yes, of course, ' said Jack again. 

'Then I shall give it to my grandmother, ' said Poppy; 'she's cometo-day, and she's ever so good to us; and God sent her, and she'scleaned the house beautiful. I shall give it to my grandmother, Jack. '

'All right, ' he said; 'only I'd like you to have just one bite yourself, Poppy, to see how good it is. '

He was quite satisfied when Poppy promised to ask her grandmother togive her the last bite; and the little girl hastened home, feeling veryhappy, and picturing out to herself what a great treat that big applewould be to the old woman. 

'Here, ' she said, holding it out to her, 'it's all for you, grandmother--only Jack wants me _just_ to have the last bite. '

'All for me, ' repeated the old woman, as she looked up from the work shehad in her hand--a little old torn frock of Poppy's, which she wasmending. 

'Yes, ' said the child, 'all for you. '

'Well, it's a beauty, I'm sure!' said grandmother, turning it over inher hand; 'but you see, my dear, many's the long day since I've eat anapple. Why, my little lass, what can an old body with only two teethdo?'

'Do try, granny, ' said Poppy, holding the apple to her mouth; 'it isn'tso very hard, and Jack says it's _so_ good. Do try!'

CHAPTER X. 

THE MOTHER'S LEGACY. 

And grandmother _did_ try--for she did not want to disappoint Poppy. Butsomehow the two teeth would not go into the apple; they were too farapart, and there were no teeth below to help them; and so, after manyattempts, the poor old woman was obliged to say she was afraid she couldnot manage it. 

'If at first you don't succeed, try, try, try again. That's a good rule, my dear; but it doesn't always answer, Poppy. But I'll tell you what, mylittle girl, ' said she, as she noticed how disappointed the child was, 'I'll put it in the oven and bake it for my supper, and then I _shall_have a treat!'

'Oh, granny, I'm _so_ glad!' said Poppy, throwing her arms around herneck--'I do love you so very much--you are so good to me!'

'Why, you're John Henry's bairn, ' said granny, as she held her fast inher arms--'how could I help loving John Henry's bairn?'

'Polly, my dear, ' said grandmother the next day to Poppy's mother, 'Polly, my dear, I'm going to take you home with me. '

But the sick woman shook her head. 

'Don't shake your head, my dear, ' said grandmother; 'I believe if Icould put you down on the top of the moors, and if you could get thebreezes off the heather, why, my lass, I believe you'd get well in notime!'

'You must ask the doctor, grandmother, ' said Poppy's mother; 'he iscoming to-day. '

So when the doctor had paid his usual visit, grandmother trotted afterhim downstairs. 

'Now, doctor, ' said she, 'I'll tell you what I'm going to do; I'm goingto take her home with me. Country air is the best physic after all, nowisn't it, doctor? You can't say anything against that, I'll be bound!'

But the doctor shook his head. 

'Dear me, doctor, ' said grandmother, 'don't _you_ go and shake yourhead. Surely she'll be well enough to go in a week or ten days. Or maybea fortnight or three weeks, doctor, ' she added, as she saw that helooked very grave. 

'My good woman, ' said the doctor, 'you don't know how ill she is! It isonly a question of time now. '

'You don't mean to say, doctor, ' said grandmother, 'that she won't getbetter?'

'She may live a week, ' said the doctor, as he put on his hat, 'but I donot think she will live so long. '

Poor old grandmother, it was a great downfall to her hopes; she hadthought, and hoped, and believed, that the country air would soon makeJohn Henry's wife well again, and now she was told that she had only afew days to live. 

She could not go upstairs with such news as that. So she bustled aboutthe kitchen, pretending to be busy, washing up the tea-things, andsweeping the fireside, and stopping every now and then to wipe away thetears that would come in her eyes. And all this time Poppy's mother waswaiting, and listening, and wondering why grandmother did not come totell her what the doctor had said. 

At last she could wait no longer, but rapped on the floor with the stickwhich grandmother had put by her bedside. 

