THE STORY OF JESSIE. 

BY MABEL QUILLER-COUCH. 

CONTENTS

Chap. 

I A LETTER FOR SUNNYSIDE COTTAGE. 

II JESSIE ARRIVES. 

III SHOPPING AND TEAING. 

IV A GARDEN SUNDAY-SCHOOL. 

V HAPPY DAYS. 

VI TAKEN BY SURPRISE. 

VII THE JOURNEY AND THE ARRIVAL. 

VIII THE NEW HOME. 

IX MISS PATCH. 

X CHARLIE REACHES HOME. 

XI TOO LATE. 

XII SPRINGBROOK AGAIN. 

THE STORY OF JESSIE. 

CHAPTER I. 

A LETTER FOR SUNNYSIDE COTTAGE. 

Thomas Dawson was busy in the kitchen trying to make the kettle boil, and to get the fire clear that he might do a piece of toast. He hadalready tidied up the grate and swept the floor, and as he stood bythe table with the loaf in his hand, about to cut a slice, his eyewandered down through the dewy, sunny garden, where every tree andbush was beginning to show a little film of green over its brownbranches. 

But before he could notice anything in the garden, his attention wasattracted by the sight of Daniel Magor, the postman, standing at thegate and fumbling with the latch. Thomas dropped the loaf and theknife, and went out to meet him, leaving the house-door wide open tothe beautiful morning sunshine, which poured in in a wide streamright across the kitchen, lighting up with golden radiance theflowers in the window, the old-fashioned photographs on the wall, thechina on the dressers, and the cat lying asleep on the scarletcushion in the arm-chair by the fire. 

When he saw Thomas coming the postman ceased fumbling with the latchand waited, holding two letters in his hand. 

"Lovely weather, Mr. Dawson. You ain't to work this morning!" heremarked in a tone of surprise. 

Thomas shook his head slowly. "No, my wife is bad, she've been badall night with a sick headache. She's better this morning, but Istayed home to get her some breakfast, and tidy up a bit. When anybody's sick they don't feel they want to do much. "

"You'm right, " agreed the postman feelingly. "I gets sick headachesvery bad myself, and when I wakes with one it seems to me I don'tcare whether folk gets their letters or not. I am glad I didn't feellike that this morning, Mr. Dawson, for it's good to be alive on sucha day, and I've got two letters for you. "

"Both of 'em for me!" said Thomas in surprise, and holding out hishand to take them. "I don't think I've had two to once in my lifebefore. "

The postman laughed. "If folks didn't get more than you do wepostmen would soon be out of a job, I reckon!" But Thomas was gazingat his letters with such a perplexed, preoccupied air, that he didnot reply, and Daniel, with a long, inquiring look at him, said"Good-morning, " and went on his way. 

"One is the seed-list, " muttered Thomas to himself, as he retracedhis steps through the garden under the budding May-trees, "but itpasses my understanding to know who can have sent the other. It--it can't be from--from her, " he added, with sudden thought, speaking as though it pained him even to put such a thought intowords. 

The old cat, hearing his footsteps on the path, roused herself andwent out to meet him, but for once he paid no heed to her, andpassing into the house sat himself down in the chair by the window, while he still gazed with troubled eyes at the outside of theenvelope, and the blurred post-mark which told him nothing. Moments passed before he could summon up courage to open it, for inhis heart he felt almost certain who the writer was, and he dreadedto read what might be written; and when at last he did make up hismind, his hand trembled so as he tore open the envelope, that hismisty eyes could scarcely make out what was written, or take in themeaning. 

"Dear Father and Mother "--for seconds he was unable to read beyondthat beginning, so strange yet familiar it seemed after all theseyears of silence--"I hope you will not refuse to open a letter fromme, and I hope that you will try to forgive me for all that's past, and for what I am about to do. You would if you knew all. I wroteto you and told you I had married Harry Lang. I hope you had theletter and read it. I was happy enough for a time, but Harry has hadno work to speak of for more than a year, and though we've sold allthe little I'd got together, we have been nearly starving many atime. At last, though, Harry has got a good job offered him in agentleman's racing stables. It is a fine berth to have got, thewages is good, and there are rooms to live in, and we can't refuse itafter all we have been through, but they won't allow no children. 

"If work hadn't been so hard to get, and we starving, we would havewaited for something else, for it nearly kills me to part with myJessie, but I've got to, and, dear father and mother, I hope you willforgive me, but I am sending her to you. She is all I've got, and Iam nearly crazy at losing her, but I don't know what else to do. Life is very hard sometimes. I know you will be good to her, and youcan't help loving her, I know. She is very good and quiet, and shewill not give mother very much trouble, and I pray with all my heartshe may be a better child, and more of a comfort to you than I haveever been. 

"Your broken-hearted but loving, "Lizzie. 

"P. S. --She is five years old and strong and healthy. I had herchristened Jessamine May to remind me of the jessamine and theMay-trees at home, for I love my old home dearer than any place inthe world. Forgive me, dear father and mother, and be good to myprecious darling. "

For minutes after he had reached the end of the letter, poor ThomasDawson sat with tears running fast over his weather-worn cheeks. "My little maid, " he kept saying to himself, with a sob in hisbreath, "my Lizzie starving! starving! and me with a plenty and tospare!" It was his own child he was thinking of, his own Lizzie, thelittle maiden who had been the apple of his eye, the joy and pride ofhis life--and this was what she had come to!

The kettle sang and boiled on the hob, the fire burnt clear, but theloaf lay on the table uncut, and still the old man sat staring beforehim at the letter spread on the table, heeding nothing until athought came which roused him completely--though only to a deepersense of trouble. "However am I going to break the news to mother, "he groaned. "Oh, my! but it'll upset her something cruel--and thatlazy, good-for-nothing fellow that she could never abide, havebrought it all upon us!"

His thoughts and his wonderings, though, were brought to a suddenstop by the touch of a hand on his shoulder. "Why, Thomas, you wereso quiet I thought you must be asleep, or ill, or something, and Iwas so worried I had to get up at last and come down and see. "Then, as her husband turned to her, and she caught sight of his face, she grew really alarmed. "What is it? What has happened? There istrouble, I can see it. Tell me what it is, quick, for pity's sake. Don't 'ee keep me waiting. "

He rose, and gently putting her into the chair he had been occupying, he handed her Lizzie's letter. "That's the trouble, mother, " hesaid; "it might have been worse--that's all I can say. You must readit for yourself, it'd choke me to do so if I was to try, " and he wentaway to the door and stood there gazing out at the sunny garden wherethe daffodils bowed gently before the soft breeze, and the crocusesopened their golden cups to the sun. But he saw nothing, all hismind was given to his wife, and the letter she was reading, and towondering how she would bear it, and what he could say to comforther. 

At last a long low cry reached him, and he turned hastily back intothe kitchen; but, instead of seeing her white and shaken and weeping, as he was prepared to see her, the face that looked up to him wasquivering with eagerness and love and joy. 

"She's sending us her little one, father!" she gasped in a voicequavering with glad excitement. "Lizzie's little girl, our ownlittle grandchild! We shall have a child about the place again, something to love and work for. You see, Lizzie turns to us in hertrouble, poor girl, and it must be a terrible trouble to her, " with amomentary sadness dimming the joy in her eyes. "But, oh, I am sothankful, so happy. " Then, springing to her feet, "I am well now!this is the medicine I wanted. Father, when do you think she willcome? I must get the place all nice and tidy, and a room ready forher, in good time too, and it seems to me I'd best set to work atonce or I shall never get a half done!"

Thomas did not say much, his heart was too full for speech, but theinexpressible relief he felt showed in his face and his blue eyes. "I'm glad you takes it like that, mother, " he said simply, "I wasafraid. "

"Afraid! afraid of what? That I shouldn't want her!"

But at that moment the kettle boiled over with a great hiss, andbrought them back to everyday affairs again. 

"Well, any way, " said Thomas, with a happy smile on his pleasant oldface, "we can allow ourselves time for a bit of breakfast, or maybewhen she does come we shall be past speaking a word to show her she'swelcome, " and while both of them laughed over his little joke, hemade the long-delayed cup of tea, and, though both were too excitedto eat, they sat down together to their breakfast. 

CHAPTER II. 

JESSIE ARRIVES. 

Unwell though she had been, Mrs. Dawson would not let her husband doa single thing indoors to help her in preparation for the littlenewcomer. 

"No. Men is only in the way, " she said decidedly. "I shall get ontwice as fast if you leave me the place to myself. " So, knowing thatshe meant what she said, Thomas went out and set to work in thegarden, for, of course, that must be made trim, too, for the littlefive-year-old grandchild. He forked over the earth in all the beds, tied up to a stick every daffodil that did not stand perfectlyupright by itself, trimmed the sweetbriar hedge, and swept the paths. 

"If I'd got the time, " he called in to Patience, "I would give thegate a coat of paint. "

"I wish you could, " she called back, "and the front door, too, it'dbe the better for it. To a stranger, I dare say it'll look shabby. "

Evidently they expected the new-comer to be a very critical littleperson. 

"I can whitewash the back porch, " thought Thomas, "and I'll do itwithout saying anything to mother. It will be a bit of a surprise toher. "

But while he was putting on the last brushful or two, a thought cameto him which sent him hurrying into the house in quite a flurry. 

"Mother!" he called up the stairs, "mother! we don't know when she'scoming, Lizzie didn't say--and what's to prevent her coming to-day?"

Patience dropped her scrubbing-brush and sat down on the top stair, overcome with excitement and surprise. "To-day! this very day!Oh dear! oh dear! how careless of Lizzie not to tell us! The poorchild might come at any time, and nobody be there to meet her, and wecan't write and ask, for she didn't give us any address to write to. Lizzie did use to have some sense before she took up with that HarryLang, but now--"

Patience lapsed into silence because she could not find words whichwould sufficiently express her feelings. She was tired and irritabletoo, and she never could endure uncertainty. 

Thomas had been standing by all this while, thinking deeply. "Well, " he said at last, "it's my belief she'd send her off as soonas she could after she'd wrote the letter, for if Lizzie had a hardthing to do, she was one as couldn't stop to think much about it, orshe'd never do it at all. She's put London on the top of her letter, and the London train comes in at four-fifteen, and I'm thinking I'dbetter go and meet it, any way, and then, if the child don't come byit, I can tell Station-Master I'm expecting my little grandchild, butI don't know exactly when, and when she do come, will he keep hersafe if I ain't there in time. I can't think of nothing better thanthat. "

Patience rose briskly, with a look of relief on her face. There wassomething very wonderful in the thought that before another night shemight be holding her own little grandchild in her arms. "What ahead-piece you have got, father!" she cried admiringly. "Well, Imustn't stay here talking, or I shan't be ready. If I'd got the timeI'd have whitened the ceiling and put a clean pretty paper on thewalls of the little room. "

"Little room!--are--are you giving her--Lizzie's room?" There was anote of shock or dismay in Thomas's voice. 

"Yes, " said Patience shortly. "The child must have a room, ofcourse, and there isn't any other!" she answered shortly, because ithurt her to say what she had to, and she knew it would hurt Thomaseven more to hear it. Lizzie's little bedroom had never been lookedinto by him since Lizzie had run away and left them, and Patienceherself had only gone in now and then, when, for the sake of her ownpride in her cottage, and to prevent her neighbour's comments, thewindow had to be cleaned and a fresh muslin blind put up. 

She returned to the room now, and with a few deft touches, a turn anda twist or two, she moved the little bed and the bits of furnitureout of their usual positions, and into some they had never occupiedbefore. "Now it won't remind him so much, " she said softly toherself, "it looks quite different, " and she went out leaving doorand window wide, for the sun and the soft breeze to play through. 

With this new joy and the music she carried in her heart, her handsand feet flew through their work, so that by three o'clock thespotless stairs were scrubbed, and the neat kitchen made even neater, and Patience herself was ready to change her gown and put herselftidy. 

Thomas was still busy in the garden. She did not know what about, but soon after she had gone up to her room she heard him calling her. 

"What is it, father?" she called back. "I am up-stairs. "

"I--I've got a little rose-bush that I've been bringing on in a pot, I--I thought, " he concluded shyly, "I--thought the little maid wouldfancy it, perhaps, in her room. "

A mist of tears dimmed Patience's eyes for a moment. "Bless his dearold heart, " she said to herself softly, "how he thinks ofeverything. " Aloud, she said heartily, "Why, of course she would, father. She'd be sure to love it, a real plant of her own! Will youput it up there, on the window-ledge? I've got my dress off, and Ican't come for a minute, " she added casually, in a tone verydifferent from the eagerness with which she listened to hear if hedid so. 

"It would be a good time for him to break through, and go into theroom again, " she thought to herself. But Thomas did not fall in withher little scheme. 

"I'll put it on the top stair, where you can see it, " he called up, "and I'll go and tidy myself now, and make a start for the station. I shan't be so very much too soon. "

"Only half-an-hour or so, " said Patience to herself with a smile. Aloud she said, "I think you're wise, father, then you'll be able totake it easy on the way, and to explain to Station-Master all aboutit, in case she don't come, and I expect you'll find she won't behere for a day or two. "

They kept on telling each other that, to try and prevent themselvesfrom counting on it too much. 

"No, I don't see how she can come to-day, but I'll step along to seethe train come in; it'll satisfy our minds. We shouldn't feel happyto shut up the house and go to bed if we didn't know for certain. "

So Thomas started off with a calm, businesslike air, outwardly, butinside him his heart was beating fast with expectation, and his stepgrew quicker and quicker as soon as he was out of sight of his owncottage windows. 

He slackened his pace a little when he came within sight of thestation, for it looked as quiet and sleepy as though no train wasexpected for ages yet; and the eager, shy old man felt that the menat the station would laugh at him for arriving more than half-an-hourbefore any train was due. For a moment he decided to turn away andwalk in some other direction until some of the time had passed, butthe seats on the platform looked very restful, and the platform, bathed in the soft afternoon sunshine, looked wonderfully peacefuland inviting. There was not a sign of life, or a sound or amovement, except that of the little breeze ruffling the young leaveson the chestnuts in the road outside. 

"I'll explain to Mr. Simmons that I come early so as to be able totell him about the little maid, while he'd got a few spare minutesbefore the train came in, " he decided, and, with a sigh of relief, made his way into the station. He was tired after his exciting, busyday, and glad to sit down alone, to think over all that the day hadbrought them, and was likely to bring them. 

Mr. Simmons, the station-master, must have been tired too, though hisday had been neither busy nor exciting, for when at last he didappear, he was stretching and yawning as though the nap he had beenhaving in his office had not been quite long enough for him. 

When he saw Thomas his eye brightened, and he joined him at once, forhe dearly loved a gossip, and he had in his mind a long story that hewas impatient to pour out to somebody. The story was so long and sointeresting that the whistle of the fast-approaching train was heardlong before it was ended, and of his own story Thomas had not beenable to tell a word. 

"Is that the London train?" he asked eagerly, starting to his feet. 

"It is, sir. Are you going by it?"

"No--o, oh no, " said Thomas. His face flushed and his hands shook asa carriage door opened here and there and a passenger got out. 

"Are 'ee expecting somebody?" asked the station-master, with just atouch of impatience in his voice. He did not approve of this reservein Thomas, just after he had confided all that story to him too. 

"Well, I hardly know, " said Thomas slowly. "I am, and I ain't. "A dull sick feeling of bitter disappointment filling his heart as hesaw that beyond the two men who had sprung out at once, no one elsewas appearing. "I was going to tell 'ee about it, only the traincorned in. I'm--I'm expecting my little granddaughter. She may comeany day, by any train, so far as we know, for they--her mother, atleast, forgot to say which. "

The station-master, seeing that his presence was not required by thenew arrivals, stood ready to listen to Thomas's story. "Didn't tellyou when to expect her!" he exclaimed in surprise. 

"No--o, " said Thomas reluctantly. He shrank from talking about it, for fear Mr. Simmons would ask questions he did not want, or wasunable, to answer. "She overlooked it, I reckon; and there hasn'tbeen time to write and get an answer, so I thought I'd just step upand see this train in. "

"Well, we may as well go the length of her and make sure, " said Mr. Simmons, "if the child is very young, she may be afraid to move, orp'raps she doesn't know that this is where she ought to get out. "

Fresh hope rose in Thomas's heart as they made their way along thewhole length of the train. The guard and the porter paused in theirgossip to turn and look at them, the engine-driver hanging lazilyover the side of his box watched them idly. Thomas, who was fillednow with fear that the engine would start off at a wild pace beforethey had time to search the carriages, was somewhat relieved by thelazy look of them all. 

"Do you know if there was any little girl on board booked toSpringbrook?" Mr. Simmons asked the guard as they drew near him. 

"Why, yes, I b'lieve there was, " answered the man casually. "Got inat St. Pancras. Hasn't she got out?"

"No. "

Thomas hurried on more quickly. If she was booked for Springbrook, and wasn't in the train, no one knew what might have happened to her. She might have fallen out, or been stolen, or she might have got outat the wrong station, and a terrible fear weighed on him as hehurried on. 

"Hi! Mr. Dawson, come here! Is this of her, do you think?"

Thomas ran along the platform to the carriage where thestation-master stood, and both looked in. The compartment was empty, save for a little figure, huddled up fast asleep in one corner. Thomas looked at her, and his eyes grew misty. "Ye--es, that's ofher, " he answered. He hesitated, not because he doubted, for, thoughthe little face was flushed and tear-stained, and the dark hair allrumpled about it, it might have been his own little Lizzie again. 

The men looked from the child to each other helplessly. "What had webest do?" said the station-master, in a tone lowered so that it mightnot waken the little sleeper. "If she opens her eyes and sees us allhere she'll be frightened. "

"And if I touch her it'll wake her up with a start, " said hergrandfather anxiously. But before they had settled the knotty point, the engine-driver, growing tired of waiting, let off a shrill whistlefrom his engine and with the sound the little sleeper stirred, openedher eyes, and sat up suddenly. The porter hastily disappeared fromthe doorway, the station-master left the carriage too, but the guardremained, and nodded and smiled at her reassuringly. 

"You remember me, don't you, little one! I've brought you all theway home, and here we are, and here is grandfather come to see you. "

Jessie sat up and looked from one to the other with troubled eyes. "I want mother, " she said at last, with piteously trembling lips. 

"Oh, now, you ain't going to cry again, are you?" cried the guard, pretending to be shocked. "Good little girls don't cry. 'Tis timeto get out, too, the train is going on, and you'll be carried away, if you don't mind what you're about, and then how will mother ever beable to find you? Come along, get up like a good little maid. "

Poor Jessie, really frightened at the thought of such a fearfulpossibility, turned piteously to her grandfather, who had been allthis time standing by awkwardly, wondering what he could do or say. But at that look he forgot himself and his doubts, and the guard andeverything but the pitiful frightened look on the little face. 

"Come along with grandfather, " he said coaxingly, dropping on hisknee beside her. "Come along with me, dear, and I'll take care ofyou till mother comes. Granny is home waiting for 'ee with abootiful tea, and there's flowers, and a kitten, and a fine littlerose-bush in a pot that grandfather picked out on purpose for 'ee. Wouldn't you like to come and see it all?"

"Will Jessie have roses?" she asked eagerly, her eyes growing brightand expectant. 

"Yes, I shouldn't be surprised if there's one nearly out already. Let's go home quick, and see, shall we? It had got a bud on it whenI left, maybe it'll be out by this time, if not you can be sure itwill be to-morrow. "

The engine gave another shrill whistle, the train jerked andquivered. Thomas hastily gathered up Jessie in his arms, shawl andall. "Where's your box, and all the rest of it?"

"Haven't got any. "

"Haven't got any! Your clothes, I mean, frocks and hats and bootsand suchlike. "

"I've got on my boots, " putting out her feet, and showing a veryshabby broken pair, "and there's a parcel there, my old frock is init, and my pinny, that's all. "

Thomas picked up the parcel, and hurried out of the alreadyslowly-moving train. 

"Tickets, please, " said the man at the gate. 

"Have 'ee got your ticket?" Thomas inquired anxiously. 

"Yes, " she nodded; "but you must put me down, please; it is in mypurse, and my purse is in my pocket, and I can't get at it while youare holding me. "

Her grandfather did as he was told, and Jessie, freeing herself fromthe great shawl which enveloped her, shook out her frock, and divingher hand into her pocket, drew out an old shabby purse. The claspwas broken, and it was tied round with a piece of string, but herlittle fingers quickly undid this, and from the inside pocket drewout her railway ticket and a ha'penny. In giving the porter theticket she had some trouble not to give him the ha'penny too. 

"I can't give you my money, " she explained gravely, "for it is allI've got, but I had to put it in there with the ticket, becausethere's a hole in my purse that side, do you see?" and she showed itto the man, pushing her finger through the hole that he might see itbetter. "It was mother's purse, but she lost a sixpence one day, andthen she gave it to me. It does all right for me, 'cause I only havepennies, " she explained gravely as she put her purse back into herpocket again. 

The porter agreed. "'Tis a nice purse for a little girl, " he saidquite seriously; "there's heaps of wear in it yet, by the look ofit. "

Thomas Dawson stood by, his face all alight with smiles and interest. "What a clever little maid 'tis, " he thought, "and what a happylittle soul to be so ready to talk like that right away. "

"Now, my dear, are 'ee ready? We must hurry on, or granny'll thinkyou ain't come, and she will be wondering what's become of me. Shall I carry you again?"

"No, thank you, I'd like to walk, but I'd like you to hold my hand. Mother always does; she's afraid I'll get lost with so many peopleabout. "

"Well, you won't be troubled with too many people hereabouts, " saidher grandfather, laughing, but he was only too glad to clasp thelittle hand thrust into his, and they walked on very happily togethertalking quite as though they were old friends. 

"We are nearly home now, 'tisn't so very much further. Are 'eetired, dear?"

"No--o, not so very, " she answered, but in rather a weary voice. "Are you too tired to carry me?"