Slowly, very slowly, the old woman went upstairs. But even when she wasin the bedroom, she did not seem inclined to talk, but began to washEnoch and Elijah, and never turned her face towards her daughter-in-law, lest she should see how tearful her eyes were. 

'Grandmother, ' said Poppy's mother at last, 'tell me what the doctorsaid. '

'He won't let me take you away, my lass, ' said grandmother, shortly. 

'Does he think I shall not live long?' asked the sick woman. 'Tell mewhat he said, grandmother, please. '

'He said you might perhaps live a week, my dear, ' said grandmother, bursting into tears, and rocking Enoch and Elijah in her arms. 

Poppy's mother did not speak, but she did just what king Hezekiah didwhen he got a similar message, she turned her face to the wall. Grandmother did not dare to look at her for some time, and when she didshe saw that her pillow was wet with tears. 

'Poor lass, poor lass!' she said tenderly; 'no wonder ye cannot helpfretting; it's a fearsome thing to die, it is indeed. '

'Oh, it isn't that, grandmother, ' said Poppy's mother; 'it isn't that. Iwas thinking about the poor children. '

'And what about the children, bless 'em?' said the old woman. 

'Why, I'm afraid it will go hardly with them in the House, ' said thepoor woman, beginning to cry afresh. 'They do say some of them oldnurses are not over-good to babies, and they think 'em such a lot oftrouble, poor little motherless dears! And there's Poppy, too; she'sbeen ever such a good little girl to me, and she'll feel solonesome-like in that big, rambling place. I don't suppose they'll lether be with the babies, for all she loves them so. '

'Now, Polly, my dear, ' said grandmother, starting from her seat, 'neveryou say another word about that. If you think I'm going to let JohnHenry's bairns go into the Workhouse, why, my dear, you don't know whatsort of stuff John Henry's mother is made of! Why, my lass, it would bethrowing God Almighty's gifts back in His face. I've wearied for my twinbabies all these years, and fretted and fumed because I'd lost them, andthen as soon as He gives 'em back to me, I go and shove them off intothe House! No, no, my dear, ' said grandmother, 'I'm not such an oldstupid as that. And as for Poppy, my lass, why, she'll be my right-handwoman! They shall come home with me, my dear, and I'll be theirmother--dear, blessed little chaps--and Poppy shall be their nurse, andwe'll all be as happy as ever we _can_ be without you, my dear. '

'Oh, grandmother, it seems too good to be true, ' said Poppy's mother;'but you can never keep three children. '

'Yes, my dear, I can; my good man, he was careful and thrifty, and hesaved a good tidy sum. And my lady's very good to me, --why, I live inthe lodge rent free, and get my coals, and many's the coppers the folksin their carriages throws out, when I go to open the gate. You see it'sa sort of a public road, my dear, and there's all kinds of folk goes by. So I've enough and to spare; only I'm lonesome often, and haven't nobodyto speak to for hours together. And now the Lord's going to send me goodcompany, and I shall be a happier woman than I've been since my goodman died, and my John Henry went away; I shall indeed, my dear. '

Poppy's mother was almost too happy to answer her; a great load waslifted off her heart, and she lay quite still, with her eyes closed forsome time, trying to tell her best Friend how grateful she was to Himfor all He had done for her. Meanwhile, the poor old woman was rockingthe babies in her arms, and wiping away the tears, which would come inher eyes as she thought of what the doctor had said. 

Then Poppy came in, bright and happy, with a bunch of white roses in herhands, which Jack's friend the greengrocer had given him, and which hehad sent to Poppy's mother. She was very much distressed to see hergrandmother crying. 

'What is it, granny, dear?' she said, putting her arms round her neck, and kissing her; 'are you poorly?'

'You had best tell her, grandmother, ' said Poppy's mother; 'it willcome less sudden-like on her after. '

But grandmother could not speak. She tried once or twice, but somethingin her throat seemed to choke her, and at length she laid the sleepingbabies on the bed, buried her face in her apron, and went downstairs. 

'What is it, mother?' said Poppy; 'did the doctor say you were worse?'