Her grandfather laughed, but before he could reply, or pick her up, she drew back a little. "Is my face clean?" she asked anxiously. "I must have a clean face when I see granny. Mother told me grannydoesn't like little girls with dirty faces. Do you, granp?"

"I like some little girls, no matter what their faces is like, " hesaid warmly, but recollecting himself, he added quickly, "Of course Ilike 'em best with nice clean faces and hands and tidy hair. Every one does. "

"Mother said you didn't mind so much, " she added brightly. 

"Did she! did she now! Just fancy her thinking that!" The old man'sface quite lighted up at the thought of Lizzie's remembering. "Yes, I used to dip the corner of my handkerchief in the brooksometimes and wash her little face for her, so as she might go hometo her mother looking clean. Look, here is a little brook, shall Iwash yours over a bit, like I used to mother's?"

"Oh, please, please, " cried Jessie delightedly. 

So by the wayside they stopped and made quite a little toilette, herface and hands were washed, and her hair put back neatly under hershabby hat, and then they went on again. 

Patience Dawson, looking anxiously out of the window, saw them atlast arrive at the gate, and her heart almost stood still withexcitement and nervousness. "Why, it might be five and twenty yearsago, and Thomas be bringing in Lizzie herself!" she gasped. Her faceflushed, tears suddenly brimmed over and down her cheeks. She longedto run down the garden and take the little child in her arms and holdher to her heart, but a sudden shyness came over her and held herfast. She could only stand there and watch them and wait. 

She saw her husband looking eagerly from window to door, expecting tosee her; she saw the little child face turned excitedly from side toside, exclaiming at the sight of the flowers, and sniffing in thescent. 

"Oh, granp, smell the 'warriors'!" she heard her cry in a perfectlyfriendly voice. "You sniff hard and you'll smell them. Oh, my!"

"She's friends with him already, same as Lizzie was. I wish I knewhow to--" But her wish she only sighed, she did not put it intowords. 

"Never mind the flowers now, little maid; here's granny insidewaiting for us. " Then he put her down on her feet, and led her overthe threshold. 

Patience, dabbing the tears from her eyes with her handkerchief, stepped forward to meet them. "I'd begun to wonder what had becomeof 'ee, father, " she said. "I s'pose the train was late. Well, dear, " stooping to kiss her little grandchild, "how are you?Have you got a kiss for granny?"

"Yes, " Jessie nodded gravely, "and my face is very clean, " she added, as she put it up to be kissed. But she turned and slipped her handinto her grandfather's again as soon as the kiss was given, for shefelt a little awed and shy with this granny, who seemed so much moregrown-up and stern than did the grandfather. 

Her shyness did not last very long, though; by the time granny hadtaken her up to her room and shown her the rose-bush, and taken offher hat and brushed out her hair, and brought her down to tea andlifted her into her seat at the table, much of her shyness had wornoff, and the sight of the mug with pictures on it, and the littleplate "with words on it, " loosened her tongue again, and set itchattering quite freely. 

The meal lasted a long time that night, for Jessie was full of talk, and neither her "granp, " as she already familiarly called him, norher granny could bear to interrupt her, especially after she hadslidden down from her high seat at the table, and clambered on to hergrandfather's knee; for to them her presence seemed like somewonderful dream, from which they were afraid of waking. 

At last, though, the little tongue grew quiet, the dark curly headfell back on granp's shoulder, and then the bright eyes closed. 

"I reckon I'd best carry her right up to bed, " said Thomas softly. "If I hand her over to you she'll waken, as sure as anything. "

Patience only nodded, she could not speak, her heart was so full, andrising she followed him up the stairs, carrying the lamp. At thedoor of Lizzie's old room she expected him to stop and hand thesleeping child over to her, but, apparently without remembering whatroom it was, he walked straight in, and very tenderly laid hisburthen on the bed. Then, with a glance at the rose-bush on thesill, he crept softly out and down the stairs again. 

Patience stood by her little sleeping grandchild with tears of joy inher eyes. "She's broke his will, " she said gladly, "for her sakehe's forgotten. P'raps now he'll get over the trouble, and forget, and be happier again. "

CHAPTER III. 

SHOPPING AND TEAING. 

The next morning some of Jessie's shyness had returned, but itvanished again at the sight of the mug with the pictures and theplate with the "words" on it. At the liberal dishful of bacon andeggs she stared wide-eyed. 

"You can eat a slice of bacon and an egg, can't you, dearie?" askedher granny. 

"Yes, please!" with a sigh of pleasure. "May I?"

"Why, of course, " said granny heartily. "Why not? Do you likeeggs?"

Jessie nodded. "I had one once, a whole one, but that was for mydinner. We don't ever have eggs for breakfast at home, " she addedimpressively. 

"Don't you?" answered her grandfather gravely, "then what do youhave? Something you like better, I s'pose?"

He did not ask from curiosity, that was the last thing he would havebeen guilty of; he only wanted to show an interest and to hear hertalk. 

"We don't have nuffin', 'cepts when father has got work, then fatherhas a bloater. Me and mother have one too, sometimes, then. But when father is out of work we only has bread. "

Patience turned pale, and Thomas groaned. Jessie looked up withquick sympathy. "Have you hurted your toof, granp?" she askedgravely, little dreaming that it was she herself who had given himpain. 

"No, my dear, granp's all right. Try and make a good breakfast now. You've got to get as plump and round as the kitten over there. "

Patience had laid down her knife and fork, and sat staring before herwith miserably troubled eyes. "It seems wrong to be eating, when--when there's others--one's own, too--going hungry!"

"Nonsense now, " said Thomas gruffly; "don't 'ee talk like that, mother, it's foolish. We've got to think of ourselves and thoseabout us, and it's our duty to eat and drink and be sensible, whetherwe likes it or not. " He spoke gruffly, because he felt that if hespoke in any other way, he or Patience would break down. 

Jessie came to their help, though. "My rose is nearly out, granp, "she announced proudly, as soon as she was able to lift her thoughtsfrom the wonderful experience of having an egg _and_ bacon forbreakfast. "I saw it all showing pink. I expect by the time we'vefinished our breakfases it will be right wide out. You come up andsee too, will you?"

And sure enough when breakfast was really done, she took his hand inhers and led him up and into the room he had shunned so long. 

"I don't think it will be full out until to-morrow, " he decided; butJessie couldn't help thinking he had made a mistake, and many timesthat day she climbed the stairs to see, and was quite troubled whenat last she had to go to bed, for fear the bud would open while hereyes were shut. 

"I think it is a very slow rose, " she said, shaking her head sagelyas her granny was undressing her. "I am sure it _ought_ to have beenout by this time. "

And then, after all her watching, the bud burst into full bloombefore Jessie was awake the next morning. When she opened her eyesand saw it she felt quite vexed. "I wish I had put you back in adark corner, " she said to it, "then you wouldn't have opened till Iwas awake. "

"The little maid is a born gardener, " chuckled her grandfather, whenhe was told of it; "'tis the folk that talks to their flowers thatgets the best out of them. "

"If talking'll do it, her rose-bush will be covered thick, then, "laughed her grandmother. 

"I wish I could send some of my roses to mother, " sighed Jessie;"mother loves roses, " and the tears came into her eyes. "Granny, doyou think my roses will all be gone before mother comes for me?"

"Your--mother! Is she coming?" Patience was so taken aback that shespoke in almost a dismayed tone, and Jessie, with her loving littleheart and quick ears, noticed it and was hurt. It sounded to her asthough her granny did not want her mother; and her chin quivered andher eyes filled, for she wanted her mother very much, and every oneelse should want her too, she thought. 

Her grandfather saw the poor little quivering lips and tear-filledeyes, and understood. "The rose may be past, " he said cheerfully, "for the time, any way, but we'll have flowers of some kind ready formother whenever she comes. 'Tis you and I, little maid, will see tothat, won't we? We must make it our business to have somethingblooming all the year round, then we'll be sure to be right. "

Jessie looked up at him gratefully, and the tears changed to smiles. Something told her that granp would be glad to see mother whenevershe came. The thought of growing flowers for her was a lovely one, too; it seemed to bring her mother nearer; and, though granny andgranp were so kind, oh, she did want her so very, very much. She wanted her to see the garden and the house, and the kitten, andto have bacon and eggs for breakfast, and milk in her tea, and nicebutter on her bread. 

Then, in the midst of these thoughts, something that granny wassaying caught her attention, and, for the moment, drove all otherthoughts out of her head. 

"I've been thinking I'd better go into Norton this afternoon, and dosome shopping, " she remarked to granp, "for the child must have someclothes, and as soon as possible, too; and I reckon I'd better takeher with me, though she really isn't fit, her boots and her hat areso shabby; but it'll be better to have her there to be fitted, especially the first time. "

"Oh, she doesn't look so bad, " answered granp cheerfully. "If shekeeps smiling at folks they won't notice her hat nor her bootsneither. "

Granny was not so sure of that. Her pride was a little hurt at thethought of taking such a shabbily-clad little granddaughter into theshops where she was well known. However, hats and boots required tobe tried on, so there was nothing for it but to make the best ofthings, and Jessie was to be taken to Norton. 

What a day of wonders that was to Jessie! It seemed almost as thoughthere were too many good things crowded into one twenty-four hours. 

As soon as it was decided that they were to go, her grandfather wentoff and borrowed Mrs. Maddock's donkey and the little cart, to drivethem in, for Norton was more than a mile and a half away, and thatwas too far, they thought, for Jessie's little feet to walk. So thecart was brought, and granny and grandfather sat on the little woodenseat, while Jessie sat on a rug in the bottom of the cart, at theirfeet. She liked it better there, she thought, for there was no fearof her falling out, and she could look all about her and feel quitesafe and comfortable all the time. Granp gave her the whip to hold, but she had no work to do, for Moses, the donkey, behaved so well, henever once needed it all the way to Norton. 

Jessie was very glad, for she could not bear to think of anythingbeing punished on such a lovely afternoon. The birds were singing, the hedges were covered with little green leaves, just burstingforth. Here and there a blackthorn bush was in full flower, andfilled Jessie with delight. She sat very quiet, looking about herwith a serious happy face, drinking it all in, and evidently thinkingdeeply. Her grandfather watched her with the keenest interest. 

"I reckon it looks funny to you, don't it, little maid, after all thestreets and houses and bustle you've been accustomed to?" he asked atlast. 

Jessie nodded. "There's such lots of room, and no peoples, " she saidsoberly, "and at home there was such lots of peoples and no room. Where are they all gone, granp?"

"Gone to London, I reckon, " answered granp, with a laugh. "You'll find it quiet, and you'll miss the shops, little maid. "

"Shops!" said granny indignantly; "we shall be in Norton in a littlewhile now, and there's shops enough there to satisfy any one, Ishould hope. "

But when they reached the little town, and Jessie was lifted downfrom the cart, and put to stand in the street while grannydismounted, she looked about her, wondering greatly where the shopscould be. There did not seem to be many people here either. Two sauntered up to look at the donkey-cart, and to pass the time ofday with Mr. Dawson, but that was all. There were no omnibuses, nomotors, no incessant tramp, tramp, tramp, of horses' hoofs, makingthe never-ceasing dull roar to which she had been accustomed all herlife, and Jessie missed it. Suddenly she felt very lonely andforlorn. The world was so big and empty and silent, and her motherso very, very far away. There seemed to be nobody left to see, orcare, or hear, no matter what happened. 

But just at the moment when her tears were nearly brimming over, sheheard her grandfather say proudly, "Yes, this is Jessie, my littlegrandchild, Lizzie's little girl, " and turning her head she saw himholding out his hand to her, and all was well once more. With granp's big hand holding hers so closely she could not feel thatno one heard or cared, and the day looked all bright and sunny again. 

She felt sorry when her grandfather mounted into the little cart todrive home, and she almost wished she was going with him; but granny, taking her by the hand, led her quickly down the street and into adraper's shop. 

Jessie felt rather shy when her grandmother led her in, for thoughshe had spent a lot of time looking at shop windows with her mother, she had very seldom been inside one, and when she had gone in theplaces had been so full of people always that no one had paid anyheed to her, which was what she liked. But here she and hergrandmother seemed to be almost the only customers that afternoon, and all the assistants looked at them as they entered. They allsmiled, too, and most of them said, "Good-afternoon, Mrs. Dawson, " ina very friendly way, which only made Jessie feel even moreuncomfortable, for she realized suddenly that her boots were cracked, and her hat very shabby, and that she had no gloves at all; and shewished very much that they could get right away up to the far end ofthe shop, where it seemed quite empty and quiet. 

Mrs. Dawson apparently wished the same, for though she gave a smileand a greeting to all, she walked sturdily through the shop, ignoringthe chairs pulled out for her by the polite shop-walker, and madeher way to the very end, where a pleasant-faced attendant stoodalone, rolling up ribbons in a leisurely way. 

"Well, Mrs. Dawson, " she said brightly, "you _are_ a stranger. I hope you are well? And who is this little person? Not yourgranddaughter, surely?"

"Yes, it is. This is Lizzie's little girl, " said Mrs. Dawson, afaint flush rising to her cheeks. "She is come to stay with us for agood long spell. "

"Well, the country air will do her good. She looks rather thin. "

"She does, " agreed Mrs. Dawson, looking at Jessie with kindly anxiouseyes, "but she looks healthy, I think, don't you?" Already it gaveher a pang to hear any one say that her Jessie did not look well. 

"Oh yes!" agreed the girl reassuringly. "What can I get for youto-day, Mrs. Dawson?"

"Well, " said Mrs. Dawson thoughtfully, "it seems to me I want a goodmany things. What I want mostly is some clothes for Jessie. Livingin the country, she ought to have something that'll wear well, strongboots, and a plain sun-hat, and some print for washing-frocks. "

Jessie's eyes opened wider and wider. Were all those things reallyto be bought for her? It seemed impossible; but the girl, who didnot seem at all overcome, went off as though it were quite anordinary matter, and presently she returned with an armful of prettysoft straw hats with wide drooping brims, and tried them one by oneover Jessie's curls. 

"I declare, any of them would suit her; but I think she'd look sweetin that one, " she said at last, and granny agreed. 

"What would you trim it with?" she asked; "a bit of plain ribbon, Ishould think. " But the girl shook her head. 

"Oh no, if I was you I'd have a little wreath of flowers round it; itwould make ever so pretty a hat, and would last her for Sundays righton till the late autumn. I'll show you some;" and dragging out a bigdrawer, she displayed a perfect garden of dainty blossoms, daisies, roses, forget-me-nots, moss, ferns, and flowers of every kind thatever grew, and many kinds that never did or could grow. 

Jessie's eyes, though, were caught by a wreath of feathery moss withlittle blue forget-me-nots peeping out of it here and there, and whenshe was asked which she liked best, she decidedly picked out thatone. To her great delight her granny's taste agreed with her, andthe wreath and the hat and a piece of white ribbon were put asidetogether. 

"Now, " laughed Mrs. Dawson, "I've got to get her another for everyday. That's a pretty fine thing! I reckon you think there's nobottom to my purse!"

"Now, Mrs. Dawson, you won't regret spending that money, I am sure, "said the attendant coaxingly; "and this one shan't cost more thaneighteenpence, trimming and all, " and she produced a bigshady-brimmed, flexible straw, for which was shown as trimming apretty soft flowered ribbon, to be loosely twisted around the crown. Then came a length of blue serge for a warm dress, and two pieces ofprint, one with blue flowers all over it, and the other with pinkones. Jessie thought them both perfectly lovely, and while they werebeing chosen she slid off her chair and went and leaned against hergrandmother. She did not feel at all afraid of her now; she feltthat she wanted to kiss her for all her kindness, and to tell her howgrateful she was. She did not do that, she was still too shy, butMrs. Dawson seemed to understand, for she put her arm very fondlyabout her, and drew her very close. 

"Now, if only you could sew, " she said, "you'd be able to help mefinely with all this, but I s'pose I shall get it done somehow. Imust let other things go for the time. "

Jessie longed eagerly to be able to help, but she couldn't sew atall, she had never even tried. She thought, though, that she mightbe able to do some of the other things granny mentioned, and she madeup her mind to do her best. She wouldn't say anything to any one, but she would try, and she grew quite excited at the thought. 

"I wish mother knew, " she sighed presently, when the assistant hadgone off to get the boots for her to try on. "Mother tried to get mea new hat, but she hadn't got any money. She would be so glad toknow what lots of nice new things I am having. " Then, as she saw thegirl approaching from a distant part of the shop, she put up her armto draw her grandmother's head down to her own level. "Mother criedwhen she sent me away, " she whispered solemnly, "because she couldn'tget me any new clothes. "

When the assistant reached them again, with her arms full of boots, she found Mrs. Dawson rubbing her eyes and nose violently with herlarge white cotton handkerchief. 

"You haven't got a cold, I hope, " the girl asked sympathetically, butMrs. Dawson reassured her. 

After the boots had been fitted, a pair of felt slippers was broughtand added to the collection; then sundry yards of calico and flannel, and brown holland, some stockings, and what Jessie thought the mostwonderful of all, a pair of cotton gloves and some littlehandkerchiefs with coloured borders. 

By the time all this was done both Mrs. Dawson and Jessie felt thatthey had had enough shopping for one day. "And if I have forgottenanything, well, Norton isn't so far off but what we can come again, "laughed Mrs. Dawson, refusing to listen to anything thepleasant-faced girl tried to tempt her with. 

"Shawls, umbrellas, caps, sheets--"

"No, none of them, thank you, " said granny decidedly. 

The proprietor of the shop came up. "Now, I am sure, Mrs. Dawson, you must want something for the master?" he urged smilingly. 

"No, I don't, " said granny. "Thomas has got to make the best of whathe has got. All I want now is a cup of tea, and I must go and getit, and see about making our way home. "

"Well, " said Mr. Binns, "I am sure this little person can find a usefor one of these, " and he picked up a little silk scarf with a flowerworked in each corner, and laid it across Jessie's shoulders. 

Jessie looked up, speechless with delight. "Well, I never!" Mrs. Dawson exclaimed; "now, that is kind of you, Mr. Binns. I'm sureJessie'll be proud enough of that, won't you, Jessie?"

"Oh yes, thank you, " said Jessie earnestly. "I'll--I'll only wear itfor best. "

At which Mr. Binns and Mrs. Dawson and the pleasant-faced girl alllaughed, Jessie didn't know why, and then granny said "good-bye, " andshe and Jessie made their way out into the street. The afternoon sunwas fading by this time, and the shadows had grown long. 

"I do want my tea badly, don't you?" said granny again. 

"Yes, " sighed Jessie, for she was really very tired, "but it doesn'tmatter, " she hastened to add. It was what she used to say to hermother to comfort her when there was little or no food in the house. 

"But it does matter, " said granny decidedly; "we have a longish walkbefore us, and we shan't get anything for another couple of hours orso, if we don't have it now. So we'll go and have a nice tea atonce. Come along, " and she led the way further down the street untilthey came to a baker's shop, from which there floated out a delicioussmell of hot cakes and pastry. 

Behind the shop there was an old-fashioned, low-ceilinged room withsmall tables and chairs dotted about it. At one of these Mrs. Dawsonand Jessie seated themselves, and soon a kindly-faced woman broughtin a tray with a brown teapot of tea, a jug of milk, and a goodlysupply of cakes and bread and butter. 

Jessie had never been in such a place before, and she felt therecould be nothing grander or more interesting in the whole world. In the shop outside people were coming and going, and one or two camein and seated themselves at other little tables, and Jessie sat andwatched it all with the greatest interest, while she ate and drank asmuch as ever she wanted of the nice bread and butter and fascinatingcakes. 

"I wish mother could see me now, " she sighed at last. "And oh, wouldn't it be nice if she was here, too. She'd love a beautiful tealike this. "

Patience Dawson did not know what reply to make, her feelings broughta sob to her throat, and the old ache back to her heart. 

"Oh, I expect she is having quite as good a tea as we are, " she saidat last, for want of something else to say. But Jessie shook herhead sagely. 

"I don't 'spect she is; we didn't have tea--only sometimes, and wenever had cake, never!"

"Well, p'raps mother and you and me will all come here together oneday, " she said, trying to speak cheerfully, though she littleexpected such a thing to happen. 

"And granp too?" said Jessie eagerly. 

"Oh yes, granp too, of course. " But her grandmother noticed that shenever once expressed a wish that her father should join them. 

When at last the meal was over, and Mrs. Dawson had paid the bill andtalked a little with the woman who had served them, they made theirway slowly into the street. 

"I think, " said Mrs. Dawson musingly, standing still and turningthings over in her mind, "I think we had better go home by train;'tis a good step, a mile and a half, for you to walk, and for me, too, with all these parcels; it isn't nearly so far to walk home fromthe station. " So two days following Jessie arrived at Springbrookstation, and when she got out of the train the station-master and theporter both recognized her and smiled at her. 

"Why, you've become quite a traveller, missie, " said Mr. Simmonsjokingly; "supposing we had let you sleep on! where would you havebeen by this time, I wonder?"

"I don't know, " answered Jessie, looking quite alarmed. 

"I hope you've got your purse safe, missie, " said the porter, as hepassed her. 

"Yes, thank you, " answered Jessie gravely, putting her hand down andfeeling it in her pocket. 

"Good-night!" they all said to each other as they parted, whichJessie thought was very polite and friendly of them. Then she andher granny stepped out into the road, and walked quickly through thefast-deepening twilight to the little cottage where the light wasalready glowing a welcome to them from the kitchen window, andgrandfather was waiting supper for them. 

CHAPTER IV. 

A GARDEN SUNDAY-SCHOOL. 

Springbrook village lay near Springbrook station. It was a verysmall village, but those who lived in it thought it a very prettyone. It consisted of the church, the vicarage, the doctor's house, three or four small private houses and a number of picturesquecottages. 