'Poppy, ' said her mother, 'shall I tell you what the doctor said, mydarling?'

'Yes, please, mother, ' said the child. 

'He said that in a few days more I should be quite well, Poppy; well andstrong, like you, my dear--no more pain--no more weakness--for ever. '

'Then why does granny cry?' said Poppy, with a puzzled face. 

'Because, darling, grandmother wanted me to go to _her_ home and getwell there; but instead of that, God is going to take me to _His_ home, Poppy, to be well for ever and ever. Will you try to be glad for me, darling?'

'Yes, mother, ' said little Poppy with a sob, --'I'll try; but, oh mother, I wish He'd take me too!'

CHAPTER XI. 

THE STORY OF THE RING. 

'Polly, my dear, ' said grandmother, when she was sitting beside her thenext day, 'aren't ye feared to die!'

'No, grandmother, ' said the poor woman, 'I'm not afraid. '

'Well, _I_ should be, ' said grandmother, 'if I knew I was going away ina few days; why, my dear, I should be frightened out of my wits, Ishould indeed. 

'And so should I have been, two years ago, ' said Poppy's mother; 'butI'm not afraid now. I'll tell you how it was, granny, that I got not tobe frightened to die. I used to go to a Mothers' Meeting of a Mondayafternoon, before John Henry went away, and before I had to go outwashing, and while we did our sewing a lady used to read to us. '

'Who was it, my dear?'

'Miss Lloyd; she's the clergyman's sister, granny. Well, one day (Iremember it so well) she brought a beautiful ring to show us. Oh! it_was_ a beauty, grandmother. There was a ring of lovely large diamondsall round it. She told us that some old lady had given it to her for akeepsake, just before she died, and that she would not lose it for agreat deal. "Now, " she said, "you are all my friends, and I want a bitof advice. I'm going to start to-morrow on a long journey; I am going totravel in foreign parts, and stop at all sorts of inns andlodging-places. Now do you think it would be safe for me to take my ringwith me?"

'"Well, ma'am, " said old Betty, who's always ready with her tongue, "Iwouldn't advise you to do so. They're queer folk, them foreigners, andmaybe you'd be washing your hands at some of them outlandish places, andtake off your ring, and then go away and leave it behind, and never seeit no more. "

'"That's just what I've been thinking, " said Miss Lloyd; "thank you foryour advice, Betty. I'm sure my ring will not be safe, and I can't keepit safe myself; well then, what shall I do?"

'"Couldn't you trust it to somebody, to take care of for you, ma'am?"said another woman. 

'"Thank you, that's a very good idea. I think it's the best thing I cando. Now let me think, " said Miss Lloyd; "I must get some one who is_able_ to take care of it, and who is _willing_ too. Oh! I know, " shesaid; "there's my brother--he is _able_. He has a strong box at thebank, where he keeps his papers; he can put it in there, and I feel surehe will be willing to do it for me. I hear his voice in the next room;I'll call him in, and ask him. "'

'And did she ask him?' said grandmother. 

'Yes, she brought him in, and she said: "Now, Arthur, " she said, "thesefriends of mine advise me to trust my ring to you. I can't keep it safemyself, but I feel I can trust you. I know you are able to keep it forme whilst I am away; I commit it to your care. " So up she got from herseat, and handed the ring in its little case to Mr. Lloyd, and he put itin his waistcoat pocket, saying, as he left the room, "All right, Emily, don't you trouble about it; I'll take care of it. "'

'Well, my dear, ' said grandmother, 'all that was very nice, I've nodoubt; but how it makes you any happier to die, it beats me to see. '

'Oh, but you haven't heard the end of it, grandmother, ' said Poppy'smother. 

'No, nor I won't hear it till you've had a cup of tea, my dear. You'reas white as a sheet. I oughtn't to have let you talk so long. '

But when she had had the tea, and an hour's quiet sleep, and when thebabies were asleep, and grandmother and Poppy were sitting beside herin the twilight, the poor woman went on with her story. 

'When Mr. Lloyd had gone, grandmother, his sister said, "I can't thankyou all enough for your good advice. I feel quite happy about my ring. And now you won't mind my asking you what are _you_ going to do with_your_ treasure?"

'"Well, ma'am, " said old Betty, "the only ring that I have is my weddingring, and that's not worth sixpence to anybody but myself, so I don'tsuppose it stands much chance of being stolen. "

'"Betty, " said Miss Lloyd, turning to her, "you have a treasure worth_far, far_ more than my ring. I mean your precious soul, which will livefor ever and ever and ever somewhere; your undying self, Betty. Onlyyour body will go in the grave; you yourself will be living for ever. Dear friends, " she said, speaking to all of us, "I want each of you toask this question: What about my soul? Is it safe?"

'Then she told us, grandmother, that we were travelling through anenemy's country; Satan and his evil spirits wanted to get our treasure. She told us we could not keep our soul safe ourselves; if we tried weshould certainly lose it, as she would have lost her ring. "And oh, dearfriends, " she said, "what shall it profit you, if you gain the wholeworld, and lose your own soul?"'

'Well, she was right there, my dear, ' said grandmother. 

'"Now, then, " she says, "I want you to do as you advised me to do. Iwant you to get some one to keep your treasure for you--some one who isable, some one who is willing; who shall it be?"

'"I suppose you mean the Lord, ma'am, " said old Betty. 

'"Yes, " she said, "I mean the Lord Jesus. He is able, for He has allpower; He is willing, for He died on purpose that He might do so. Won'tyou trust your treasure to Him?" she said. "Won't you go straight toHim, and say, Lord Jesus, here is my soul; I can't keep it myself; Satanwants to get it for his own. I trust it to Thee; I commit it to Thee tobe saved. "

'Well, grandmother, ' said Poppy's mother, 'I didn't forget what shesaid, and that night, when John Henry had gone upstairs to bed, I kneltdown in the kitchen, and trusted my soul to the Lord Jesus to be saved, because He had died for me; I put my soul in His hands, grandmother, andI know He will keep it safe. '

'Well, my dear, ' said grandmother, 'it's to be hoped He will. '

'I _know_ He will, grandmother; I don't doubt Him, ' said Poppy'smother. 'Miss Lloyd taught us a verse about that: "I know whom I havebelieved, and am persuaded that He is able to keep that which I havecommitted unto Him against that day. " And she said if we were to begindoubting that our soul was safe when we had taken it to Jesus to besaved, it would be the same as saying we did not trust Him. "What wouldyou think, " she said, "if I were to be saying all the time I was awayOh, dear me, I'm afraid I shall never see my ring again; I'm afraid itisn't safe after all?"

'"Why, ma'am, " said old Betty, "you'll excuse me saying so, but I shouldthink you was very rude to Mr. Lloyd, and if I was there I should giveyou a bit of my mind; you mustn't be offended at me saying so, " saysBetty, "but I should indeed. "

'"And what would you say, Betty?" says Miss Lloyd. 

'"I should tell you, ma'am, " says Betty "that if you had trusted yourring to Mr. Lloyd, it was as safe as safe could be, and it was an insultto him to doubt it. "

'"Betty, " says Miss Lloyd, "you're quite right; and that's just what Ifeel about the Lord Jesus. I know whom I have believed, and am persuadedthat He is able to keep that soul which I have committed unto Him. "'

'Well, ' said grandmother, 'it seems all right when you put it like that, and I wish I was as happy as you are, my dear;--but I'm agood-for-nothing old woman, I am indeed, and somehow I'm afraid Hewouldn't do it for me. '

'Poppy, ' said her mother, 'do you think you could find me a MissionHymn-book?'

'Yes, mother, ' said Poppy; 'here's one on the table. ' The poor womanturned over the leaves with trembling fingers, for she was very weak andtired. 