The church stood at one end of the village in the middle of abeautiful churchyard and burying-ground, surrounded by fine trees--flowering chestnuts and sweet-scented limes, while every here andthere blossomed beautiful red May-trees, lilacs, laburnums, syringasand roses. From this, the one street--lined on either side by littlecottages, with here and there a small shop--led to the green, aroundwhich stood in irregular fashion pretty houses and large cottageswith gardens before their doors. The doctor lived in one of thesehouses, and the curate, Mr. Harburton, in another, and Miss Barleyand Miss Grace Barley in a third, and all the houses looked out onthe green and the road and across at each other, but all those whodwelt in them were so neighbourly and friendly, this did not matterat all. 

Jessie thought the houses by the green were perfectly lovely, theyhad creepers and roses growing over them, and window-boxes full offlowers. She thought the green was lovely too, and almost wishedthat she lived by it that she might be able to see the donkeys andthe ducks which were usually standing about cropping the grass, orpoking about in the little stream which ran along one side of thegreen. She thought the ivy-covered church, with the trees and thehawthorns all about it, one of the most beautiful sights in theworld, and nothing she loved better than to walk with granp along thesweet-scented roads along by the green and through the village streetto church. 

Mrs. Dawson did not go in the morning, as a rule. "Grandfather musthave a nice hot dinner once a week, " she declared, so she stayed athome to cook it; but they all went together to the evening service, and Jessie dearly loved the walk to church in the quiet summer'sevening, with granp and granny on either side of her, and home againthrough the gathering twilight, sweet with the scent from the gardensand hedges. 

Sometimes, when they got home, granny would give them their supper inthe garden, if the weather was very warm, and Jessie loved this. While granny was helping her on with her big print overall, grandfather would carry out two big arm-chairs, and a little one forJessie, and there they would sit, with their plates on their laps andtheir mugs beside them, and eat and talk until darkness or thefalling dew drove them in. 

Sometimes they repeated hymns, verse and verse, first grandfather, then granny, and by and by, as she came to know them, Jessie herselfwould take her turn too. Sometimes they would repeat a psalm or twoin the same way, or a chapter, and before very long they had taughtJessie some of these also, so that, to her great delight, she couldjoin in with them. 

Then came bedtime, when she knelt in her little white nightgownbeside her bed and repeated--

 "Gentle Jesus, meek and mild, Look upon a little child, Pity my simplicity, Suffer me to come to Thee Fain I would to Thee be brought; Dearest God, forbid it not; But in the kingdom of Thy grace Grant a little child her place. 

"Pray God bless dear father and mother, grandfather and grandmother, and all kind friends and relations, and help me to be a good girl, for Christ's sake. Amen. "

Then, with one look at her rose to see if there were any more buds onit, and a glance into the garden to see if grandfather was stillthere, she lay down in her little white bed, and with a kiss fromgranny and a last good-night she would be asleep almost before grannyhad reached the foot of the stairs. 

Then when morning came Jessie was just as glad to open her eyes andspring out of bed as she had been to spring into it, for life wasfull of all sorts of delights, indeed she would have liked nothingbetter than for it to go on and on always in the same happy way. With Mrs. Dawson, though, things were different. Granny began togrow very troubled about Jessie's education. 

"It is time she was learning, " she said anxiously, many a time. "I know she ought to go to Sunday-school regularly, but I don't knowhow it is to be managed. She can't walk there and back three times aday, I am sure. If she walked there and back in the morning, andthere and back in the afternoon, she wouldn't be fit to go with us inthe evening too. She would be tired out. We couldn't go to churchin the evening either, for one of us would have to stay with her. "

Grandfather sat for a few moments meditating deeply over thisproblem, then, "_I_ can teach her myself for a bit on Sundays, " heexclaimed triumphantly, his dear old face lighting up at the thoughtof it. "I know enough about the Bible and Prayer-book for that. It would do me good too. "

"But there's her other schooling. What can we do about that?"

"I s'pose she'll have to do as the other children do, " saidgrandfather gravely, "and walk there and back twice every day. Some of the bigger ones would let her walk with them, then she wouldbe safe enough. We will begin our Sunday-school next Sunday"--hisblue eyes lighting up with pleasure at the thought of it. The day-school was quite a secondary matter to him, with the idea ofthat other filling his mind. "We can sit in the garden while thefine weather lasts. It would be lovely there, and good for thelittle maid too. "

So, when Sunday came, grandfather's big chair and Jessie's little onewere carried out into the garden, and placed side by side, near theporch, and a little table was carried out, too, for grandfather'sBible and Prayer and hymn-books, and then, looking very pleased butserious, the pair seated themselves. The dear old man was a littlebit shy and embarrassed, and very nervous when it actually came tothe point, and for a moment he looked more like a new shy pupil thanthe teacher. Jessie was much the more composed of the two. 

"When are you going to begin, granp?" she demanded anxiously. 

"Now. I think we will begin with learning you the Lord's prayer, " hesaid huskily, feeling that something was expected of him, and he mustnot fail. "Now, 'Our Father--'"

"I know that already, " said Jessie reproachfully; "but why is itcalled the 'Lord's Prayer, ' granp? Did the Lord have to say it whenHe was little?"

"No. He told it for all little children to say, all the world over, and big children too, and men and women. "

Jessie looked awed and puzzled. "How did everybody all over theworld know about it, granp? They couldn't all hear Him say it, " sheasked. 

"No, and they don't all know it yet, though it's nearly one thousandnine hundred years ago since the Lord spoke it. But they will intime, " said the old man softly, as though speaking to himself. "He left word with His people that they were to teach each other, andthey did. You see there wasn't such a great many heard Him, butthose that did went about and taught others, and then those theytaught taught others again, and--"

"And then some one taught you, and, " her face growing suddenlybright, "I'll have to teach somebody. Who shall I teach, granp?Granny knows it, doesn't she?"

Her grandfather smiled. "She knew it before she was your age, child, " he said gently. 

"Then I'll teach mother. "

"Your mother knew it too before she was so old as you are. "

"Did she?" said Jessie, surprised. "She never said anything to meabout it, then. "

"Well, hadn't we best be getting on with the lesson?" askedgrandfather; "time is passing, and we haven't hardly begun yet. "

Jessie settled back in her chair, and leaning her head against hergrandfather, listened quietly while the old man talked reverently toher of her Father in heaven. 

"Is He mother's 'our Father, ' too, granp?" she asked at last. 

"Yes, child, mother's and father's. "

"Then He'll take care of her, won't He, and see that she doesn't crytoo much for me?"

"Yes. He soothes all the sorrows and wipes away all the tears ofthem that love and trust Him. Now shall we read a hymn?I like the hymns dearly, don't you, little maid?"

"Oh yes, I love them, " said Jessie, sitting up and clasping her handseagerly. "Let's sing it, granp, shall we?"

"Go on, then. You take the lead. "

"What's the lead, granp?" she asked anxiously. 

"You start the tune. You begin and I'll join in. "

But Jessie grew suddenly shy. "No, I--I can't, " she said nervously, sliding her soft little hand into her grandfather's rough one as itlay on his knee. "You begin, granp, please--no, let's begintogether, and we'll sing 'Safe in the arms of Jesus, ' shall we?I know all of that. "

So together rose the old voice and the young one, the first quaveringand thin, the other tremulous and childlike, and floated out on thestill warm summer air. Mrs. Dawson, reluctant to disturb them, waited in the kitchen with the tea-tray until they had ended, and thetears stood in her eyes as she listened. 

"Bless them!" she murmured tenderly, "bless them both. "

When the last notes had died away, and grandfather had closed thebooks and laid them one on top of the other, and their firstSunday-school might fairly be said to be closed, Jessie, looking up, saw her grandmother standing in the doorway, holding a snowytablecloth in her hand. 

"Tea-time!" cried Jessie delightedly, springing to her feet. "I'll carry away the books, granp, and help granny to bring out thetea-things. Now don't you move, you sit there and rest, we will doit all by ourselves. "

So the old man, well pleased, sat on and watched his littlegranddaughter. There was nothing she loved better than to be busy, helping some one. 

Such a tea it was, too, that she helped to bring out. First camegranny with the tray, with the old-fashioned blue and white tea-set, Jessie's mug and a jug of milk, then followed Jessie with a plate ofbread and butter. When all this was arranged, back they went again, soon to reappear, Mrs. Dawson with a delicious-looking apple-pie anda bowl of sugar, while to Jessie was entrusted, what she consideredthe most precious burthen of all--a dish of cream. And there, amidstthe scents of the mignonette and stocks, the roses and jessamine, theSunday twitter of the birds and hum of the bees, they sat and slowlyenjoyed their Sunday meal, lingering over it in the full enjoyment ofthe peace and calm of the hour and the scene. And oh, how good thetea tasted, and the apple-pie and cream, and the bread and butter, all with the open-air flavour about them, which is better than anyother. 

Then, having eaten and drunk all they wanted, they sat back in theirchairs and talked and listened to the birds and the bees, and gazedabout them at the flowers close by and the hills in the distance, looking so far away and still and mysterious in the fading afternoonlight. And as they sat there, little dreaming of what was about tohappen, a graceful woman's figure came slowly along the sunny road totheir gate and there paused. 

"Why, it's Miss Grace Barley, I do declare!" cried Mrs. Dawson, rising hurriedly to her feet. "Go and open the gate for her, father, do. Why, whatever is she doing here, at this time of day? Sunday, too, and all. It is very kind of her, I am sure. "

Patience began hurriedly gathering together the tea-things andcarrying them into the house, Jessie helping her. 

"Wouldn't Miss--the lady like some tart, granny?" she asked, as shesaw her grandmother beginning to pick it up. To her it seemed thatevery one must hunger for anything so delicious. Somehow, too, itdid not seem very kind to carry it all away from under theirvisitor's very eyes. 

"Well, now, I declare, I never thought of that, " said granny pausingand replacing the pie on the table, "at any rate, I can but ask her. I'll put the kettle on, in case she hasn't had any tea. "

Meanwhile Thomas had let their visitor in and welcomed her warmly, and they came slowly up the path together, looking at the flowers asthey passed. Jessie stood by her little chair, watching the lady. She knew she was the Miss Grace Barley who lived in one of the prettyhouses by the green, and she thought she looked as pretty as thehouse and just right to live in it. 

When they came close Miss Grace smiled at her, then stooped andkissed her. "You are Jessie, I know, " she said kindly. "I have seenyou in church with your granny and grandfather. "

"Yes, miss, " said Jessie shyly, not quite knowing what to say, butfeeling that something was expected of her, "and I have seen youthere. "

Mrs. Dawson came out of the house, and Miss Grace shook hands withher. "You must wonder to see me here at this time of day, Mrs. Dawson, " she said brightly. "The organist at Hanford is ill, and Ihave been out there to play the organ at the morning and afternoonservices; I was on my way home when I caught sight of you all in yourpretty garden, and I couldn't resist coming in to join you. "

"I'm sure we're very glad you did, miss, " said Patience warmly. "And you haven't had any tea yet, Miss Grace, I'll be bound now. "

Miss Barley smiled and shook her head. "No, I have not, I am reallyon my way to it, but I would rather sit here for a few moments first, though, and talk to you. "

"You can do both, miss, if you will, " said Patience hospitably. "I was about to clear the tea-things away, thinking they lookeduntidy, when Jessie stopped me. She was sure you would like a pieceof apple-pie and cream, and I was sure you'd like a cup of tea withit; so the kettle is on and I'll have a cup ready in a minute ifyou'll excuse my leaving you. Thomas, give Miss Grace a chair, " andPatience bustled away into the house delighted. 

Mr. Dawson brought out another chair, and he and Jessie seatedthemselves one on each side of their visitor. Miss Barley withdrewher admiring gaze from the distant view. 

"Don't you love Sunday, Jessie?" she asked, laying her hand gently onthe little girl's shoulder. "A Sunday like this, when even the birdsand the cattle, and even the flowers seem to be more glad and happyand peaceful than usual. "

"Oh yes, " said Jessie, losing all her shyness at once, "speshally nowwhen granp and me have Sunday-school out here. We are going to haveit every Sunday, ain't we, granp? We shall have it out here when itis fine, but when winter comes we shall go in by the fire. "

Miss Grace looked at Mr. Dawson inquiringly. "What a lovely plan, "she cried enthusiastically. "Whose idea was it, yours, Mr. Dawson?"and Thomas, blushing a little, told her all about it. 

Just as they had finished, granny came out with the tea-tray, andspreading the table again with a tempting meal, drew it up beforetheir visitor, and while Miss Grace ate and drank, they sat andtalked to her, and presently Mrs. Dawson poured into her sympatheticear all their difficulties about the school for Jessie. Miss Gracelistened with the greatest attention, the matter seemed to interesther immensely, far more, in fact, than it did Jessie, indeed Jessiewished very much that they would talk of something else, for MissGrace grew quite quiet and thoughtful, and ceased to notice thepretty things about her, or to talk of things that were interestingto Jessie, and Jessie was sorry. She became interested enough, though, presently, when Miss Grace, having finished her tea and risento go, suddenly said--

"Well, Mrs. Dawson, I think you will have to let me solve thedifficulty of Jessie's education for you, and there is nothing Ishould like better. You see, our home is quite twenty minutes' walknearer you than the school-house, and if you will let Jessie come tome, instead of going to school, I will teach her to the best of myability, and enjoy doing so. At any rate, while she is a littlething. You see, she would not have to come and go twice a day, infact, she need hardly come every day--but we can arrange the detailslater, if you agree to it. Now think it over well, and we will talkabout it again in a few days' time. And don't say 'no, ' because youthink it will be too much for me to do, for I should love to educateand train a little girl in the way _I_ think she should be trained. It will be for me a most interesting experience. Now, Jessie, whatdo you say? Would you like to come to school with me?"

"Like it!" Neither Jessie nor her grandparents could find words tosay how much they would like it, nor how grateful they were to MissBarley; but at the same time they did feel it was too much for themto accept of her. Before, though, they had found words to expresstheir feeling, or had stammered out half their thanks, the sound ofthe church bells came floating up across the fields, a signal to themall to part. 

"I must fly, " cried Miss Grace. "Do you think I can _run_ throughthe lanes without shocking any one? I must go home before I go tochurch, or my sister will be quite alarmed, " and away she hurried asfast as she could. 

Patience had only time to carry in the tea-things, and leave them towash on her return, for she had herself and Jessie to dress and getready. 

They were in time though, after all, for their feet kept pace withtheir happy thoughts and busy tongues, and there was no lingering onthe way that evening. 

CHAPTER V. 

HAPPY DAYS. 

Granp and granny did not hold out very long against Miss GraceBarley's plan, and in a short time all arrangements were made, and itwas settled that Jessie was to go to Miss Barley's pretty house bythe green every morning at ten, and to leave it at twelve, so thatshe might meet her grandfather as he went home to his dinner. 

Thomas Dawson was head gardener at "The Grange, " Sir Henry Weston'sbeautiful country-house, which lay a little distance beyondSpringbrook station. Just outside the station were four cross-roadswith a signpost in the middle of them to tell you where each one led. If you stood close to the signpost and faced the station, the roadexactly behind you led down to Springbrook green and village, whilethe one on your right led along a wide flat road to "The Grange, " andon, past that, through villages and towns until at last it reachedthe sea; and the road on your left led past "Sunnyside Cottage, " andthen on to Norton. This was the road that Jessie knew best, the oneshe had first walked with her grandfather on her way home that firstevening. 

From Miss Barley's house to the signpost was a very short distance, and here it was that Jessie and her grandfather were to meet everyday and walk home together. Yet not every day, for Saturday, being abusy day for most people, was to be a whole holiday from lessons. 

Miss Grace Barley had to gather flowers for the church and arrangethem in the vases on Saturday mornings, and Miss Barley had extrathings to do in the house and to go to Norton by train to do hershopping, and Jessie had to help her grandmother clean up the cottageand make all bright and neat for Sunday; so that it was nice andconvenient for every one that Saturday should be a holiday fromlessons. 

On that first morning, when Jessie stood at Miss Barley's door andknocked, she felt very glad indeed to think that the day afterto-morrow was Saturday and a whole holiday, for she felt very shy andrather frightened, and she longed to be back at home again with hergranny and grandfather. In fact, she was just edging towards thegate, with her mind almost made up to run home, when the door opened, and Miss Grace herself appeared. Miss Grace had on a hat and a largepair of gardening gloves, and in her hand she held a basket and thebiggest pair of scissors Jessie had ever seen. 

"Oh, Jessie!" she said, "you are just in time. I am going out togather some flowers, and you will be able to help me. Come in, dear--no, we will not go in yet, we will go first and get theflowers, or the sun will be on them. "

Jessie's frightened little face grew quite cheerful again. She thought this a delightful way of doing lessons, and marched alonghappily enough at Miss Grace's side, soon forgetting all her shynessin helping her to pick out the handsomest stocks and the finestroses. When the basket was full Miss Grace led the way to a windowwhich opened down to the ground. 

"This is my very own sitting-room, " she said, as she stepped throughthe open window; "don't you think I ought to be very happy here?"

"Oh yes!" sighed Jessie, as she looked about her at the flowers, thepictures, and all the pretty things. "I shouldn't ever want to goaway from it if it was mine. "

Miss Grace laughed. "Well, we are going to do our lessons here, andperhaps when twelve o'clock comes you won't be the least little bitsorry to go away from it. But first of all I want you to help mearrange these flowers a little, and then go with me to carry them toa poor lady who is ill. Do you know the different kinds of roses byname, Jessie?"

Jessie did not. "Well, I will tell you some of them, and then youwill be able to surprise grandfather. A gardener's granddaughtershould know all these things. That lovely spray of little pink rosesyou are holding is called 'Dorothy Perkins. ' You will remember that, won't you? And this deep orange-tinted bud is 'William AllenRichardson. '"

"'William Allen Richardson, '" repeated Jessie. "I think Miss Perkinsis much prettier than Mr. Richardson. "

Miss Grace laughed. "You are a very polite little girl, Jessie. Look at this one; this is called 'Homer, ' but you need not call itMr. Or Mrs. , but just plain 'Homer. '"

"I think it ought to be called 'pretty Homer, '" said Jessie, smiling. 

By the time they had arranged all the flowers in the basket, she knewquite a lot about the different kinds and their names. Miss Gracemade everything so attractive, and it was wonderful what a lot ofinteresting things she saw as she went about, even when she walkedonly across the green to Mrs. Parker's to leave the flowers. 

Jessie did not see the poor dirty grey toad lying panting andfrightened on the pathway, but Miss Grace did, and stooped and pickedthe poor thing up, and carrying it into her garden, placed it in anice cool shady corner, underneath some bushes. 

"Won't it bite you, or sting?" asked Jessie, her eyes wide withalarm, but Miss Grace reassured her. "That poor gentle littlefrightened thing hurt me!" she cried; "it could not if it wanted to, and I am sure it does not want to. It will help to take care of myflowers for me. You are not afraid to stroke it, Jessie, are you?Just look how fast its poor little heart is beating with fright!Isn't it cruel that any living creature should be as terrified asthat!"

Jessie was ashamed for Miss Grace to know that she was almost asterrified of the toad as the toad was of her, so she stroked it, though very reluctantly, and the coldness of it made her jump so atfirst, that she thought she could never, never touch it again; butshe tried not to be foolish, and she stroked its little head, andafter that she did not mind it a bit, though she was glad Miss Gracedid not ask her to carry it. 

When they got back to the house they found two glasses of milk and aplate of biscuits in Miss Grace's room awaiting them, and after theyhad taken them, Miss Grace took down a book and read to Jessie, andJessie, who already knew her letters and some of the easiest words, read a little to Miss Grace, and before she thought that half of themorning was gone, twelve o'clock had struck, and it was time to dressand run off to meet her grandfather at the four cross-roads. 

When Jessie got to her place by the signpost, her grandfather wasjust coming along the road towards her. In his hand he held a bigbunch of white roses and beautiful dark-green leaves. "Oh, howlovely!" gasped Jessie, when she caught sight of them. 

"They'm 'Seven Sisters, '" said her grandfather; "they had overgrownthe other things so much that I had to cut them back, and herladyship told me to bring them home to you. "

"Oh, thank you!" said Jessie delightedly. "What are the sevensisters called, granp? What is their real name? Of course they musthave names. "

Her grandfather did not understand her for the moment. "What arethey called! Why, Rose, of course; but 'Seven Sisters' is whatthey're always known by. "

"There couldn't be seven all called 'Rose, ' could there?" askedJessie gravely. "They _must_ have a name each. Let me see, onecould be 'White Rosie, ' another 'Pink Rosie, ' then there could be'Red Rosie, ' and 'Rosamund '; that's four. "

"Perhaps the others is Cabbage Rosie, Dog Rosie, and Cider Rosie, "said grandfather, chuckling. 

Jessie burst into a peal of laughter as she thrust one hand into hergrandfather's. "What things you do say, granp, " she protested, andclasping her bouquet in her other hand, she skipped along by the oldman's side. "Oh, I have learnt such a lot of things to-day, " shesaid impressively. "There's one rose called 'Mr. Richardson, 'another called 'Miss Perkins, ' and another called 'Plain Homer, ' andnow there's 'Seven Sisters, ' all with different names. " Then shetold him all about the toad, and the little story Miss Grace had readto her. "And to-morrow I am to learn to knit, and soon I'll be ableto knit your stockings, granp, and cuffs to keep your arms warm inwinter, and a shawl for granny. "

"My!" exclaimed grandfather, with pleased surprise, "we shan't knowourselves, we shall be so warm and comfortable. But don't you gooverworking yourself, little maid. " Jessie laughed gleefully. She loved to think of all she was going to do for her grandfather andgrandmother. 

"Oh no, " she said. "You see, I am very strong, and I like to havelots to do. "

And "lots" she did do, in her staid, old-fashioned way. "I don'tknow whatever I should do without Jessie, " granny would often remarkto grandfather as the months went by, and Jessie became more and moreuseful about the house. 

"It puzzles me to know how we ever got on before she came, "grandfather would answer; and, as time went by, and Jessie grewtaller and stronger and more and more capable, they wondered more andmore frequently how they could ever have managed without her. 

Jessie, too, often wondered how she had ever lived and been happywithout her grandfather and grandmother, and "Sunnyside Cottage, " andthe garden, and the flowers, and her own rose-bush. At first she hadthought a great deal about her mother, and wondered when she wouldcome for her; and every nice new thing she had she wanted her toshare, and every flower she had she wanted to save for her. But shesaved them so often, and then had to throw them away dead, that atlast she ceased to do so; and by and by, as the months passed, shegrew accustomed to enjoying things without her mother; and at lastshe gave up wondering when she would come. In fact, for some timebefore she gave up expecting her, Jessie had begun to hope that whenher mother did come, she would not want to take her away with her, but would live there always with herself, and granny, and granp. 

Of her father's coming she never spoke but once, and that was when, with a frightened face, she said to her grandmother, "Granny, iffather comes for me you won't let him take me away with him, willyou?" And granny had reassured her with a sturdy--

"Why, bless your heart, child, your father isn't likely to want you, I can tell you, and he wouldn't dare to come here and show himself tome, I reckon; don't you be afraid, now, granny'll take care of you. "

So Jessie tried not to be, and as the years went by, and nothing washeard from either of her parents, her fears lessened, though shecould never think of her father without a shudder of dread lest heshould some day come to take her away. 

Three years had passed peacefully away, and Jessie was about eightyears old when the next letter from Lizzie came to her parents. 

Jessie never, to the end of her life, could forget the morning thatletter reached them. It was a wet, dark November morning, and shehad been lying awake for a long time listening to the patter-patter, swish-swish of the rain pouring against her window. She had heardher grandfather go down and open the front door as usual, and lightthe fire in the kitchen; then she heard him fill the kettle at thepump and put it on to boil. After that he went out again to open thehen-house door, and carry the hens their breakfast. She heard hergrandmother go down the stairs, and a few moments later she heardheavy footsteps come splashing up the wet garden path, and very soongo down again. 

Jessie got up and dressed herself, and made her way down. She hadbeen singing to herself while she was dressing, so had not noticedanything unusual in the sounds and doings below stairs. But as shewent down she did notice that the house seemed very quiet and still, and that there was no smell of breakfast cooking. Usually at thistime her grandfather was busy in the scullery cleaning boots andknives, or doing some job or other, while her grandmother bustledback and forth, talking loudly, that her voice might reach above thefrizzling of the frying-pan. But to-day there was a strange, mostmarked silence, broken only by the singing of the kettle, the plashof the rain outside, and a curious sound which Jessie could not makeout, only she thought it sounded as though some one was in pain. 

When she reached the foot of the stairs, she knew that she was right, and she stood and looked, with her heart sinking down, down, wondering with a great dread what could have happened. Hergrandfather was sitting in his usual seat at the end of the table, holding a letter in his hand, while her grandmother stood beside him, her hand leaning heavily on his shoulder; and both their faces lookedwhite and drawn, and full of trouble. Tears sprang to Jessie's eyesat sight of them. Neither was speaking, but every now and then thereburst from the old man that strange sound that Jessie had heard, andit was like the cry of a hurt animal. 

When she heard it again, and knew whence it came, Jessie flew to himin terror. "Oh, granp, what is it?" she cried. "Who has hurt him?"she cried, turning to her grandmother almost fiercely. "Who has doneanything to granp--and you?" she added, when she caught sight of hergrandmother's face. 

Patience Dawson's hand slipped from her husband's shoulder down toJessie's, and crept caressingly round the little girl's neck, whilethe old man threw his arm around her to draw her nearer to him. 

"'Tis your mother, child, " cried Patience, her words seeming totumble from her anyhow. "She's dead! Our only child, and took fromus for ever, and never knowing how much we loved and forgave her, andhow we've hungered night and day for a sight of her--and now I shallnever, never see her again!" and then poor Patience broke down, andkneeling beside her husband and grandchild, bowed her head on thetable and wept uncontrollably. 

At the sight of their trouble Jessie's own tears fell fast. "Mother, " she cried, scarcely grasping the real state of the case, and all it meant to her. "Mother! dead? Granp, mother isn't reallydead, is she? Won't I--won't I never see her any more, " the truthgradually forcing itself on her mind--"won't she ever come and livehere with us, and see my rose--and--and all the things I've beensaving for her?" Her little face was white now, and her lipsquivering with the pain of realization. 

Her grandfather shook his head. "She won't ever come to us; never, never no more, " he sighed heavily. "But maybe, " he added a momentlater, speaking slowly and with difficulty, "maybe she sees and knowsnow, better than she has all these years--and is happier. "

"Why didn't she write, why didn't she tell us where she was?" wailedPatience despairingly. "I would have wrote at once and told her howwe'd forgiven everything. "

"Poor maid, " said Thomas Dawson softly, "I reckon she had herreasons; her letter tells us that, without putting it into so manywords. Read it again, mother, read it to the child--I can't. "

Patience took up the letter, but it was some time before she couldcontrol herself sufficiently to begin. 

 "My dearest Father and Mother, "This is to tell you I am very ill, dying. The doctor says that if I want to let any one know, I must do so at once. You are the only ones that care, and I am writing to you to say good-bye for ever. I have always hoped that some day I should see you again, and my dear home, and my dearest, dearest child. I am sure you will forgive me the wrong I did, and my cruel behaviour. I couldn't die happy if I didn't feel sure of that; but, dear father and mother, I know your loving hearts. No words can tell how I've pined and longed for my little Jessie, my own little baby, all these years. At first I thought I should have died for want of her, but I knew she was happy--that was my only comfort--and I could not have found clothes nor food for her. I was going to write to you as soon as we were settled, but Harry lost that situation almost at once, and since then we have been on the tramp and never had a home. It has been a cruel life, and I have often thanked God on my knees that my darling was spared it. I know you love her and have taken care of her. Don't let her forget me, dear father and mother, and don't ever let her go from you. She is yours--I give her to you, and I thank you with all my heart for all you've done for her. Give her my love--oh, that I could kiss her dear little face again! Good-bye, dear father and mother, I can never forgive myself for all the misery I have caused you; but I know you will forgive me, and believe I loved you all the time. The woman here is kind to me, and she has promised to keep this letter safe, and send it to you when I am gone. Good-bye. " "Your loving daughter, " "Lizzie. "

The letter, which had been placed in an envelope and directed byLizzie's own hand, came in a larger envelope, and with it a slip ofpaper on which was written in a good firm hand, "Your poor daughterdied this morning. Yours truly, Mary Smith. "

The letter bore the Birmingham postmark, but no other clue. 

"We don't even know where she died, " sobbed Thomas, "that I may goand bring her home to bury her, " and this thought hurt the poor oldman cruelly. 

"If you did know, he probably wouldn't let you have her poor body, not if he thought you wanted it, " cried Patience bitterly. She couldnot bring herself to mention her son-in-law by name. "He would hurryher into her grave rather than she should come back to us, " and thenshe burst into bitter weeping again. 

CHAPTER VI. 

TAKEN BY SURPRISE. 

After that first outburst of grief, Thomas Dawson did not speak muchof his trouble, but it was none the less deep for that. In fact, itwas so deep, and the wound was such a cruel one, it was almost morethan he could bear. 

The thought of his dead daughter never left him. Through the day, when he was at work, through the long evenings when he sat silent andsad, gazing into the fire, and through the nights when he laysleepless, he brooded over the wrongs his daughter's husband had donethem all, and was full of remorse for his own hard-heartedness--as hecalled it now--in not having forgiven her at once when she ran awayfrom her home. And more than all was he haunted by the thought ofher lonely death after her cruelly hard life. He pictured her lyingin her pauper's grave in an unknown burial-ground, away amongststrangers, unknown, uncared for, unremembered, and these thoughtsaged him fast. 

Jessie was too young to notice it, but those older saw how he beganto stoop, how his feet lagged as he walked, how the colour had fadedfrom his hair and from the bright blue eyes, which had been such anoticeable feature of his face. All the life and fun had gone out ofhim too; even Jessie could not rouse him. 

Patience bore her grief in another way, it was merged to some extentin her anxiety about her husband. With regard to Lizzie she feltless anxiety and pain about her now than she had done when Lizzie hadbeen alive, and living a miserable life with the weak, ne'er-do-wellhusband who had been the ruin of her happiness and theirs. Trouble left its mark on Patience too, she became gentler andquieter, she seemed to lose some of her strength and spirit, and tolean more and more on her little granddaughter. And Jessie, pleasedand proud to be useful, and trusted and able to help, turned to witha will, and by degrees took a great deal on her young shoulders. 

She still went to Miss Grace Barley to be taught, for the hourssuited them all well, and though her grandmother protested often thatit was too much for Miss Grace to do, and declared that Jessie mustgo to the school along with the others, Miss Grace begged to beallowed to keep her. 

"Jessie can repay me by coming and being our maid by and by, " shesaid laughingly--"that is if she wants to go out into service, andyou can spare her, Mrs. Dawson. "

"I shall have to some day, " said Mrs. Dawson, with a sigh and asmile; "she will have to support herself, of course, when she growsup, and it's our duty to see she has the training. "

So it became the dream of Jessie's life to be Miss Barley's maid, tolive in the "White Cottage, " and have the joy and honour of keepingit in the beautiful order in which she had always seen it. 

It had been a curious, uncommon education that the child had had, butthe results were certainly satisfactory. She could darn and sewbeautifully, make and mend, knit and patch, and read and write, cooka little, and do all manner of housework, while she was quite cleverin her knowledge of flowers and their ways. 

Every Saturday morning she devoted herself to helping her grandmotherclean the cottage and prepare for Sunday. It was her task to polishall the knives and forks, to dust the bedrooms and the kitchen. Her grandmother would not let her do the harder work, such asscrubbing the floors or tables, though Jessie often longed to try;but while granny was busy washing the floors, it was Jessie's greatdelight to mount on a chair and clean the little lattice windows ofthe kitchen and parlour. 

When she was about ten years old her other longings were unexpectedlyrealized, and the scrubbing fell to her to do too, for one chillautumn morning Mrs. Dawson found herself too unwell to get up. She had been ailing for a week or two. "'Tis the damp and cold gotinto my bones, " she had said, making light of it, "and they'll justhave to get out again, that's all. There is nothing like movingabout for working it off. If I'd sat still as some folks do, Ishouldn't be able to move at all by this time. "

But on this morning even she was forced to give in. "I think thecold has touched my liver, " she said feebly, "and I don't feel fitfor nothing. I'll stay in bed for a bit, that's the best way, " andindeed she felt far too unwell to do anything else. Thomas called atthe doctor's house on his way to work, and came home early to dinnerto hear his report. 

"He says it's the yellow jaunders, " said Jessie, in an awed voice, looking very grave and alarmed, "and he says I must not be frightenedif granny turns orange colour. Do you think she has been eating toomany oranges, granp? She had two on Sunday--big ones!"

Granp smiled, in spite of his anxiety. He knew that an attack ofjaundice was no trifling illness for a woman of Patience's age, andthe next day he did not go to work, but waited to see the doctorhimself. 

The news in the morning, though, was slightly better, and althoughMrs. Dawson had to keep her bed for some time, their greatest anxietywas lifted, and their spirits grew higher and more hopeful. 

Jessie now was in her element. She swept and dusted, scrubbed andpolished, waited on her grandmother and took care of her grandfatherlike any little old woman. All day long her busy feet and hands weregoing, never seeming to tire; and in her joy at seeing hergrandmother getting well again, and her grandfather more happy, andin her pleasure in taking care of them both, her spirits kept asbright and gay, and her laugh as infectious and joyous as it waspossible for any one's to be. 

So things were when that Saturday dawned which, undreamed of, was tochange everything for all of them. 

It was a fresh bright autumn day, with the sun shining cheerfully, but with just that touch of cold in the air which makes one realizethat summer is past and winter not so very far off. In the gardenthe chrysanthemums were covered with a fine show of buds, and Jessielooked at them eagerly to see if any would be out on the morrow, forthe doctor had said that Mrs. Dawson might get up for a little whileon Sunday and come down-stairs. 

The news put them all in a great bustle. Jessie felt that all hercredit depended on everything, indoors and out, being just a littlecleaner and trimmer and more orderly than if her grandmother had beenabout herself. Things had to be got from Norton too, so grandfathertook the train thither to do the shopping, and Jessie was left tosweep and scrub and polish to her heart's content. She and granpwere up early on that important morning--indeed, there was littlelikelihood of any one's oversleeping on that day, and so well didthey work that by the time Jessie went up to know what hergrandmother would like for dinner, the greater part of their taskswere done and grandfather had already started for Norton. 

"I don't want anything but a cup of tea and a piece of toast now, "said her grandmother in answer to Jessie's question. 

"Won't you have some of the jelly Miss Barley brought you?"

"No, child. I feel much more inclined for a cup of tea. If you'vegot any fire in I'd like a slice of toast, but if you haven't I'llhave a piece of dry bread. I dare say you'd like one of the littleapple pasties Mrs. Maddock brought over. "

Mrs. Maddock was the wife of the farmer who lived a little way fromthem, along the road to the four turnings. 

"Yes, I would, " said Jessie, "I am hungry. "

"I don't wonder, " said her grandmother, smiling, "working as you havebeen. Why, there won't be anything left for me to do when I get up. Is the kettle nearly boiling?"

"Yes, " said Jessie, "it is singing. I'll have to step over to Mrs. Maddock's for the milk, and by the time I come back it will be ready. Will you be all right, granny, while I'm gone? I won't be away morethan five minutes. "

"Yes, I shall be all right, child; I'll promise not to run away, andI don't suppose any burglar will break in here, " she laughed gently. 

"Well, I could soon catch you, if you did, " laughed Jessie, "but Idon't know about a burglar, I would have to run to Mrs. Maddock'sagain and borrow their dog. Good-bye, granny. "

"Put on your hat and coat, " granny called after her. 

"Oh, need I?" asked Jessie, with just a shade of impatience in hervoice. 

"Why, yes, child, it is quite chilly, and you have been so hot overyour work. "

So Jessie stayed a moment in the kitchen to put on her hat and coat--and oh, how glad she was of it before that night was ended--andtaking her milk-can in one hand and a penny in the other, away sheran down the garden and out into the road. She stood for a momentand glanced along the road in each direction, just to make sure thatthere was no one near who would be likely to knock and disturb hergrandmother before she got back again, but there was not a livingcreature in sight, that she could see, so on she ran to the farm. Mrs. Maddock kept her a minute or two to inquire after Mrs. Dawson, and to give her a flower to wear to church the next day, then Jessiehurried away again as fast as her full milk-can would allow her. 

The side entrance to the farm, to which Jessie had to go, was a fewhundred yards down a lane which branched off the main road. When shecame out and down this lane again, a man was standing at the end ofit where it emerged on to the high road. He was standing lookingdown the lane very eagerly at first, but, as Jessie drew nearer, hestepped back a pace or two, and looked nervously first over oneshoulder and then over the other, along the high road. 

Jessie was ten years old, and accustomed to seeing strangerough-looking men about, so that there seemed no reason why sheshould feel frightened, but she did, and for a moment almost turnedand ran back to the friendly shelter of Mrs. Maddock's dairy. Later on she often wished she had, but then, as she told herself, hewould probably have run after her and caught her. 

With her heart beating very fast, but trying to look quite calm andunconcerned, she walked sturdily on. As soon as she had got pasthim, she thought, and had turned the corner, she would race home asfast as her legs could carry her, and if she did spill some milkgranny would forgive her when she knew how frightened she had been. But the man evidently did not intend that she should pass him, for asshe drew near he stood right in her path, and to prevent any chanceof escape he seized her by the wrist. 

"I've been looking for you, this long while, " he said roughly. "Now don't make a noise, " as Jessie screamed "help. " "If you'requiet I shan't hurt you, but if you make a noise and bring a crowdround, I'll thrash you to within an inch of your life. Do you hear?"

"Let me go, " wailed Jessie, struggling to release her wrist. "I must go home, granny's waiting for me, she is ill. "

"And I've been waiting for you longer than 'granny' has. I've beenwaiting hours. Your grandfather's gone away, isn't he?"

"Yes, to Norton. "

"That's all right. "

"He'll be home soon, " retorted Jessie, in the vain hope offrightening the man. "Oh, do let me go, please! granny is ill, andwaiting for me to take her her dinner. "

"I've waited longer for my dinner than ever she has. You shall bringme mine instead. In bed, is she?"

"Yes, " sobbed Jessie. 

"That's all right. "

"Oh, would no one ever come, " Jessie wondered, looking franticallyabout her. 

The man read her thoughts and actions. "No, it isn't likely there'llbe anybody about just yet, they are all to market, or off somewhere. I took care to choose my time well. Is your grandfather coming homeby train?"

"Yes, " sobbed Jessie. "Oh, _please_ let me go. What do you want? Ihaven't got any money--"

"It's _you_ I want, yourself, Jessie Lang. "

Jessie looked up in surprise, wondering how he knew her name. She had thought him a tramp only, though a particularly horrible one. Now a deeper fear crept into her heart, causing her to feel sick andfaint with alarm, and a dread of she hardly knew what. 

"Why do you want me?" she gasped, trembling, scarcely able to formher words, so furiously was her poor little heart beating. 

"Why do I want you? 'Cause I'm your own father, and I've been robbedof you for five years! Natural enough, isn't it, that a man shouldwant his own child to come and look after him?"

"But I've got to look after granny and granp, " gasped Jessie, "they are old, and granny's ill, and--and they've taken care of meall this time, and now I've got to take care of them. I'm verysorry, but I can't look after you too. "

"Dear me!" muttered the man. "How polite we are! But whether youcan or you can't, you've got to! I think it's a pity they haven'tbrought you up better, and taught you your duty to your father. Well, I can't be wasting any more time here. We've got a longjourney before us. "

"Oh no, no!" cried Jessie, beside herself with dismay; "don't take meaway!--_please_, please don't make me leave granny!"

"Shut up that noise, " interrupted her father roughly. "You've got tolearn that I never stand whining and bellowing; and the sooner youlearn it the better. Now I did mean to spare you all the trouble ofsaying 'good-bye, ' but on second thoughts I'll go in and explain abit to the old woman, so hurry along and lead the way. I don't wantany nonsense about putting the police on my track to find you andbring you back, so it shall be all open and straight. You are mineby law, and I am going to stick to the law. "

Jessie was trembling so, she could scarcely drag her limbs along, butshe did her best to obey her father's command, a wild hope springingup in her heart that if once she got within the shelter of home andgranny, all would be well. 

As she opened the cottage door she heard her grandmother's voicecalling down to her. "Why, Jessie, wherever have you been? I wasafraid something had happened. The kettle has boiled over and overuntil the fire must be nearly put out. " But she had scarcelyfinished speaking before Jessie dashed up the stairs and into herroom breathless, almost speechless, her face white, and with a lookon it that haunted Patience Dawson for many a long day. 

"Oh, granny, he's come, father's come, and he's going to take meaway! Oh, granny, what shall I do! Save me! save me! don't let himhave me! I'm afraid of him!"

But before Mrs. Dawson, in her utter bewilderment and fright, couldtake in what it all meant, heavy footsteps mounted the stairsquickly, and she saw Harry Lang, the man she so detested and dreaded, standing in the doorway. 

"Don't make that row, " he shouted roughly to the child, "nice waythat to carry on when your dear grandmother is ill! Do you want tomake her worse! Be quiet, can't you, and be quick. I've got no timeto waste. "

Jessie subsided into silence, a little moan alone escaping her as sheclung to her grandmother. 

"It's simple enough, " he went on, turning to Mrs. Dawson, "I want mydaughter, and I've come to fetch her. You've had her for five years, and now I want her for five--or fifteen, or fifty, " he added, "justas it suits me. "

"You can't--you've no right--you deserted her. She is ours. "

"That's just where you make a mistake, old lady, " he sneered, hisface lighting up with an ugly mocking smile. "She is mine, notyours, and I've every right to her. I didn't desert her, and youcan't prove I did, and I guess if we went to law about it, it wouldbe you that would be in the dock for stealing her, or receivingstolen goods, so to speak, from her mother, who stole her. "

"You knew where she was!" gasped Mrs. Dawson, stunned by this newaspect of affairs. "You knew poor Lizzie had sent her here--you knowyou did. "

"Prove it, " he said tauntingly. "That's all! Prove it!"Then suddenly remembering that time was flying, he changed his tone. "Well, anyhow, you can settle all that to your liking later on, Ican't stay to argue now. I've married again, and my wife keeps alodging-house, and wants some one to help her, some one strong andhealthy, like Jessie here, and I've come for her. I didn't see thefun of paying a girl, when we could get a better one for nothing; andI came for her to-day because I thought it would be nice and quiet, not too many about, and not too many leave-takings. Now, Jess, saygood-bye to your granny, I want to be off before the old man getsback, so as to spare him the pain, " with a cruel laugh. 

Was there no one to help them! No one to appeal to! Jessie and hergrandmother looked at each other despairingly. They could think ofno one within a mile or two, except Mrs. Maddock and her little maid, and how could they reach them, and what could they do to help if theydid! A deep, hopeless despair settled on both of them. 

"If you've anything you wants to bring along with you, " said herfather curtly, "look sharp and get it. I don't s'pose it's more thanI can carry. "

Jessie was too stunned to know quite what she was doing. In her roomshe had a big old-fashioned carpet bag that her grandfather had oncegiven her because she so admired the flowers on its sides, and intothis she thrust some of her clothes without in the least realizingwhat she was doing. When, though, she came to her little shelf ofbooks, to a box Miss Grace had given her, a work-basket hergrandfather and grandmother had bought her on her birthday, and apicture which had been Miss Barley's present, she stayed her hand. She would not take any of her treasures to be knocked about perhapsin a busy lodging-house. She would leave them here, they would seemlike a link between her and home--for no other place would ever be"home" to her, she knew. 