'Poppy, dear, ' she said, when she had found the place, 'read this hymnto grandmother. '

And Poppy read:

 'Jesus, I will trust Thee, trust Thee with my soul! Guilty, lost, and helpless, Thou canst make me whole. There is none in heaven or on earth like Thee; Thou hast died for sinners--therefore, Lord, for me. Jesus, I do trust Thee, trust without a doubt, Whosoever cometh Thou wilt not cast out: Faithful is Thy promise, precious is Thy blood-- These my soul's salvation, Thou my Saviour God!'

'Oh, grandmother, and oh, Poppy, ' she said, when the child had finishedreading, 'trust your soul to Jesus _to-night_. '

[Illustration]

'Well, my dear, I will, ' said poor old grandmother, wiping her eyes. 

'And you, my own little Poppy?'

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

CHAPTER XII. 

THE WONDERFUL FIRE. 

'Polly, my dear, ' said grandmother the next day, as she was washing thebabies, 'I didn't forget what you asked me to do last night; but I'mafraid, my dear, I'm very much afraid. '

'What are you afraid of, granny?' asked Poppy's mother. 

'Why, I'm afraid of getting cold and hard again, my dear, ' she said;'it's all very well for Poppy, but I've been putting off so long, I'mafraid of slipping into all the bad, old ways again. Why, my dear, I'vetried to pray and to read my Bible scores of times before, but my mindhas soon gone a-wandering away to my chickens, or to my butter or tothe bit of washing I do for the Hall, and all such like things. Now, mydear, how do I know it won't be like that again?'

'Ye can't get cold and hard, granny, if the fire burns bright; and theLord will keep it alight. He will indeed. '

'What do you mean by the fire, my dear?'

'Why, granny, I saw it at the Mothers' Meeting, Miss Lloyd showed us it, such a pretty picture! I've often thought of it since. '

'Tell me about it, my lass, if it won't bring the cough on. '

'No, I feel so much easier to-day, granny, it doesn't hurt me to talklike it did last week. I'll stop if it tires me. Well, there was a firein the picture, burning on the hearth, a bright, cheerful, little fire, like I used to make of an evening when John Henry came home. And infront of the fire, granny, was a man throwing buckets full of water onit to put it out; but the fire was blazing away, and did not seem a bitthe worse for it. '

'That was a queer thing, my dear!' said granny. 

'Yes, but Miss Lloyd showed us that, behind the fire, on the other sideof the wall, another was standing; and this one was quietly pouring oilinto the fire to keep it burning. And it never had a chance of goingout, granny, for the oil did it a deal more good than the water did itharm. '

'Well, my dear, ' said grandmother, 'of course it would be so: oil makesa deal of blaze when it falls on fire; but what has that got to do withme and my poor old heart?'

But Polly had a bad fit of coughing, and the good old woman would notlet her answer her question till she had had two hours' quiet rest. Thenshe seemed brighter again, and was able to go on. 

'Miss Lloyd explained it beautiful, granny. She told us the fire was thework of grace in our hearts. As soon as we trusted our souls to Jesusto be saved, she said that fire was lighted, the good work was begun. But then, she said, "Don't forget you've got an enemy. Satan will try toput the fire out. He'll send somebody to laugh at you, or to plague youabout turning religious. That's one bucket of water! He'll send you alot of work to do, to try and make you think you've no time to thinkabout your soul. That's another bucket of water!" He'll have all sortsof pleasures, and cares, and difficulties ready, all of them buckets ofwater, granny. '

'Ay, my dear, I see that, and I'll be bound there's a bucket not far offcoming on my poor little fire. But what about the oil, my dear?'

'I'm coming to the oil, granny. Satan has his buckets of water, but thedear Lord has His bottle of oil. It's the Holy Spirit, granny, who alonecan make us good, or keep us good. And if the Lord puts His Holy Spiritin our hearts, it's of no use Satan trying to put the fire out; he'llhave to give it up for a bad job. Reach me the Testament, granny, there's a verse I'll read to you. '

She turned over the leaves for some time, and at last she found thewords she wanted, and she put a mark against them, that granny mightfind them for herself when she had gone away. 