She took her little Prayer-book, the one that had been her mother's, granny had given it to her on her eighth birthday, and she treasuredit dearly; it had her mother's name and her own written in it, andthat seemed always to draw them nearer and form a little linkbetween. 

It was all soon over, and Jessie, without daring to look around herbeloved little room again, crept away back to her granny, her eyesblinded with tears. 

"Granny, you'll 'tend to my rose for me, won't you, " she whispered ina choked voice, "till I come home again, and--and kiss granp for me, and--oh, granny, granny, what shall I do, I can't go away! I can't!I can't! I think I shall die if--"

Perhaps mercifully, her father cut the leave-taking short. No goodcould be done, not a fraction of their misery lessened by prolongingit, and before Jessie had finished sobbing out her last words, he hadpicked her up and carried her down-stairs and out of the house. 

"This way, " he said, when he put her down in the road. "I likeseclusion when I take a walk. There's a station I prefer toSpringbrook, it's one I used to favour a good bit, " with a meaninglittle laugh, "and if I haven't forgot my way all these years, andthey haven't altered the face of the country, the shortest cut to itlies through these very fields, so step out and put your best footforemost. "

CHAPTER VII. 

THE JOURNEY AND THE ARRIVAL. 

Harry Lang's "short cut" to the next station meant a good two hoursof heavy walking, sometimes over rough uneven ground, sometimesthrough a little coppice, or along a quiet lane, all of them unknownto Jessie. For this very reason, perhaps, the way seemed even longerthan it really was, but to the poor exhausted child it seemedendless. Her head ached distractingly, her back and legs ached, andher feet had almost refused to do her bidding long before she reachedthe station. 

Her father noticed that she lagged, but it never occurred to him thatthe real reason was that she was exhausted--at least it did not occurto him until, when they at last reached the refreshment room, Jessiedropped like a stone upon the floor. 

"What are you doing?" he snapped crossly, "get up! Can't you seewhere you are going?"

But Jessie neither saw, nor heard, nor moved. The kindly-faced womanbehind the counter first leaned out over it to look at her, then camearound. 

"Why, she's in a dead faint, " she cried, lifting the limp littlehand; "has she walked far? She looks dead beat. "

Harry Lang muttered something about "just a mile or so, " but he didnot enlarge on the subject, and he seemed so morose and surly that noone felt drawn to say more to him than they could help. The womanlifted Jessie up, and laid her gently on a couch, but she had bathedher brow and her hands, and held smelling-salts under her nose forquite a long while before she showed any signs of life, and HarryLang had wished himself miles away, and regretted his day's work manytimes before Jessie with a deep, deep sigh at last opened her eyes. 

For a moment she looked about her uncomprehendingly; then, asrealization came to her, the woman bending over her heard her moandespairingly. 

"Is she ill?" she asked. 

"No, " said Harry Lang curtly, "only a bit tired and upset at havingto leave the folks that brought her up. Maybe she's hungry; we'vewalked a good step to get here, and we haven't had a bite ofanything. I'm hungry myself, so I dare say she is. Hungry, Jessie?"

"I want to go home, I must--I must. Oh, let me go, " moaned Jessiewildly, looking up at him beseechingly; but at sight of his face sheshrank back frightened, and the words died on her lips. 

"You are going home as fast as I can take you, " he said roughly; "ifyou'd sent word, I dare say they'd have got a special, " he added, with a sarcastic laugh. 

"I'll give her something to eat, " said the woman, without a smile athis joke. "I dare say she'll feel better then. She looks to me deadbeat, " and she laid Jessie gently back, and went behind the counterand poured her out a basin of soup from some that was being kept hotthere. To Jessie, who had had no food since breakfast-time, the soupbrought new life. She took it all, and a large slice of bread withit, to the great satisfaction of her new friend, who watcheddelightedly the colour coming back to the poor little white face. 

"Where do you want to get to, to-night?" she asked, turning to HarryLang. 

"London. "

"Um! The next train that stops here doesn't come in till 10. 15. It is a long time for her to wait, and late for her to get home. "

"'Tisn't going to kill her, " answered Jessie's father shortly. "Everybody has got something to put up with sometimes. She is luckynot to have to walk all the way. " He hated to be asked questions, and grew cross at being obliged to answer them. 

"It's my opinion she'd never reach the other end if she had to dothat, " said the woman curtly. Then, turning to Jessie, she saidgently, "If you lie back again, dear, maybe you'll be able to sleep, and that will rest you, and help to pass the time too. "

Jessie, only too glad to obey, and not to have to move her achingbody again, nestled back on the hard cushions, and turning her faceaway from the light, shut her eyes, and soon was miles away from herpresent surroundings and her miseries, in a deep dreamless sleep, andshe knew nothing more until she was wakened suddenly by a tremendousrumbling and shaking, puffing and roaring, close at hand, which madeher start up in a terrible panic of alarm. 

For a moment she did not realize where she was or what had happened;her brain was dazed, her eyes full of sleep. Then her father camein, and seizing her by the arm hurried her out of the room and acrossthe platform to the brightly-lighted train drawn up there. He gaveher no time for farewells to the kind-hearted woman who had helpedher so much, nor did he thank her himself. Poor Jessie could onlylook back over her shoulder and try to thank her with her eyes andsmiles. 

"Thank you very much, " she called out, her voice sounding very weakand small in the midst of all the uproar; but the gratitude on herface and in her eyes spoke more than words. 

"I've thought dozens of times of that poor little child, " the womanremarked next day to one of the porters; "the man looked so cruel andhorrid, and the child so frightened. I should like to know the truthabout them. I am sure he was unkind to her. "

Once inside the railway carriage, Jessie's father put her to sit inthe corner by the window, and seated himself next to her. He was soanxious that no one should speak to her that he even gave up thecomfortable corner seat himself, and sat bolt upright beside her, abit of self-denial which did not improve his temper, which was at notime a sweet one; and when at last Waterloo was reached, it was withno gentle hand that he shook and roused her from the kindly sleepwhich had fallen on her again, and blotted for the time all her woesfrom her memory. 

With a shock Jessie started to her feet, staring about her with wide, dazed, sleep-filled eyes. "Wake up, can't you? I can't stay hereall night while you has your sleep out!"

No one else ever spoke to her in that tone and manner. In a momentpoor Jessie's eyes and brain were as wide awake and alert as fearcould force them. That dreaded voice would rouse her from the sleepof death almost, she thought. Shaking with cold and dread, shefollowed him along the lighted platform, and out into the gloom andsqualor of the streets. 

A heavy rain was coming down in sheets, driven in their faces by acold, gusty wind. It hit the pavement and splashed up against hercold little legs and ankles until they were soaked through; it beaton her face until she was nearly blinded; and, bewildered by thebright lights, and the deep shadows, and the glitter of the wetstreets in the light of the lamps, she would soon have been lostindeed, had her father not caught her by the hand. 

On they went, and on and on, an endless distance it seemed to Jessie. Her father never once spoke to her, and she was afraid to speak tohim. At last, though, she summoned up courage. "Where are we going, father?"

"Home. "

"Are we nearly there?"

"You'll know in time, so hold your noise. "

She "held her noise. " At least she did not venture to speak again, and "in time" she did know, but it was a long time first. 

Jessie had long been too tired to notice anything that was passing, and when at last they did stop before a house, and went up to thedoor of it, she was too exhausted to notice the place or the house, or anything about her. She wanted only to be allowed to lie downsomewhere, anywhere, and not have to move, or speak, or even think. 

When the door was at last opened she saw before her what looked likea black pit, and that was all. Her father must have been able to seemore than she, for he swore at some one for keeping him waiting solong, and Jessie supposed it was at an unseen person who had openedthe door to them, then he walked quickly ahead, telling Jessie tofollow him. 

Follow him! How could she, when she could see nothing and did notknow where her next step would land her? She did not dare, though, do anything but obey, so, groping blindly, and sliding her feetcarefully before her, one at a time, she crept with all the speed shecould in direction in which she thought he had gone. 

"Mind the stairs, " said some one behind her, and at the same momentJessie's foot went over the top one. 

"Harry, you might have helped the child down, " said the voice behindher, more tartly, and Jessie guessed it was the door-opener whospoke, and who was following her. Harry Lang muttered somethingsurlily enough, but he did pick up a lamp from somewhere, and held itout for her to see the rest of her way by, and Jessie clambered downthe remaining stairs in comparative comfort. 

"You'd better give the kid something to eat, and pack her off to bedas soon as you can, " he said. "She's pretty well fagged out, and soam I, " he added. 

Jessie looked round to see to whom he was speaking, and saw standingin the doorway a little thin woman, with a sharp, cross face, anddull, tired eyes, eyes which looked as though they never brightened, or lost their look of weary hopelessness. This was her stepmother. She gave no sign of welcome, no word of comfort to the child, yet, somehow, Jessie's heart went out to her a little. It might have beenonly that in her terror of her father, she was ready to cling to anyone who might stand between her and him. 

"There's bread and butter--"

"Bread and butter!" roared her husband, "is that all? Do you mean tosay you haven't got anything hot and tasty for me after all I've beenthrough to get this brat here, for nothing in the world but to helpyou to do nothing all day long--"

"There's plenty for you, " she retorted coldly. "I was speaking ofthe child. I knew you wouldn't want to share yours with her, " andHarry Lang, who had stepped threateningly towards her, drew backagain, looking rather foolish and very cross. "Where is it?" hesnapped. 

"In the oven, " and she took out a big covered basin and put beforehim. 

Whatever the contents might have been, they smelt very savoury andseemed to please him, but he never offered a mouthful of it to hisfamishing little daughter, as she stood by, looking at him. A thickslice of bad bread with some butter spread thinly on it was Jessie'sfare, and she wished the butter had been omitted altogether, sohorrid did it smell and taste. 

As soon as he had finished the last mouthful of his supper Harry Langgot up, and without a word to either of them, slouched out of thekitchen and up-stairs to bed. Mrs. Lang began at once to clear avery large old sofa of its untidiness. 

"You'll have to sleep here, " she said; "the house is so full thereisn't room for you anywhere else. Make haste and get your thingsoff. I want to get to bed myself. I've got to be up at five, andit's past one now. "

Jessie looked with dismay at the collection of dirty-looking shawlsand coats her stepmother was piling on the sofa as "bedclothes, " andif she had not been so dead tired, she could never have broughtherself to lie down under them. Visions of her own sweet little roomand spotless bed rose before her, and overcame her control. 

"Is this your bag?"

"Yes, " said Jessie tearfully, a sob rising in her throat. 

The woman looked at her with dull interest. "You'd better keep yourfeelings to yourself, " she said; "there's no time for any here. Try to go to sleep, and don't think about anything, " she added, notunkindly. "You are overtired to-night, you'll feel betterto-morrow. " She helped Jessie into her rough bed, and tucked theshawl about her, but she did not kiss her. "Now make haste and go tosleep, " she said, "for I shall be down very early, and then you'llhave to get up, " and she walked away, taking the lamp with her. 

Jessie shut her eyes and tried to go to sleep, but her nerves wereall unstrung, brain and ears were all on the alert, and there seemedto be curious, unaccountable sounds on all sides of her. She had notbeen alone more than a minute or two before there were strangescraping noises in the kitchen not far from her. "Mice!" thoughtJessie, "or beetles. "

She was a fairly brave child, but she had a perfect horror of blackbeetles, and her heart sank at the thought of them. She drew theshawl over her head as well as she could, and wrapped up her arms init, but still she felt that the beetles were running, runningeverywhere, over the walls and over her, and she could scarcelyrefrain from shrieking aloud in her horror. Then came louder andmore dreadful sounds, the cries of people quarrelling; they seemed tobe in the very house too; Jessie uncovered her head to hear, thencovered it quickly again, sick and faint with fear. A drunken manreeled past the house, singing noisily; to Jessie in the kitchen areahe seemed horribly near. 

She grew more and more frightened with each sound she heard. She wasalone in the dark, with dreadful things happening all around her, ina house that she did not even know her way about. She felt sick andfaint with terror and horror of the place, and longing for home andall that she had lost. 

Then she remembered suddenly that she had not said her prayers. It had all seemed so strange, and her stepmother had hurried her so, that she had never thought of it until now. 

"Oh, I can't get out and kneel down, " she thought. "I might step onsome beetles. I am sure if God sees how dreadful everything is, andhow frightened I am, that He will forgive me if I say them here. Andshe began--

 "I trust myself, dear God, to Thee, Keep every evil far from me. 

"Does that mean drunken men and beetles, " she wondered feverishly, "'I trust myself, dear God, to Thee;' if I do, He will take care ofme, for certain, " and a ray of comfort crept into her poor littleaching heart. "Granp told me so. " And for the first time in herlife Jessie felt the true meaning of the dear old grandfather'slessons in the garden, or by the kitchen fire. 

Hitherto she had been sheltered and loved and guarded, been wellclothed, and fed, and cared for. Now, for the first time, she feltthe need of some one to turn to, and her prayers meant more than theyhad ever meant before. They came from her heart, and were realpetitions. 

"Granp said God loved little children, and always listened to them, "and with this comforting thought she at last fell asleep. 

CHAPTER VIII. 

THE NEW HOME. 

It seemed to Jessie that she was still saying, "Keep every evil farfrom me, " and trying to go to sleep, when a voice said sharply--

"Now then, it's time to wake up! Make haste and get your clothes on, for your father and one of the lodgers will be here wanting theirbreakfasts presently. "

Jessie woke with a great start, and sprang up, struggling with theshawl which was still wrapped about her head. Free of this, shelooked about her in a dazed way, trying to rouse herself and collecther wits. It was not yet daylight, of course, and the lighted lampstood on the table in the midst of the dirty dishes just as it hadthe night before; her stepmother too--her hair and dress and wholeappearance were exactly as they had been the night before, the onlydifference being that she seemed, if anything, less agreeable. 

"Wake up! wake up!" she called sharply again. "I want you to makeyourself useful, not to be giving me more trouble. Get on yourthings, then light the fire as quick as you can--no, I'll light thefire to-day, because your father can't bear to be kept waiting, but Ishall look to you to do it other mornings, and to get up withoutbeing called, too. "

"Yes, " said Jessie dutifully, "I hope I shall be able to wake up. "She was so sleepy at the moment that she could scarcely stand, or seeto get into her garments. She looked around her for a place whereshe could wash. Cold water would help her to wake up, perhaps. It was really painful to be so terribly sleepy. 

"Please, where can I wash?" she asked at last. "I--I can't wake--up;I--I--" and she was asleep again. Her stepmother's sharp voice soonroused her, though. 

"A place to wash in!" she snapped crossly. "Why, you must wait untilsome of them have gone out, then you can go to one of the bedrooms, unless you'd like to wash at the tap, out there, " pointing to thescullery; "there's a dipper there you can use. "

Jessie gladly accepted the last offer. She was longing to feel thefreshness of cold water on her aching head and heavy eyes, and herhot face, and she groped her way out to the scullery. 

It was lighted by a candle only, but even so Jessie could see theuntidy muddle of everything. The sink by the tap was crowded withpots and pans and dirty dishes, and so was the table and the dirtyfloor. Where was she to wash, and where was the dipper? She lookedaround her hopelessly. She was so heavy with sleep she could hardlysee, so aching in every limb she could scarcely stand; and the sightof the miserable place, and the close smell of it, made her feelpositively sick and ill. 

She did not dare, though, trouble her stepmother any further, she hadto act for herself; so she looked about her, first of all for thedipper, and presently saw it standing, full of potato peelings, onthe floor under the sink. She seized it thankfully, and emptying itscontents on to a dirty plate, went to the tap and gave it a good washout. While she was doing this her eye fell on a piece of soap. At last she managed to draw a dipperful of clean fresh water, andglad enough she was; it felt so delicious, in fact, and she enjoyedit so much, she could not bear to tear herself away from it, untilher mother's sharp voice brought her back to her duties again, andthe rest of her toilet was finished more hurriedly. 

"What shall I do first?" she asked timidly, when she was ready. In her clean pinafore, with her hair well brushed, and her cheeksstill glowing from the cold water, she looked so fresh and such apleasant sight to see, that a ray of something like pleased surpriseshowed itself for a moment even on Mrs. Lang's tired face. 

"Can you wash up two or three of the cups and things without smashingthem?" she asked. 

"Oh yes, " said Jessie, almost reproachfully, "I always do at home. "But the mere mention of that name brought the tears to her eyes, andprevented her saying more. 

"Well, do that first. You needn't wash more than two cups andplates. I'd better lend you something to put on over your cleanapron, or you'll be wanting another before the day is out. "

"I've got my overalls here, " said Jessie, with pride. "Granny mademe two, " and she stepped to the old bag and lifted out a dark-bluegalateen pinafore which covered her all up to the hem of her frock. 

When she came back from washing the dishes she brought thesweeping-brush with her, and, as a matter of course, began to sweepup the littered floor. Mrs. Lang opened her mouth to tell her tostop, then apparently thought better of it, and let her go on. The kitchen swept, Jessie asked for a duster to dust the chairs andother things, which needed it badly enough!

"A duster! Don't bother me about such things. We haven't got any. "

Jessie looked nonplussed. "May I have this?" she asked at last, picking up a bit of rag from a pile of things untidily heaped on achair. Mrs. Lang, though, was gone, and did not hear her. Jessie looked at the rag, and pondered. At last, however, thetemptation to wipe off some of the dust became too much for her, andshe used it. "I can wash out the rag again, " she comforted herselfby thinking. "I wonder what I had better do next, " for Mrs. Lang hadnot returned. "I s'pose I'd better sweep out the passage and brushdown the steps. Oh, I do want some breakfast!" she added, with asigh. 

While she was sweeping down the steps before the front door, herstepmother came into the kitchen again. The semblance of a smilecrossed her face as she looked at the neatly-arranged chairs, andheard the broom going in the distance. 

"We're to be kept tidy, now, I s'pose, " she muttered, with a laugh. "I wonder how long it'll last. She won't get much encouragementhere. "

Jessie came into the kitchen with her broom, and found her stepmotherfrying bacon. It smelt very good, and Jessie was ravenously hungry. 

"Does father have to go to work every day as early as this?" sheasked. 

"Work!" cried Mrs. Lang, with a scornful laugh. "Work! I've neverknown your father work since he crossed my path! It's the races he'soff to; you wouldn't find him get up at this hour for anything else. "

Jessie stared wide-eyed. "Doesn't he ever work?" she gasped. "How does he live, then?"

"Well you may ask!" snapped Mrs. Lang bitterly. "He's kept. I dothe work, and he finds that more to his taste. I've got the housefull of lodgers, and I can tell you it takes me all my time, andmore, to look after them. I never get any pleasure, and your fathernever gets any work, and he thinks that is just as it should be. "

Jessie stood for a moment looking very thoughtful. Everything inthis house seemed to her wrong. Just as it all used to be in her oldhome before she went to her grandfather's; but she knew nothingbetter then, she was too young. Now she was older and better able tounderstand, for she had had a long and happy experience of what ahome could and should be, where each did a share, and thought alwaysof others first. She felt suddenly a great pity for her stepmother, and a liking such as she had not thought possible an hour or so ago. Perhaps she could do something, she thought, to make her lessunhappy; at any rate she could help her. 

"I will help you, " she said, looking up at her with a smile. "It won't be so hard with two of us to see to things. "

Mrs. Lang's face softened a little, and a smile actually gleamed inher eyes as she glanced from the frying-pan to Jessie. "Yes, you canhelp a bit, I expect, you seem to know how to set about things. Did you help your grandmother?"

"Oh yes, a lot, " said Jessie, and at the recollection the tearsbrimmed up in her eyes. "I wonder how she is, and how granp is!Oh, I expect he was in a dreadful way when he came home, and heardwhat had happened!" and at the thought poor Jessie's tearsoverflowed, and she sobbed bitterly. 

"Hush, don't make that noise, " said her stepmother quickly, but notunkindly. "Be quiet, child, your father's coming, and he'll beat youif you go on like that. Oh, it's you, Tom, " as a young man loungedheavily into the kitchen, "I thought 'twas Harry. "

Tom Salter dropped into a chair by the table with a tired yawn. "Yes, it's me; I'm up, but I ain't awake, " he said, with a laugh. "Hullo, " as he caught sight of Jessie, "is this the little girl youwas telling me about?"

"Yes, this is Jessie. "

He looked at Jessie and smiled, and she smiled back. He had agood-tempered face and kind eyes, and she thought she should likehim. 

"Bit tired, I expect?"

"Yes, thank you, I am, " said Jessie shyly. 

"Hullo, missis, been having a spring clean?" he asked comically, ashe glanced about him. "The place looks so tidy I hardly knew it. "

Mrs. Lang looked half annoyed. "New brooms sweep clean, " she saidshortly, "and two pairs of hands can do what one can't. "

"That's true, " said the young man soothingly. "I don't know how youever managed to get through it all by yourself. "

Mrs. Lang looked mollified. "It would have been all right if Harrywould have lent a hand now and then, " she said, "but he won't evenclean his own boots, let alone any one else's; while as for bringingin a scuttle of coal, or going an errand, or putting a spade near thegarden, he'd think himself disgraced for ever if he did either. Disgraced! He!" with a bitter laugh, and the meaning in her voiceshould have made her self-satisfied husband feel very small--ifanything could have that effect on him. 

Just at that moment heavy footsteps were heard approaching andconversation ceased. 

"Here's your father coming, " said Mrs. Lang in a lowered tone toJessie. Then, as she stooped down to the oven to get out the dish ofbacon for him, "We won't have ours now, " she whispered to Jessie;"you and me'll have ours after they're gone, when there's a littlepeace and quietness, " and Jessie, in spite of her hunger, which wasmaking her feel quite sick and faint, felt glad. 

"While you are waiting will you run up and talk to Charlie?" sheasked kindly, for she saw Jessie's dread of her father, which wasonly too plainly written on her face. 

"Who is Charlie?" Jessie asked, "and where is he? I'd like to go. "

"You go up-stairs, and on the second landing from this you'll seefour doors, one of the back ones is our bedroom, and the next one isCharlie's. He is my son, you know, he's just about your age, buthe's--he's very delicate. " Mrs. Lang hesitated a little, and turnedher face away from Jessie for a moment. "He's got to lie in bed allthe time, it is very dull for him, and he'll be glad to see you, heknows you are come. "

The door was banged open and banged shut again. "What's the use ofmy taking the trouble to get up, in such weather as this, and shavemyself, and--and put myself out like this, " grumbled the master ofthe house, entering half dressed, half asleep, and more than halfangry. "No horses can run--"

Jessie crept to the door and escaped as swiftly and silently aspossible. At the sight of her father all her old terror of himrushed over her again, and she felt she could not face him. 

Up the stairs she hurried as fast as the darkness and her ownignorance of the house would let her, then stopped suddenly. She didnot know how many landings she had passed, or where to go. She triedto remember, but it was no good. "I'll go on a little further, though, " she thought, "it will be better than going back again, " andshe groped her way carefully up another little flight of stairs. Round the bend of them a light gleamed from a partly open door. She went on further and looked in. The room was empty and veryuntidy, but there was a light burning in it. It was the one herfather had just left. In the dimness she made out a smaller doorbeside it. Was this Charlie's? She listened for a moment, then asmall thin voice called out, "Is anybody there? Who is it?Mother, is that you?"

Jessie stepped over to the door and knocked. "It is me--Jessie, " shecalled back. "Your mother sent me up to see you. May I come in?"

"Yes, please. "

Jessie turned the handle very carefully. She felt painfully shy nowthat she was actually here, but it was too late to turn back, so shesidled in around the door, wondering very much what she should see, and what she should say. 

What she saw was an untidy room with a small bed in it, and a largewindow just opposite the bed. There were a few fairly good pieces offurniture in it as well, but the whole place looked neglected, untidyand comfortless. Jessie did not notice this so much just at first, though, for the little figure in the bed claimed most of herattention. 

Charlie was really of the same age as herself, but he was so thin andworn and helpless, he looked much younger, and his pale little facewore something of the appealing look of a baby. 

A great, great pity for him swelled up in Jessie's heart, and droveout most of her shyness. "I am _so_ sorry you are ill, " she saidsympathetically. "Are you always like it?"

"Yes, " said Charlie, looking at her with very shy, but very greatinterest. "I have been for a long time. I think it is seven yearsnow. I fell backwards off a 'bus and hurt my back. "

"Oh, what a dreadful thing!" exclaimed Jessie. "Couldn't a doctorcure you?"

"No. I was in hospital for nearly a year, but mother wanted me; shedidn't like my being there, and when they said they couldn't make mewell, mother said she would have me come home with her. She wantedme. "

"Were you glad?"

"Yes. I was very glad. I wanted mother. "

A short pause following, Jessie thought she had better introduceherself. "I am Jessie Lang, " she said; "and--and I am come to livehere, father says I must. I s'pose for always--to help your motherwith the lodgers. "

"Are you? How nice! I am so glad, " cried Charlie; "then you'll beable to come and talk to me sometimes. "

"I am not glad, " said Jessie, with a quaver in her voice; "but Ishould like to come and talk to you as often as I can. "Then presently she added, in a conflicting tone, "I don't know whatto call your mother. I don't like to say 'Mrs. Lang, ' it seems so--so silly and--stuck-up, and I don't like to call her 'mother, 'because, you see, she isn't mine at all, really. "

"I should, " said Charlie decidedly. "I have to call your father'father, ' though I hate to. I don't like him. I hate him--he's--he's unkind to mother!" and the pale face flushed and the sad eyesfilled with the strength of other feeling. 

"Oh!" exclaimed Jessie, "you ought not to speak like that, I am sure. Why do you ha--why don't you like him?"

"'Cause he's so unkind to mother. He is unkind to me, too, but Idon't mind that, I don't see him often; but he's always going on atmother, he makes her miserable, and he--he hits her!" staring atJessie with wide, horrified eyes. "We were so happy and comfortablebefore he came, but now everything seems all wrong, and mother isalways unhappy, and--and I--I can't bear it. "

 "Don't cry, " said Jessie soothingly. "Did you live here always?"

"Yes, and we had nice lodgers, and a nice house, and we had moneyenough for what we wanted, but father costs such a lot, and takesnearly all the money mother gets, and he won't give her any of it. He won't work himself, either. All the nice lodgers left because hemade such rows in the house, and was always quarrelling; there's onlyone of them left, that's Miss Patch. She has the attic right at thetop of the house. She went up there because it is quieter. "

He talked on eagerly in his old-fashioned way, his face flushing withweakness and excitement. It was such a rare treat to him to have anyone to talk to, particularly any one of his own age--a sympatheticlistener, too. 

"Do you know Miss Patch yet?"

"No, " said Jessie. "I only came last night very late. I've seen onelodger, a young man. He came down in the kitchen to his breakfast. "

"Oh, Tom Salter! You'll like him--I do. I want my breakfast, don'tyou?"

"Yes, " said Jessie, with a deep sigh. "I am _very_ hungry, but--but--your mother said we would wait till father was gone. "She hesitated over the term by which she should speak of herstepmother. Charlie noticed it. 

"I wish you'd call her 'mother, '" he said gently; "it would make usseem more like brother and sister, and I would love to have a sister. I've wished so often that I'd got one, or had got somebody to talkto, and read and play with me. Mother would like it, too. She isn'treally cross, you know. She is only tired and worried. You see, she's got me to look after, and me and father to keep, and ever somany lodgers. I am so glad you're come to help her. I do long to beable to, and I can only give her extra trouble. " He spoke with sadearnestness far beyond his age. 

A ray of comfort entered Jessie's sad heart. She felt really drawntowards her new stepbrother, and she loved to feel she was beinguseful. 

"Yes, I'll help her, " she said as brightly as she could for theweariness which was creeping over her. "I have been, a little, already. Can I help you? I'd love to try and make your room alittle bit tidier. "

"Does it look untidy?" asked Charlie, feeling somewhat taken aback. 

It looked more than untidy, but Jessie was too polite to say so, andas she leaned against the bed she was planning in her mind what shecould do to make it nicer for him. 

"I wish I could get you some flowers, " she said eagerly, "some out ofour garden. Oh, we had such lots there, such lovely ones, roses, andviolets, jessamine and lilac, and may--oh, all sorts. I had a gardenof my own, too. Oh, I'd love to take you to granny's, and let yousee it all!"

Charlie was watching her and listening with intense interest. "How sorry you must be to leave it all!" he remarked sympathetically. "I'd love to lie in a garden with flowers, and the bees humming, andno noise of rattling carts and milk-cans. Oh, Jessie!" but to hisdismay Jessie buried her face in her hands and burst into tears. 

"I can't stay here, " she cried, "I can't, I can't! I _must_ go home. I shall die if I don't go home to granp, " and she sobbed and sobbeduntil Charlie was quite frightened. 

"Jessie, don't--don't--don't cry like that. I'll ask mother to letyou go, if you want to so badly--but I wish you didn't, " he sighed, his own lips quivering. "I wish you would stay here. I want you_so_ much, I am so lonely and dull, and--and I hoped you were come tostay. "

Jessie's own tears were checked more quickly by the sight of his thanthey would have been by any other means. She pulled herself togetheras well as she could. "No--o, don't ask mother, " she said in achoked, thick voice, "it is no use, father would make me stay, and itwould only make him angry if we asked him, and I--I want to help you, too, " she added, quite truthfully. "I shan't mind so much by and by, p'raps. Don't cry, Charlie. Turn round and listen, and I'll tellyou more stories. Then, after breakfast, I'll tidy your room. "

The violence of Charlie's sobs had quite frightened away and stoppedhers, and banished for a time her home-sickness. She put all herthoughts into her coaxing of Charlie, and after a time he raised hishead and turned around and faced her, and while he lay back on hispillows, very weary after his excitement, Jessie, the more weary ofthe two, tried bravely to be cheerful, and to talk brightly, and soMrs. Lang found them when, a little later, she brought up Charlie'sbreakfast on a tray. 

Mrs. Lang even smiled when she saw the two together, evidently onsuch good terms, and the happy smile with which Charlie looked up ather delighted her sad heart. He was the apple of her eye, the greatlove of her life, the only thing in the world she cared for, and tosee him happy, to see his dull, cheerless days brightened, gave hermore pleasure than anything. She kissed her boy and looked quitekindly at Jessie. 

"Your breakfast is ready in the oven, " she said, "and I'm sure youmust be famished. I am. I thought I should never get the menstarted off. Now, darling, " to Charlie, "will you take yourbreakfast?" She put down the tray and raised him on his pillow alittle. Jessie, accustomed now to invalids, beat up the pillow andplaced it behind him. 

"Is that right?" she asked. 

"Oh yes, that's lovely, " said Charlie, with a sigh of pleasure. 

Mrs. Lang brought forward the tray. Jessie's eye fell on it withdismay. Trained by Miss Barley in dainty neatness, and by hergrandmother in cleanness and care and thoughtfulness, the sight of itshocked her. The black dingy tray was smeared and dirty, the sliceof bread rested on it, with no plate between, the knife and fork andcup were dirty too, and all was put down anyhow. Charlie probablywas not accustomed to daintiness, but this was enough to checkwhatever appetite an invalid might have. Jessie longed to take thetray away, and set it according to her own notions, but she saidnothing, for instinct told her that her mother's feelings would behurt if she did, and that it would not be nice for a stranger to comein and begin to alter things according to her own tastes. She madeup her mind, though, to try in small ways to make things nicer forthe invalid when she got the opportunity. 

CHAPTER IX. 

MISS PATCH. 

The opportunity Jessie yearned for came before long. One morning hermother had, unexpectedly, to go out very soon after breakfast. 

"Jessie, " she said, "I haven't been able to touch Charlie's room, more than to make his bed; you must tidy it while I am out. I shan'tbe very long, and there won't be anything more to do than just keepin the fire in the kitchen. "

Jessie was delighted. As soon as her mother had gone she mounted toCharlie's room laden with brush and dustpan, and a bit of rag for aduster. Charlie looked up in astonishment when she came in, thenwith delight; he loved to have Jessie doing things for him, she didthem so thoroughly and daintily. 

"I am going to brush down the cobwebs first, " said Jessie, "at leastall that I can reach, " she added thoughtfully, "so put your headright down under the clothes. I wish I had a dust-sheet, but itcan't be helped, I must do without one. Now, steady! I am going tomove your bed out from the wall. One, two, three, and be off!" andwith a tug of her strong young arms she truckled the bed out into themiddle of the room. Charlie was enraptured. He found it impossibleto keep his head covered, dust or no dust. 

"How funny it looks, and how nice, everything seems different. Jessie, don't you think my bed could stay out here?"

"Well, no, " said Jessie, "it would be too much in the way stuck rightout in the middle of the room, but I dare say mother wouldn't mindyour having it somewhere else for a change. We'll try it, and askher when she comes in, " and Jessie quickly swept a clear space andpushed the bed back against the wall. 

"Oh, that is nice!" said Charlie. "If I lie on my side a little Ican look out of the window and see the houses opposite, and I haven'tgot the light shining right in on my eyes as I had before. It wasdreadful when my head was aching. "

"I thought it must be, " said Jessie sympathetically, busily sweepingall the time. There was a great deal to be done, and she was veryanxious to have it all looking nice by the time Mrs. Lang returned. She ran down with the bits of carpet and beat them, then she dustedthe mantelpiece and the furniture, and arranged everything in theroom to what, she thought, was the best advantage. She cleaned thewindow, too, which was a great improvement to the look of the room. 

Charlie was delighted. "Oh, it is nice! It looks like a new room, Ifeel as if I had gone away for a change. Everything seems different. Jessie, do go and ask Miss Patch to come and see it, will you?She'd love to. "

Jessie flew away, willingly enough, and up the stairs until she cameto the big attic at the very top of the house, which she knew wasMiss Patch's. She had not spoken to Miss Patch yet, but she hadheard a good deal about her from Charlie, who seemed very fond indeedof her, and often bemoaned the fact that she lived at the very top ofthe house now, for he very seldom saw her; she was lame and suffereda good deal, and could not get up and down the steep stairs verywell, and he could not go up to her. 

As she approached the door Jessie heard a sound of a soft voicesinging, and paused a moment to listen, she could not bear tointerrupt. 

 "I may not tell the reason, 'Tis enough for thee to know That I, the Master, am teaching, And give this cup of woe. "

The singing ceased for a moment, and Jessie gently knocked at thedoor. 

"Come in, " said the same voice brightly; "open the door, please, andcome in. "

Jessie did as she was bid, and stepped into one of the neatest andcleanest and oddest rooms she had ever seen in her life. The furniture in it was scanty, but what there was was old-fashionedand good, there was a bright rug on the floor, a few pictures on thewalls at each end, an old-fashioned wooden bed at one side, a dearlittle round table before the fire, and a large arm-chair. The roomwas a large attic which really stretched over the whole of the top ofthe house, but though it was so large, there was really not very muchavailable space in it, for the sides sloped steeply. Miss Patch hadcurtained off the sides, and out of the long narrow strip down themiddle had formed, in Jessie's opinion, one of the nicest rooms shehad ever seen. 

The owner of the room looked up at Jessie with a bright smile, asmile which brightened still more when Jessie gave her message. 

"Please, Charlie wants to know if you will come down and see hisroom. I have been tidying it a little, and I moved the bed, and heis so delighted with it he wants you to see it. "

"I should like to, very much, " said Miss Patch, "but I haverheumatism in my knee to-day, and I can't get up and down stairs verywell. Perhaps, though, " she added, with sudden thought, "you willhelp me?"

"Oh yes, " said Jessie, advancing further into the room, "I would liketo if I can. What shall I do?"

"I will ask you to let me lean on your shoulder a little, that isall, dear. But will you wait just a moment while I finish preparingthe potatoes for my dinner?"

"Oh yes. I will wait, and--and--I'd like to help you, " said Jessie, half eager, half shy. "Thank you, dear, but I've nearly done, and itisn't worth while for you to wet your hands. Sit down instead andtalk to me. I heard that Mrs. Lang was having a little daughter tohelp her, and I have been hoping I should see you--but I haven't evenheard your name yet!"

"It is Jessie. "

"Oh, is it. I am very glad, for I had a dear little pupil oncecalled by that name, and I have been fond of it ever since. She wasreally, though, christened 'Jessica. '"

"I am only _called_ Jessie. I was christened Jessamine May, "explained Jessie seriously. "Grandfather has got a jessamine growingall over the front of his house, and he has ever such beautiful redmay-trees in the garden. They were there when mother was a littlegirl, and she loved them so dearly she called me after them, to keepher in mind of home. "

"What a pretty name, " said Miss Patch gently, "and what a beautifulthought. You are a little bit of a sweet garden transplanted intothe midst of a dingy street to brighten us up, and bring beautifuland fragrant things to our minds. Jessamine and may blossom, " sherepeated softly; "oh, the picture it calls up, and the sweetfragrance! I seem to see them and to smell them, even here! I amready now, little Jessamine May; shall we go to Charlie?"

Jessie sprang to her feet. "I think yours is such a pretty room, "she said half timidly; and then her eye falling on a rose-bush inMiss Patch's window, all her timidity vanished, and she sprangtowards it with a cry of mingled pleasure and pain. 

"Oh, you have a rose-bush, too!" she cried eagerly. "I had one atgranp's, and I loved it so. " The quivering of her lips prevented hersaying more, and the tears in her eyes made the rose-bush look allmisty and dim. 

Miss Patch saw and understood, and it was a very loving hand she laidon Jessie's shoulder. "I know, dear, I know how it feels--and youcannot understand the why and the wherefore of it all now--but youwill some day--and in the meantime you are come to be a bit of sweetgarden in our midst, to cheer us as your rose cheered you--and we doneed some brightness here, little Jessamine May, I can assure you. "And, somehow, Jessie felt much of her overwhelming sorrow vanish atthe little old lady's words, and as she helped her down the stairsshe felt quite cheered and happy again. 

Charlie's delight more than repaid Miss Patch for the pain and effortof going down to see him, and whilst they were all looking andadmiring, and agreeing what a wonderful improvement it was, and howmuch more comfortable and spacious the room looked, and in every waydesirable, Mrs. Lang returned and came up-stairs to see how her boyhad got on in her absence. 

Jessie had been rather dreading this moment, for she could not helpfeeling that she had been taking a great liberty, but Mrs. Lang wastoo weary and anxious to make troubles of trifles, and anything thatpleased her darling was sure to please her too. 

So she expressed her approval of their doings and sat down on thefoot of Charlie's bed to hear all about it, and all the advantages, and new charms and interests of having his bed in this position. 

Miss Patch sat on the ricketty chair and joined in occasionally, buther quick sympathy was aroused by the weariness on Mrs. Lang's face. 

"You look tired out, " she said kindly. 

"I feel so, " said Mrs. Lang listlessly. "The wind is almost morethan any one can battle with, and the damp seems to get into one'sbones. I feel ready to drop--and, oh, I've such a lot to do!"

"Mother, " said Jessie eagerly, "shall I make you a cup of tea?I know the kettle is boiling by this time. Don't you think it woulddo you good?"

Charlie's face lit up again. "Oh do, mother, do, and have it uphere, and Miss Patch have one, too, and Jessie, and me. "

"Well, I declare!" cried Mrs. Lang, quite taken aback. "What next! Inever heard of such a thing! I believe, though, that one would do megood, and I know I'd enjoy it ever so much. Miss Patch would, too, Ibelieve!"

Miss Patch smiled. "I'd enjoy one, " she laughed, "if I had to get upin the middle of the night for it. "

Without waiting for another word Jessie flew off to the kitchen. This was her chance she felt to do things nicely, so, while thekettle came to the boil, she polished the shabby tray and thetea-cups and spoons. She had no pretty white cloth to lay on thetray, unfortunately, but she had a sheet of white paper that she hadsaved from a parcel, and she spread this on the tray, then arrangedon it the cups and saucers and milk-jug and sugar-basin. She madethe tea next and put out some biscuits on a plate. 

She could not carry all up at once, so she took the tray first, thencame back for the teapot and kettle. A second chair was got fromMrs. Lang's bedroom, and then the sociable little meal was begun. 

It did not last long, but half-an-hour, at the longest. Yet it wasone of those bright little spots which linger long in the memory andmake one glad, though sometimes sad, to look back upon. 

"Well, I must get on, my work won't do itself, I guess, " sighed Mrs. Lang, at last reluctantly preparing to rise, but Charlie put out hishand to detain her. 

"Don't go yet, mother, wait a minute, I want Miss Patch to sing. Miss Patch, you will sing to us, just once, won't you?" he pleaded. "That one you used to sing to me. Oh, do! please! please!"

"But, my dear, my dinner is on cooking, and--and"--Miss Patch'scheeks flushed a delicate pink, she was very shy--"I--I ain'taccustomed to singing, except to myself, and--well, I used to sing toyou sometimes when you were very little and didn't know what goodsinging was. "

"It was lovely, " said Charlie earnestly, "and nobody ever sings to menow, " he added wistfully. 

Miss Patch's tender heart was touched, and her shyness overcome. "Very well, dear, I will, " she agreed bravely, and it was reallybrave of her, for to do so cost her a great effort. "Perhaps wecould choose a hymn we all know, and we could all join in. I am surewe all know 'Safe in the arms of Jesus, ' or 'There's a home forlittle children. ' You know them, don't you, Jessamine May?"

"Yes, " said Jessie, "granp and I used to sing them on Sundayafternoons. "

But when they had begun "There's a home for little children, " MissPatch was soon left to sing it through alone, for Charlie was tooexhausted, and after the first line or so Mrs. Lang could not get outanother word for the pain at her heart and the lump in her throat, and taking Charlie in her arms she sat with bowed head looking downat him. 

"Would it be better--for him, " she thought heart-brokenly, "would notthat home be better than this--the only one she could give him--andwhat was to become of him if he lost her?" But she forced thethought away. "And what is to become of me--if I lose him?" sheasked herself fiercely--and found no answer. 

The last verse was reached, and she felt almost glad, the pain andthe pathos were more than she could bear. 

"Now, one more, " pleaded Charlie's weak voice from the shelter of hismother's arms, and Miss Patch in her thin, sweet voice sang to aplaintive chanting air of her own the beautiful hymn written by MissM. Betham-Edwards--

 "God make my life a little light Within the world to glow; A little flame that burneth bright Wherever I may go. "

 "God made my life a little flower, That giveth joy to all, Content to bloom in native bower Although its place be small. "

 "God make my life a little staff, Whereon the weak may rest, That so what health and strength I have May serve my neighbours best. "

"It isn't a real tune, " she explained shyly, when she had reached theend. "I liked the words so much that I learnt them by heart, andthey ran in my head until I found myself singing them to any sort ofdrone that would fit them. "

"I think it is all lovely, " said Charlie; "don't you, Jessie?"

"Oh, _lovely_, " breathed Jessie softly. She was too deeply impressedto be able to talk much. "God make my life a little flower, " thewords repeated themselves again in her brain. "Miss Patch called mea piece of sweet garden. I wonder--" But what Jessie wondered shecould not put into words. 

In a vague way, that she scarcely as yet understood, it had suddenlycome home to her that, perhaps, after all it was for some goodpurpose that she had been called upon to bear all that she had tobear. Without those sweet, happy years at Springbrook she couldnever have come as a little piece of sweet garden to this sad cornerof the world. Perhaps God had something for her--even a little girllike herself--to do for Him. And she would try her utmost, shedetermined--yes, her utmost; to do her best in the new life she hadbeen called to, and to make others happier by her presence. 

CHAPTER X. 

CHARLIE REACHES HOME. 