The words were these, 'He which hath begun a good work in you willperform it until the day of Jesus Christ. '

'Polly, my dear, ' said granny, after a pause, 'do you think He'll dothat for me?'

'Do what, granny?'

'Do you think He will give me His Holy Spirit?'

And then Polly's mother gave grandmother another text; but this time shedid not find it, for she knew it by heart, 'If ye then, being evil, knowhow to give good gifts unto your children, _how much more_ shall yourHeavenly Father give the Holy Spirit to them that ask Him?'

Grandmother sat by the side of the bed long after Enoch and Elijah hadfallen asleep. She seemed to have no heart to bustle about that morning. She wanted to feel sure that her soul was safe. 

And when she thought that Poppy's mother was fast asleep, with herbabies lying beside her, granny knelt down and said aloud, 'O Lord, I'ma poor sinful old woman, but I want Thee to save me. O Lord Jesus, Thouhast died for me. I trust my soul to Thee. Here it is, I put it into Thyhands. Oh give me Thy Holy Spirit; keep the fire bright in my soul, please, Lord Jesus, do. Amen. '

But Poppy's mother was not asleep, she was only lying with her eyesclosed. And as the old woman got up from her knees she smiled, and saidsoftly, 'The soul that to Jesus has fled for repose, He _will_ not, He _will_ not desert to its foes; That soul, though all hell should endeavour to shake, He'll never, no never, no never forsake. '

'Amen, ' said granny, 'Amen. '

CHAPTER XIII. 

POPPY'S FATHER COMES HOME. 

The doctor was not wrong. In less than a week the Lord took Poppy'smother to His beautiful home, where there is no more sickness nor pain. And grandmother, and Poppy, and little Enoch and Elijah were leftbehind. But, as the grandmother and the child stood beside the gravewhere her body was laid to rest, they knew that she was far away, safein His keeping to whom she had trusted her soul. They knew that she waswell, and happy, and full of joy, and they tried to be glad for hersake. 

Grandmother was anxious to get home, and, as soon as all could bearranged, she set off with Poppy and the twins. The neighbours were verykind, and did all they could to help them, and Jack rubbed awaysomething with his sleeve, which was very like a tear, as he saw theirtrain steam out of the station. 

It was a new life for Poppy. Grandmother lived in a lovely valley, fullof beautiful trees and running brooks, and quiet, peaceful glades, wherein the daytime the squirrels played and the birds sang, where in the dimevening hours the rabbits came to nibble the grass, and where, at night, when Poppy and her little brothers were asleep, the solemn old owls satin the trees, and called to each other in harsh and ugly voices. 

Through the middle of the valley ran a white smooth road, winding in andout amongst the trees, and on this road came the carriages, drivingquickly along, with the postillions in scarlet coats riding on thehorses in front, and the ladies and gentlemen, who had come to see thebeautiful valley, leaning back in the carriages behind. 

It was Poppy's delight to open the gate for these carriages, and inthis way she was able to save her grandmother a good deal of runningabout. She used to climb up the hillside, and watch until they were insight, and then run down as fast as she could, that she might have thegate open in time for them to pass through. That was Poppy's work out ofschool hours, for grandmother sent her regularly to the pretty littlecountry school, and would let nothing keep her away from it. 

Dear old grandmother! how hard she worked for Poppy and for the babies!she thought nothing a trouble that she could do for them, and Poppyloved her more and more every day. 

As the months went by, little Enoch and Elijah grew fat and strong; thefresh country air and the new milk made a wonderful change in them, and, when the next summer came, they were able to run about, and could climbon the hillside with Poppy, and gather the wild roses, and theharebells, and the honeysuckle, and would sit on the bank, near thecottage, watching the carriages, and trying to catch the pence which thepeople threw them as they drove by. 

One Saturday afternoon, at the end of the summer, as Poppy was playingwith them outside the lodge, she caught sight of a man coming quicklydown the road. She ran to open the gate for him, but as she did so shegave a sudden cry of joy. It was her father, her long-lost father, comehome again!