After that exciting morning, Jessie saw Miss Patch always once a day, at least, for she never failed to go up to her room to ask her if shecould do any errands, or anything else for her, and very, very gladMiss Patch was, many a time, to be saved the long drag down all thestairs and up again, and the walk through the cold wet streets duringthe bitter winter months. 

Being saved this much exertion, she was able to get down oftener tosee Charlie, and both he and Jessie loved these visits of hers. More than once, too, when her husband was away, Mrs. Lang came for abrief spell, and they had tea together again in Charlie's room. 

It was on one of the occasions when she was alone with Miss Patchthat Jessie told of her Sunday-school in the garden, or by thefireside, with her grandfather. Her tears fell as she told of it, and her deep grief broke out uncontrollably, but Miss Patch did nottry to check her story, she let her tell it all, thinking it would bebetter for her. 

"And I've never been to Sunday-school, or to church since, " shesobbed. "Father won't let me. "

It was to Miss Patch, too, that she sobbed out the story of thatdreadful day, and her grief for her grandparents and their suspense. "It would not be so bad, " she moaned, "if father would Let me writeto them and tell them I am well and--and safe, and--and not so veryunhappy; and I wouldn't mind so much if I knew how they were, butgranny was ill, and I know granp would feel it dreadfully losing melike that and never knowing what had become of me. They don't knowwhere I am, or if I am alive or dead, and--and it has nearly killedthem, I expect!" and her tears choked her. 

"Will not your father let you write?" asked Miss Patch in a huskyvoice. The cruelty of it all made her kind heart ache with pain andindignation. 

Jessie shook her pretty head mournfully. "No. He says it wouldunsettle me, and they would be always worrying round, and he wantspeace and quietness--but, oh, Miss Patch, they loved me so, it musthave nearly broken their hearts! And--and I love them so, I feelsometimes I can't bear it, I can't, I can't. I feel I _must_ runaway and find my way back to them. I am sure "--hopefully--"I could. "

Miss Patch laid her thin hand very kindly on Jessie's bowed head. "Don't ever do that, dear! Don't ever set yourself against God'swill. You are told in the Bible to obey your God and your earthlyfather, and God must have sent you here for some good purpose, dear. Perhaps to teach you something we cannot understand yet, perhaps tobring help and happiness to--to others, to your mother, and dearlittle Charlie there, and--and me. 

 "God make my life a little staff, Whereon the weak may rest, That so what health and strength I have May serve my neighbours best. 

"I think that is what God wants you for, little flower, to help usand bring joy to us in this gloomy corner of the world; and, oh, mydear, you have such chances here. And if you go on trusting andhoping, little Jessamine, trying to hold the faith that neverfaileth, all will come right. I know it will, I am sure. "

Jessie lifted a very eager face to her old friend. "Do you reallythink so?" she asked anxiously. 

"I am sure of it, dear; quite sure. "

Silence fell on them both for a few moments, then Jessie looked upwith a face alight with eagerness. "Miss Patch, couldn't I have alittle Sunday-school for Charlie, just like granp had for me?I couldn't teach him, but I could read to him, and learn hymns withhim, couldn't I? Don't you think it would be nice?"

"I think it is a beautiful idea, " agreed Miss Patch warmly. Then, after a moment, she added, "How would you like it if I had theschool, and you both came to me? I could go down to Charlie's room, as a rule, but I do believe that sometimes you might both come up tome. If he were carried up very carefully and laid on my bed I feelsure it would not hurt him, and I think the change of surroundingsmight even do him good. What do you think of that plan?" and MissPatch looked nearly as eager as Jessie by the time she had finishedspeaking. 

Jessie had sprung to her feet with excitement. "I think it isperfectly lovely, " she cried, "perfectly lovely! Shall we begin nextSunday? Oh, do, please! and may I go down and tell Charlie? He willbe _so_ glad. Thank you ever and ever so much, " and putting up herhands she drew Miss Patch's thin face down to her own and kissed itwarmly. 

Charlie was as delighted as Jessie, and the prospect of going up toMiss Patch's room for an hour or so filled him with joyfulexcitement. Mrs. Lang was pleased, too. Anything that gave Charliepleasure was sure to give her pleasure, and she was thankful for anymeans of teaching him and giving him new interests. 

No one told Harry Lang about it, for he took no interest in anythingthey did, and they knew too well that his crooked temper would finddelight in putting a stop to any little scheme they made. Tom Salterknew, though, for having met Mrs. Lang one day struggling up thestairs with Charlie in her arms, wrapped in blankets, he insisted oncarrying him up for her, every time he went, after that, and when hewas asked to stay, he did stay, and listened to Miss Patch reading, and joined in the hymns, and after the first time he came quiteoften. 

Jessie was delighted, she liked Tom Salter, for though he spoke butlittle, he had often done her a kindness, helping her carry a heavyscuttle of coal up the stairs, or a pail of water; and many a time, of a Saturday night, he cleaned several pairs of the lodgers' bootsfor her in readiness for Sunday; and many other kindly acts he haddone, that meant much to the little over-burthened worker, forJessie's life was a hard one in those days. 

Miss Patch took care of her own room, and required no attention, butthere were two lodgers in the front rooms on each landing, and allrequired meals cooked and carried to their rooms mornings andevenings, their rooms swept and dusted, their boots cleaned, and ahundred little attentions, and to Jessie it seemed as though shespent most of her life on the stairs, on her way up or down, generally carrying heavy trays or a load of some sort. 

Then there were the beds to help to make, windows to clean, rooms andstairs to sweep, and numberless other duties. Fortunately, Jessieliked housework, and Mrs. Dawson might well have been proud of herpupil, could she have seen the difference that by degrees crept overthe look of the house, both inside and out, as time went on. 

The windows were kept bright now, and the sills whitened; thedoorsteps, which used to be so dirty and neglected, were now keptswept and whitened, too; and the lodgers appreciated the change, andsaid so more than once. 

So the days and weeks passed by, and the weeks became months, andsoon the months had become a whole year. Jessie could not believe itwhen Charlie first drew her attention to the fact. A whole year!

What could have become of poor granny and granp all this time!She wondered if they ever wept and wept, and longed for her as shedid for them. Sometimes, when the wind howled, or some one playedsad music in the streets, she felt as though her heart would breakwith its weight of sad longing. 

Fortunately for her, her days were too full and busy to allow ofconstant repining; and at night she was too weary to lie awake longgrieving. Miss Patch had said, "Have faith and trust and all willcome right some day, " and Jessie did try to have faith, and to trusthopefully, though she worked hard and the fond poor, though herfather was neglectful and cruel, and her mother gloomy and reserved. 

 "God make my life a little flower, That giveth joy to all, Content to bloom in native bower, Although its place be small. "

She sang, and she did try hard to be content, and to do what shecould, and the result was that in many ways she was happy in spite ofall. 

She loved Miss Patch, and the lonely little old woman loved her, andhelped her over many a stony bit of road. Charlie loved her, andclung to her, too, and her mother, she fancied, was fond of her inher own quiet, cold way. At any rate, she never beat her, as herfather did, or scolded and bullied her. But soon after her secondyear in London had begun a new trouble, and a very heavy one, came toJessie. Charlie, she was sure, was getting worse. 

He was growing thinner, and paler, and feebler, week by week. The first time the truth dawned on her was one Sunday, when he saidlanguidly that he thought he would not go up to Miss Patch's roomthat afternoon, he was too tired. 

Jessie was so astounded that for a second or so she could only standand stare at him. Then, with a sudden sharp fear at her heart, sheflew to his side. 

"Aren't you feeling very well?" she asked anxiously, and Charlieshook his head, but with tears in his eyes, tears of weakness anddisappointment. 

"Shall I ask Miss Patch to come down here?" she asked presently, longing to rouse and cheer him. But he only shook his head again. 

"No, thank you, it would be too much trouble for her, and--don't youthink it would be nice to stay quiet, just by ourselves, thisafternoon?" he asked. "Will you read to me, or tell me aboutSpringbrook?"

"Of course I will, dear, " she answered warmly; "but--but I had bettergo up and tell Miss Patch, hadn't I, or she would think it unkind?"

This, though, was not her only reason for going. She wanted to bealone, away from him for a moment, to try and recover herself, andface this new shock. 

"Miss Patch, " she cried in a tone of agony, "I believe Charlie isworse, he seems so quiet, and so tired, and--and--Oh, Miss Patch, what shall I do! He _must_ get better, he must, he must. "

But the tears came into Miss Patch's eyes too, and she had littlecomfort to offer. She had long had grave fears, and though she hadtried to put them aside, she had never quite succeeded. 

But Jessie had to control herself, for Charlie was waiting for her. "When these fogs are gone, and the spring comes, and the sunshine, "she said, trying to pluck up hope, "he will be better, I am sure. "

"This weather certainly tries the strongest, " said Miss Patch, with asigh. "We will hope for the best, dear. We all of us have our baddays, don't we? Charlie may be much better to-morrow; we must try tokeep his spirits up, and make him as cheerful and happy as we can. "But Jessie, as she went down the stairs again, wondered how thatwould be possible when she herself felt so far from being either. 

Christmas came and went, and the spring came, but without bringing toCharlie the strength and health that Jessie prayed for so earnestlyfor him. He never again went up to Miss Patch's room toSunday-school, so Miss Patch came down to him, and read or sang tohim, just as he wished. They had no lessons now, for he could notbear even that slight strain, and, as Miss Patch said, with tearstrickling down her worn cheeks--

"What good is my teaching now? He will soon know more than any ofus. We can only help and strengthen him for the last hard steps ofhis journey. " And Tom Salter, to whom she spoke, said huskily--

"You'd be a help to anybody, miss; don't 'ee give way now, don't 'eegive way, " and all the time he was wiping the back of his hand acrosshis own wet eyes. "'Tisn't _his_ journey that'll be the hardest andstormiest, I'm thinking, " added Tom, "'tis those he'll leave behind. Who is going to break it to his mother? She doesn't seem to see itfor herself--though how she can help it is past my understanding. "

Poor Miss Patch's hands shook, and her tears fell faster. "I can't, I can't, " she murmured, "but yet--I suppose I ought--there's nobodyelse to do it. "

It was Charlie himself, though, who saved her that pain. "Mother, "he said one evening, when she came to get him ready for the night, "would you be very unhappy if I went away from you?"

"What do you mean?" she cried, in sudden fear. "You--you--"

"Would you, mother?" he persisted. 

"Be unhappy! Why, I should break my heart--you are all I have tocare for, or live for, or--"

He put his little wasted arm about her neck, and drew her frightenedface down to his. "Mother, when I go away you will know I am happy--but Jessie has gone away from her poor old granp and granny, and theydon't know--they think she is very unhappy and badly treated, and--and, mother, I want you to try and get father to let Jessie go backto them again, they must be so dreadfully sad about her. I oftenthink about them--I can't help it--and it makes me feel so sad. "He was silent for a moment. "I wish I could see them, " he addeddreamily, "that I could tell them how I love her, and how kind shehas been to me, and--and that she isn't so _very_ unhappy. "

Mrs. Lang had stood staring down at him speechless, stricken suddenlynumb and dumb with an awful overwhelming terror. 

"Charlie--you--you ain't feeling ill--worse--are you? What's thematter, dear? Why do you talk so? What do you mean by 'when you goaway'?" Her lips could scarcely form the last words, for she knew aswell as he could tell her. It had come suddenly to her understandingthat he was going a long, long journey--and soon; the last journey, from which there was no returning. 

With a heart-broken cry she fell on her knees by the bed. "You ain'tgoing, you shan't! Charlie, you shan't go away from me--you muststay with me till I go too--"

"You will come to me, mother, but I shall go first, and I'll tell Godall about how you have had to work, and how hard it has been for you, and He will understand--"

"You can't--you mustn't go! Oh, my dear, my dear, don't leave me. "

"Oh, mother, I am _so_ tired, and I--I think I want to go, but I wantyou to come too. You will, won't you, mother?" and he tried again todraw her face down to his. 

"I will try, " she promised faintly, and then burst into a passion ofheart-broken sobs. 

A month later, when in the country the hedges were full of primrosesand violets, and pure little daisies, Charlie took the last steps ofhis painful journey, and reached the "rest" for which he craved. 

It was on a Saturday that his brief journey through this life ended, and on the Sunday those whom he had loved--his mother, and Jessie, Miss Patch and Tom Salter--gathered in the little bare, quietbedroom, with him in the midst of them once more, but so silent now, so very quiet and still. 

"I am sure he is with us in spirit, the darling, " said Miss Patchsoftly, as she looked at the worn little face, so peaceful now, andfree from the drawn lines of pain they had worn hitherto; and, whilethey all knelt around his bed, she said a few simple prayers, such aswent straight to their sad hearts, and sowed the germs, at least, ofcomfort there; and while they still knelt, thinking their own sadthoughts, her sweet voice broke softly into song. 

 "Sleep on, beloved, sleep and take thy rest. Lay down thy head upon thy Saviour's breast, We love thee well, but Jesus loves thee best-- Good-night!"

The others knelt, rapt, breathless, afraid to move lest they shouldbreak the spell and the sweet singing, or lose one of the beautifulwords. Through the whole exquisite hymn she continued until the lastverse was reached--

 "Until we meet again before His throne, Clothed in the spotless robes He gives His own, Until we know, even as we are known;-- Good-night!"

Voice and words died away together. Then one by one they rose and, bending over him, kissed him fondly. 

"Good-night, little Charlie, 'good-night, ' not 'good-bye. '"

CHAPTER XI. 

TOO LATE. 

When Harry Lang was told that Charlie was dead, he looked shocked forthe moment, then, having remarked glibly that "it was all for thebest, " and "at any rate he wouldn't suffer any more, " he told Jessieto make haste and get him some food, and became absorbed in makinghis own plans for his own comfort. 

He hated trouble, and sadness, and discomfort of others' making, andhe made up his mind at once to go away out of it for a time, and notreturn until the funeral, at any rate, was over. So at the end ofhis meal he announced to Jessie that he had to go away for a week onbusiness. He wouldn't bother her mother by telling her about it now, while she was worn out and trying to rest, but Jessie could tell herby and by. 

What he should have done, of course, was to remain at home andrelieve his poor stricken wife of all the painful details thatnecessarily followed the seeing about the little coffin, the grave, and the funeral. But Harry Lang had trained people well for his ownpurposes. No one ever expected assistance of any kind from him; so, instead of missing him, most people felt his absence as only a greatrelief. Mrs. Lang and Jessie did so now. 

At the end of ten days he came back again, expecting to find not onlythe funeral a thing of the past, but all feelings of loss and sorrowto be put away out of sight and memory. 

"You'll be able to take in another lodger now, " he remarked abruptlyto his wife as he ate his supper on the night of his return. "There's a friend of mine that'll be glad to take the room, and he'llhave his breakfast and supper here with me, just as Tom Salter does. "

Mrs. Lang did not speak until he had finished; then, without lookingat him, she answered curtly, "I am not taking any more lodgers. "

Her husband looked up in sudden rage and astonishment. He had neverheard his wife speak like that before, and it gave him quite a shock. 

"Not--not--" he gasped; "and whose house is this, I'd like to know;and who, may I ask, is master here?"

"The house belongs to the one that pays the rent. This house ismine, and I am master here, and mistress too, " she answered coldlybut firmly; "and if I did want another lodger, I shouldn't take afriend of yours; I am going to keep my house respectable, as far as Ican--or give it up. "

Harry Lang's voice completely failed him, and he sat silently staringat his wife in wide-eyed amazement. He had thought he had long agokilled all the spirit in her, and here she was declaring herindependence in the calmest manner possible, and actually defyinghim--and he could find nothing to say or do! Her tone to him, andthe opinion, it was only too evident, she held of him, hurt andmortified him more than he had ever thought possible; for in his ownopinion he had always been a tremendously fine fellow, very superiorindeed to those poor creatures who went tamely to work, day afterday, and handed their money over to their wives; and he thought everyone else was of the same opinion. 

"I--I think trouble or something has turned your brain!" he stutteredat last, "and you had better look sharp and get it right again, I cantell you, or I'll know the reason why. "

"My brain is all right, " said Mary Lang quietly; "trouble has turnedmy heart, perhaps, and that isn't likely ever to get right again; butI don't see that that can matter to you. You never cared for me ormy heart, or how I felt, or how anybody else felt, but yourself. "

"I care about Bert Snow coming here to lodge, and he's coming, too!Do you hear? I told him he could, and I ain't going to be made tolook small--"

"You won't look any smaller, " said his wife reassuringly, and hewondered stupidly exactly what she meant, or if she meant anything. "You must tell your friend he cannot come here, I haven't got a roomfor him. I am not going to have such as he in Charlie's room. Jessie is to have it, and it's about time, I think, that yourdaughter had a bed and a room fit for her to sleep in, " she addedscathingly. 

Harry Lang did not care in the least whether Jessie had or had not abed, or if she slept on the doorstep; but he cared very much abouthis friend, and he meant to have his own way. But though he stormed, and bullied, and even struck his wife, he found her, for the firsttime, as firm as adamant, and quite as indifferent to him. His orders meant nothing to her, and the change in her impressed himvery much. 

So Jessie, for the first time since she left Springbrook, had a realbedroom again, and a place she could call her own. She did not quitelike using it, but she felt that her mother wished it. Mrs. Langwould have liked to keep the little room always sacred to the memoryof him who had spent most of his little life in it, but rather Jessieshould have it than that it should be desecrated by a betting, drinking, gambling stranger, who would pollute it, she felt, by hispresence!

So Jessie and her possessions were installed. It was not a longbusiness, for her belongings were very few. She had not had a pennyor a gift of any kind since she came to London, except a little bookof hymns that Miss Patch had given her, and one of Charlie'sfavourite books which he had wished her to have. Her little stock ofclothing had never been added to since she came, until now, when herstepmother seemed to find pleasure in providing her with a verythorough outfit of mourning. 

Now that she had lost her boy, the one and only joy that was hers, Mrs. Lang seemed to turn to Jessie with more real affection than shehad ever shown before. Jessie had loved her dead darling, and anyone who had loved him or been good to him had all the gratefuldevotion of the poor mother's aching heart. 

Charlie's little room was re-papered and painted, his little bed wasput away, and another bought for Jessie, and on the floor was spreada new rug. Jessie soon grew to take quite a pride in her littleroom. She scrubbed the floor every week, and polished the windowuntil it put to shame most of the windows in the neighbourhood. Miss Patch gave her a piece of pretty chintz to hang at the back ofher looking-glass, and Tom Salter actually brought her home one day achina vase to stand on her mantelpiece. Jessie was proud and pleasedsure enough then! and, as time went on, and she grew to miss Charlieless, she would have been quite happy if she might but have writtento her grandfather and grandmother, or could have had some tidings ofthem. 

But month after month went by, and still the same suspense continued. She did not even know if they were alive or dead. 

Lodgers came and went, some pleasant, some very much the reverse;some kind, some exacting. Jessie worked early and late at school andat home. The school did not count for much in her life, and she madeno real friends amongst the children. Her earlier delicate trainingmade her feel she was not one of them; their speech and mannersjarred on her, and having lived most of her life with grown-ups, shehad no knowledge of games, or play, nor any skill in either, andtheir tastes did not interest her, nor hers interest them. She wouldfar rather sit with Miss Patch, and talk or read to her, or be readto. Miss Patch was teaching her some different kinds of needlework, and while Jessie worked her teacher would read to her; and thosereadings in that peaceful room were Jessie's greatest delight. 

Then one day, when they least expected it, came an end to it all, andall the ordinary everyday life they had lived together in that housefor months past was finished by a violent knocking at the front door. At least that was the first sign they had of the change that wasimpending!

Such a knocking it was! it echoed through the house, and up and downthe street, making them both spring to their feet in dire alarm. Miss Patch gave a sharp cry and her hand flew to her side. Jessie's face blanched, and her eyes grew dark with fear. 

"Who can it be!" she gasped; "who--what--what can have happened?"Mrs. Lang was out, gone to the cemetery, so there was no one toanswer the knock but Jessie herself, and realizing it she rantrembling down the stairs. She had delayed only a moment, but beforeshe reached the foot of the stairs there came another knock, longerand louder than the first. Jessie threw herself on the door andflung it open. A man was standing on the step, evidently trying tokeep himself from making another assault on the door. He seemedalmost beside himself with excitement or fright, or something verylike both. 

"Where's your mother?" he demanded impatiently. 

"Out, " said Jessie shortly, something in the man's manner increasedher alarm until she could scarcely utter a word. "She's--gone--tothe cemetery, " she gasped in explanation. "I think--she'll be--home--soon. "

The day was already waning, and the sun going down. She looked outanxiously, longing to see her mother come into sight. The man gavean impatient click of his tongue. 

"What am I to do?" he demanded testily, gazing anxiously up and downthe street, but as he seemed to be addressing only the air, orhimself, Jessie did not feel obliged or able to make any suggestion. 

"Look here, " he said, turning quickly round to her, "there has beenan accident, and--and I came to--to--break it to your mother. I knowher and your--your father. I lived here once, and--and I thought itmight be kind to break it to her before the police came for her. "

Jessie's heart almost stood still with fright. "The p'lice, " shegasped, "for mother!--oh, what has happened?"

"There's been an accident to your father; there was a bit of a fightin the train coming home from the races, and--and he got flungagainst the door, and it opened--and he fell out. "

A low cry of horror broke from Jessie. Instinct told her that thenews was very serious. If her father had not been severely injured--or worse, the man would not have been so upset. 

"Is--is--" she gasped. 

"He is taken to the hospital, " responded the man quickly, almost asthough he was anxious to check her next question. 

"Ah! there is mother!" cried Jessie in a tone of infinite relief, asshe saw her appear at the gate. Mrs. Lang looked very white and verytired, and an expression of vague fear came into her eyes as theyfell on pale, trembling Jessie, and the stranger, also pale andevidently greatly agitated. She lived always in a state of dread ofsome disaster or disgrace, and instinct told her that one or theother had come. 