'Why, Poppy, ' he said, 'my own dear little woman, what are _you_ doinghere? Come and kiss your poor father, Poppy. And who are these two bonnylittle lads?' he asked, as Enoch and Elijah came running up to him. 

'They're our babies, ' said Poppy. 'God sent them after you went away, father; they both came on one day. '

'Dear me, dear me; and to think I never knew, ' said her father. 'PoorPolly! And so you've all come to see grandmother. I never thought Ishould find you here; I was going home to-morrow. I must run in and seemother. Is she with grandmother, Poppy?'

See mother! Then he did not know. And Poppy could not tell him. Shefollowed him with a very grave and sorrowful face, holding little Enochand Elijah by the hand. 

Grandmother came to the door at the sound of his voice. 

'Why, if it isn't my John Henry!' she cried. 

'Yes, mother, it's your John Henry, ashamed of himself at last. And soyou've got poor Polly and the bairns here. Where is Polly? I wonder ifshe'll ever forgive me?'

'Then you haven't been home yet, John Henry!' was all grandmother couldsay. 

'No, mother; I only got to Liverpool this morning, and I took you on myway; I was going home to-morrow. '

'Where's Polly?' he said, pushing past her, and looking first into theparlour and then into the kitchen. 'Is she upstairs, mother? Polly!Polly! Polly!'

'John Henry, ' said grandmother in a trembling voice, 'Polly has gonehome. '

'Gone home, and left the children behind her!' he exclaimed. 

'Ay, my dear, ' said his mother, bursting into tears; 'the Lord sent forher. '

'You don't mean to say she's _dead_, mother!' he moaned. 

'Nay, my dear, she is living with the Lord, ' said the old woman. 

'Oh, mother, mother, ' he sobbed, 'to think I left her like that, and shenever knew how sorry I was!'

It was a long, long time before he could speak, or could tell them hisstory. He had been in America in dreadful straits and in many dangers. At length he fell ill with fever, and lay for many weeks at the point ofdeath, in a log cabin, with only a boy of ten, the son of a pooremigrant, to do anything for him. But this trouble had shown him hissin, and he had come to the Lord Jesus for forgiveness, and ever sincethen God had blessed him. He had not become a rich man, but he hadearned enough to bring him home, and he had saved a little besides, andwith this he hoped to start life afresh. 

'But you'll never rob me of my bairns, John Henry, ' said the old woman, in alarm; 'you'll never take them away, when we've all been so happytogether!'

And the bare possibility of losing the children seemed quite to damppoor old grandmother's joy in getting her beloved John Henry home again. 

'Well, mother, we must see, ' he said; 'we must ask God to order for us. '

And God did order most graciously, both for mother and son. 

The old woman told her trouble to 'my lady, ' the next time that shedrove through the lodge-gates in her pony-carriage, and she was verysympathising, and most anxious that the children should not have toleave their happy country home. She mentioned it to the squire, and hevery kindly offered Poppy's father a situation on his estate asgamekeeper. His life in America had made him far more fit for that kindof work than for carrying on his old trade, and he was most thankful notto have to take his children back to the city. So they all lived ontogether in the pretty lodge in the lovely valley, a happy littlefamily, all loving the same Lord, and walking on the road to the sameHome. 

But Poppy never forgot her mother. And as Enoch and Elijah grew older, she would sit with them on the hillside and talk to them about her, andpointing to the blue sky she would tell them that their mother waswaiting for them there, and would be very much disappointed if they didnot come. 

And often, as they sat outside the lodge in the quiet summer evenings, they and their father would sing together, 'Mother's favourite hymn, 'and dear old grandmother would come to the door, and join in a quaveringvoice in the beautiful words:

 'Jesus, I will trust Thee, trust Thee with my soul! Guilty, lost, and helpless, Thou canst make me whole. There is none in heaven or on earth like Thee; Thou hast died for sinners--therefore, Lord, for me. '

THE END. 

Butler & Tanner, The Selwood Printing Works, Frome, and London.