The man went down the steps to meet her. Jessie stood waiting at thedoor; she would have gone forward too, but that she was shaking so, she felt she should never get down the steps. So she stood theresupporting herself by the door, and watched her mother's face, andsaw the shocked look that came over it. She could not hear all thatwas said, but she caught fragments of sentences, "Come at once"--"alive when I left. " "Searching him for his name and address, but Iknew Harry--and came along to prepare you. He's at St. Mary's. "

Mrs. Lang came up to the door to Jessie, holding out her basket andumbrella for her to take. She dragged her limbs almost like aparalyzed woman, and her eyes looked dazed. "I'll be back--as soonas I can, " she said; but her lips seemed stiff and scarcely able tomove. "You look after the house. " She was turning away, when shesuddenly turned, and stooping, kissed Jessie for the first time inher life; and Jessie, looking up, flung her arms around herstepmother's neck and kissed her in return. This new trouble hadbrought them very close. 

With tear-blinded eyes Jessie turned and groped her way back into thehouse to face that hardest of all trials--suspense. Slowly, slowlyshe dragged herself down to the kitchen to see to the fire, then upthe stairs to Miss Patch to tell her the news and wait. 

Before long, though, they both crept down to the kitchen, so as to beat hand when needed; but Jessie could not keep still, the suspensewas hard to bear, and made her restless. She wandered aimlessly fromfire to window and back again. They talked a little, speculating asto what was happening, and what they should hear, and Jessie lit thelamps as soon as the dimness gave her the slightest excuse. A greatdread of troubles and changes, and they knew not what else, filledthem both. 

Fortunately the suspense did not last very long. Before two hourshad passed they heard footsteps coming up the path to the house. Jessie knew them, and flew out to meet her mother. Miss Patchstirred the fire into a cheerful blaze, then smiled to herself at theuselessness of her own act. She longed to do so much, yet was ableto do so little. 

Mrs. Lang came in slowly, heavily; her face was white, her eyes werered. 

"He is dead, " she gasped, as she dropped heavily into a chair. "He is dead!" and her voice grew high and shrill and quavering. 

"Poor soul, poor soul, " sighed Miss Patch softly. "Did he suffermuch? I hope he was spared that. "

"He was never conscious, he--he--had no time to be sorry--to repent, or try to be better. He was struck down in the midst of all hiswickedness and folly, with lying and cheating and bad language allabout him. His last feeling was passion--and so he died--and I feelthat I am as bad as any of them, I never tried to save him, " and thepoor widow laid her head on her outstretched arms and sobbeduncontrollably. 

Miss Patch laid her thin arm around the shaking shoulder. "You did. My dear, you did. When first you knew him you were always trying. "

"And then I got tired and gave up, and never tried any more, and wedrifted further and further away--and now it is too late. He isdead, dead in all his sinfulness!"

Jessie crept away and up to her own little room. It was dark thereand peaceful; the street outside was unusually quiet, awed intosilence, for the time, by the tragedy in their midst--for the newshad spread like wildfire. 

The window was open, and up in the steely blue sky the moon wassailing, large, peaceful, grand. Jessie knelt by the window andgazed up at the sky and the moon, awed and wondering. She was dazedand overcome by all that had happened. Then she buried her face inher hands and prayed that her mother might be comforted. 

She tried to think of some good deeds her father had done; but, alas, poor child, she could think of none, though it seemedtreacherous to his memory to try, and fail. 

Two days later Harry Lang was laid in his grave. Quite a crowdattended his funeral, but only four "mourners, " and the chief ofthose four were the two he had wronged most, his widow and his child. Tom Salter, who had shown himself kind and helpful and full ofthought in this terrible time, went to support the widow, and MissPatch, in spite of her lameness, and pain, and weakness, went too, asa mark of respect to those that were left, and as a companion forpoor Jessie. 

Everything was done as nicely and carefully as though the dead manhad been the best of husbands and fathers; no outward mark of respectwas lacking; but, though none spoke it aloud, each one felt, as theyreturned to the empty house, that there was none of that awful senseof blankness, of loss, of heartrending silence, which usually fillsthe house that death has visited, the feeling that something is gonewhich can never, never return. There was, instead, almost a sense ofrelief, a feeling of peace. They all tried not to feel it, andnothing would have made them admit it, even to themselves; but it wasthere--one of the most sad and awe-inspiring feelings of thatdreadful day. 

Tom Salter left them as soon as he had seen them home, and went up tohis room to change into his every-day clothes. His young, almostboyish face was very grave and thoughtful. "God help me never tolive to leave such a feeling behind me, " he thought to himselfsolemnly. 

Life after this should have settled down into the usual groove again, and so Jessie thought, with the difference that a great discomfortand ever-present dread would be gone. Somehow, though, it did not. 

Mrs. Lang, looking ill, and worn to a shadow, seemed grave andabstracted, and full of thoughts which she did not share with anyone. She was often absent, too, on business of which she did notspeak. At first Jessie noticed none of all this, she thought hermother's manner was simply the result of the shock and the troubleshe had been through; then, by degrees, it came to her that thingswere different, that there was something in the air that she couldnot understand or explain, but she felt that changes were impending. 

Often when she looked up she found her mother gazing at herwistfully, it seemed, and questioningly. More than once, too, shedrew Jessie on to talk of her old home and her grandparents, and ofher longing to see them again; and then one day her mother came toher and asked her if she remembered her grandfather's address!

Jessie knew then that her surmises were correct, and her heart beatfast with wonderment and hopes and fears, and a thousand questionspoured through her brain. 

CHAPTER XII. 

SPRINGBROOK AGAIN. 

Thomas Dawson was sitting in his chair in the garden enjoying thewarmth of the October sunshine. The weather was unusually warm forthe time of the year, and the little breeze which blew across thegarden was very acceptable. The long graceful tendrils of thejessamine rose and fell like soft green waves above his head, alittle cloud of dust rose and skidded along the road, to theannoyance of some lazy cows being driven home to the milking. 

But Thomas heeded none of these things, he sat with his head sunk onhis breast, his eyes staring gloomily before him, his thoughts faraway. He had aged ten years and more in the last two. A very slightsound, though from within the house, roused him in an instant andbrought him to his feet. 

"I'm coming, mother, I'm coming, " he called, and went indoors. "I expect it's pretty nigh tea-time, isn't it?" he asked, withaffected cheerfulness; "the fire only wants a stir, and the kettle'llboil in no time. "

Patience nodded and took up the poker. She was very slow of speechin those days, but it was a grand relief to know that she could speakat all, and break the silence which had held her for weeks and monthsafter the stroke of paralysis which had seized her on that dreadfulday when Harry Lang had stolen Jessie from them. 

Thomas, coming back from market that night, had found his wifeunconscious and helpless, and when at last she had recovered hersenses it was long before she could speak and explain something ofthe terrible happenings of that afternoon; and even now, at the endof two years, her speech was still thick and slow, and her limbs onone side partially helpless. 

Thomas spread the cloth on the table, and placed the china on it forher to arrange. The old man waited on his wife like a mother on herchild, and nothing could exceed his patient devotion. With her hewas always bright and cheery, and only his bowed back and snow-whitehair and altogether aged appearance told of his own consuming griefand anxiety. 

He cut the bread and butter, and made the tea with all the deftnessof a woman. Patience watched him with the tears smarting behind herlids. When he had filled their cups he sat down, facing the window, and looking out along the garden to the little gate. They did nottalk much. Thomas's mind had gone back to that morning when he hadlooked out and seen Daniel Magor at the gate with letters in hishand--that wonderful letter which had so altered and beautified theirexistence for a time, only to blight them both cruelly. 

"I believe it's Miss Grace I see coming in, " he said presently, rousing with a start. "She's at the gate, and--yes, she'sunfastening it. I'll go and meet her. "

On his way through the garden he saw a cat lazily basking on his bestwall-flower seedlings, and drove her away; the excitement of itprevented his noticing the expression of Miss Grace's face, theanxious, excited look in her eyes. 

"Good-evening, Mr. Dawson, " she said, as she came close. "I was atthe post office getting my letters, and there was one lying there foryou, so I said I would bring it, as it was marked 'Urgent. 'It seemed wrong to leave it there until to-morrow, I thought it mightbe important. "

She handed him the envelope, but she did not turn and go. "I thinkI'll step in and speak to Mrs. Dawson for a moment or so, " she saidquietly, "just while you look at your letter, then I'll go, that youmay talk it over with her. "

She felt that her little scheme was rather a clumsy one, but she hada strong conviction that it might be well for her to be there justthen. "I will go inside, " and she left him standing there in theautumn sunlight staring at the letter he held in his trembling hands. He turned it over several times before he would make up his mind toopen it. There was always a dread overshadowing him in those days ofwhat he might have to hear. 

Miss Grace had barely got through her first greetings, and declinedPatience's offer of a cup of tea "fresh-made, " when the door wasflung open and Thomas almost fell in. In trouble he would haveremembered his wife's affliction, and have hedged her round withevery care, but joy was another thing. It was on joy that he hadbuilt his hopes of restoring her to her former self--and here it was, in his grasp!

"Mother!--Jessie!--I've heard from her!! Mother, mother, do youhear, there's news of her at last?"

Miss Grace stepped nearer and stood by the poor old woman, laying afirm hand on her shoulder, she could see how she was shaking. "If it is good news, tell her quickly, " she said anxiously. 

Thomas read the expression of Miss Grace's face, and recoveredhimself at once. His care for Patience was always his first thought. 

"Good! My dear, yes, good as good can be. Better than I ever hopedfor. She is well, and she's coming back, to _us_, mother! do youhear? She is coming back for good. It doesn't seem possible, itdoesn't seem as though it can be true, yet it says so on the letter. Hark to it--in't it like the dear child herself speaking?"

The terrified look which had come into Patience's face died away. She could not speak, but she put out one shaking hand and thrust itinto that of her husband, and so they read the glad news. It was acurious, excited, incoherent letter, but it told them all they wantedto know, for the time, at any rate. 

 "My Dearest Granp, "I have been longing to write all this time and tell you where I am, but I could not, and now father is dead and Charlie, and mother wants to go home to live with her father, and I am coming home to you! Mother told me to write and ask if I may, and I am very well and happy, but, oh, I am longing to see you and granny. I nearly broke my heart at first, but I am coming home again, and I am so happy, only I am sorry, too, to leave here, and the lady who has been so kind to me. She is old and feels very miserable at being left all alone. Good-bye, granp and granny. I shall come as soon as ever I can when I hear from you. Please write soon. Give my love to granny, I hope she'll soon get better, "From your loving, " "Jessie Lang. "

It was well that Miss Grace stayed by the old couple, for they bothneeded her by the time the letter was read. 

"She is well, and she must have met with kindness, or she would notbe sorry to leave, " she said cheerfully. "Now, Mrs. Dawson, we shallhave her back with us almost at once, so it behoves us to set aboutgetting everything ready for her, " she went on, in her sensible, matter-of-fact way, for she felt that the best thing for both of themwas to keep them busy with preparations. 

Patience caught her spirit at once. "You must write to-night, Thomas, " she said eagerly, "you mustn't delay, for the child iswaiting for a word and she mustn't be disappointed, whatever happens. I expect she's pretty nigh broken her heart many a time longing towrite to us, and--and--her father wouldn't let her. I can readbetween the lines. I'm sure 'twas his doings--"

"He is dead now, " said Miss Grace softly, "so we will forgive him andput away all hard thoughts of him, and maybe your little flower wastaken from you just to brighten a dark corner for the time, and bringhappiness to others--perhaps to learn some lesson that will help herin the future. "

"Maybe, " said Patience, but more gently; "my little blossom, " sheadded softly. "P'raps it was greedy to want to keep her to ourselvesalways. "

Thomas had dropped into a chair by the door. "I've got to write, andI can't, " he said solemnly, looking up with a half comic, halfwistful look in his blue eyes. "My hands is shaking, and my wits isshaking, and--and--but I must, of course, and I am going to Nortonto-night to post it, so as the child can get it in the morning. "

"No--excuse me--you are not, " said Miss Grace, shaking her head athim, laughing, but decisive. "I have my bicycle. I can go there andback in next to no time. With shaking wits and hands you are notfit! Besides, what would Mrs. Dawson do all the evening without you?No, Mr. Dawson, you write the letter and I will do the rest. "

She put paper and pens and ink before him on a little table out inthe porch, and she and Patience kept very quiet so that they mightnot interrupt him; but it was no good, he could not write, he reallywas too much excited and overcome. So at last Miss Grace wrote alittle letter for him, one that brought satisfaction to both of them. It expressed their amazement, their joy and excitement, and senttheir dearest love, and some little news of them. "Your granny isstronger and more active than she has been for a long time, " shewrote, "and perhaps your coming will make her quite well and able toget about again. " She felt she ought to prepare Jessie for some ofthe change she would see. 

"There, that is the business part, as you might call it, " she said, placing the letter in an envelope, "but I am sure she will worry ifthere isn't a word from you, Mr. Dawson. Can you write just a tinymessage to slip in with mine?--just to say how glad you are. "

"Glad!" cried Thomas; "glad is a poor kind of word for what I feel!"He had recovered a little, and was as gay as a schoolboy just gettingready for the holidays. He pulled a piece of paper towards him, andsquaring his elbows, he wrote in large round hand:

 "Come home quick to granp, and I'll be there to meet you-- same as before. " "Your loving grandfather, " "T. Dawson. "

"I haven't wrote a letter before for nigh 'pon twenty years, Ib'lieve, " he gasped, mopping his brow and stretching his arms withrelief, "and now 'tisn't much of a one. I'm out of practice, but thelittle maid'll understand, " and he chuckled happily as he handed itto Miss Grace. "Yes, she'll understand. "

Jessie did understand. When the two letters reached her she dancedabout the house with glad excitement, then flew to Miss Patch to tellher all about them, and about that first meeting with granp atSpringbrook station. 

Miss Patch listened and sympathized, and rejoiced, too, and in hercalm, sweet old face she showed none of the pain which was fillingher own poor heart. She was losing every one she cared for, notfinding them. All the little daily habits, and pleasures, andfriendlinesses, the trifles that made her life, were being taken fromher. In a few days more she would be a stranger among strangers, with no one interested enough to care what became of her, and nothingbut her room and her flowers would remain the same. And even for howlong that much would be left her she could not know. 

She would have the same room still, for Mrs. Lang had handed over thehouse and everything in it, including the lodgers, to some people whowanted a small lodging-house of the kind; but who they were, or whatthey would be like, was all unknown to Miss Patch. 

If, though, she did not show her own feelings then, Jessie found themout a little later. Going unexpectedly up to Miss Patch's room topresent her with a geranium which had been one of her own particulartreasures, given her by Tom Salter, she found the poor old head bowedon the table, and the poor thin body shaking with sobs. Jessie, ingreat distress, dropped her geranium and ran to her. 

"What is it? What has happened?" she cried. "Oh, Miss Patch, do tellme, " and throwing her warm little arms about her old friend, shebegan to sob, too. 

But Miss Patch's self-control had given way at last, and recoverherself she could not. Jessie tried to soothe and coax her, butwithout effect, and she stood beside her at last hopeless, helpless. Her brain was busy, though, and presently light came to her. 

"Miss Patch, " she said softly, "is it because we are all going away--and you will be left here alone?" Her own voice quavered at thethought. 

One of Miss Patch's arms crept round Jessie and drew her close in analmost convulsive grasp. "Yes, " she whispered in a choked voice, "I can't--I can't face it--the loneliness it--it--"

A sudden beautiful idea came to Jessie. "Don't stay!" she criedimpulsively, without a thought as to ways, or means, or any of theother practical points, "come home with me, come to Springbrook, "she cried excitedly. "Oh, do, do, Miss Patch, do. I want you to seegranp and granny, and I want them to know you, and--and, oh, it's_lovely_ there, and you wouldn't be lonely, you'd have me and granpand granny; and--and it wouldn't cost more, I am sure, " she addedpractically, "it is ever such a cheap place to live in; and--and wewould find you a nice room, and, oh, the flowers you'd have--"She had to stop at last from sheer want of breath. But by the timeshe had done Miss Patch had checked her tears and raised her head, and was staring at Jessie with wide, bright, half-frightened eyes, her face flushed and excited. 

"I--it--oh no, it can't be; but--but, oh, how heavenly it sounds to alonely body like me!" she gasped. 

"But it _can_ be, " cried eager Jessie. "I am sure it can, and itwould be lovelier even than it sounds. "

"But how could I manage?" gasped Miss Patch, looking dejected again. "Think of my lameness--and there's my furniture. "

Jessie looked about her. "There isn't _very_ much of it, " she saidthoughtfully. "I am sure it isn't enough to stop your coming. "And she was right, for, after all, there was but the old-fashionedbed and chest of drawers, a chair or two and a couple of tables, anda few boxes and other trifles. "Would you go if your things gotthere without any trouble--I mean, without any more trouble thanchanging houses would be? You see, " she added wisely, "if you don'tlike the new people who are coming, you may _have_ to change, afterall, and then you won't have any one to help you. "

The look of dread came back into poor Miss Patch's tired eyes. So gloomy a prospect determined her. 

"You are right!" she gasped; "it would be terrible--yes. I'll go--Ido believe I will. Oh, my! it's a dreadfully big undertaking, but--but I'll go, yes, I will. I will make up my mind; and--and I won'tgo back from it. I am terribly given to being a coward, Jessie. "

Her mind once made up Miss Patch did not swerve again, and from thattime her face grew brighter. And after all it was not such a verybig undertaking--not nearly as bad as she had feared, for everythingseemed to fall out for her in a perfectly marvellous way, and most ofher troubles were taken off her shoulders before she had been able torealize them. 

A few letters passed between Jessie and Miss Grace, and then betweenMrs. Lang and Miss Grace, and then all seemed to come about sosmoothly and easily that Miss Patch scarcely realized all that wasbeing accomplished. Mrs. Lang insisted on paying the charges for thefurniture being carried to Springbrook. Tom Salter saw to thepacking of them all and sending them off by train; and then, oddlyenough, Miss Grace Barley found that she had business in London, andwould be returning to Springbrook on the very day Jessie and MissPatch were expected there, and would travel down with them. 

So, on the morning of that day, a cab drove up to the dingy house inFort Street, and Miss Patch, and her eight parcels, and her rosebushwas conveyed to the station in state and comfort, and between Jessieand Miss Grace and Tom she was taken to the railway carriage andcomfortably ensconced in a corner without any bother as to luggage orticket-taking or anything. 

In fact, she was so excited and bewildered that she quite forgot allabout everything. "Well!" she exclaimed, as the train moved off intothe strange new country, "I never knew before how delightful and easytravelling could be! It makes me smile now to think how I shrankfrom it, and the fuss I made!"

Jessie, who was still weeping silently after the parting with hermother and Tom Salter, looked up and smiled sympathetically. The bustle and responsibility of taking care of Miss Patch had helpedthem all through the last sad leave-takings, but when that strain wasover, and they were comfortably settled, and Tom came up to say hislast shy good-bye, the realization rushed over her that she shouldnever see the dingy grey house again, nor her stepmother, nor Tom--good, kind, faithful Tom--and it was with tears running down her facethat she threw her arms round the good fellow's neck, and kissed himas though he were her own kind big brother. Then, subsiding into hercorner sobbing, she left London in grief nearly as great as when shehad arrived there two years before. 

For a long time her thoughts lingered about the home and the life shewas leaving, her mother, Charlie, her father, the house, the lodgers, the dingy street, the noise and bustle. How real it all seemed, yetalready how far away! Could she ever have been in the midst of itwith no thought of ever knowing anything else! How strange life was, and how wonderful! How one short month had changed everything!Here she was, her dream and her longing realized, going home again toSpringbrook, to the old happy life, the same friends, the sameeverything--yet, no, not quite the same, never quite the same, perhaps. She herself was changed, and--she looked at Miss Patch. Their eyes met in a happy, affectionate smile. "No, things were notquite the same, they were better, if anything. She had more now, more in every way. "

The train tore on, and the day wore on. The hedges were growing barenow, and the leaves on them were turning red and yellow and brown;but the autumn sun shone, and there were space and air and sunshineall about them. Oh, what a change after the close, narrow streets, the gloom and dinginess, the want of space! Jessie's spirits beganto rise. How could she be unhappy in this beautiful world, with homebefore her, and granp and granny waiting for her, and the cottage, and her own dear little bedroom. "Will my rose be alive, do youthink, Miss Grace?" she asked eagerly. 

"Yes, dear, your grandfather has cared for it as though it were hismost treasured possession, and your little garden, too. He has kepteverything as though you might return at any moment, and all must bein readiness. It has been a cruelly long parting for them, and ithas told on them, " she added. "You must be prepared to find themaltered. But, " she added more cheerfully, "it rests with you to makethem young and happy again, Jessie. "

"I will do my very, very best, " said Jessie earnestly. "Oh!" shesighed, "how slowly the train goes, aren't we nearly there, MissGrace?"

"Only a few moments now, dear. This is Crossley, the next station toours. Don't you recognize any landmarks yet?"

Jessie sprang to the window and remained there, fascinated, enchanted, drinking it all in, trying to realize that all was not ahappy dream, but glorious reality. She recognized it all now, andevery yard made it more familiar. 

The train gave a warning whistle. "Here we are! here we are!" shescreamed in a perfect ecstasy of joy. "Oh, Miss Grace, there is theroad, and--and here is the platform, and--and I do believe I seegranp!"

She drew in her head and shrank back into her corner. "Miss Grace, "she pleaded excitedly, "when we stop will you and Miss Patch get outand walk away as if I wasn't here and you had forgotten all about me, and then granp will come to look for me--like he did the first time, will you?"

Her eagerness was so great Miss Grace could not refuse her. "Very well, dear, but"--laughingly--"I must leave all the parcels, too. I can't manage them as well. "

"Oh, no, we will bring those. Now, " as the train drew up, "pleaseget out!"

She drew forward the curtain and hid behind it. Miss Barley and MissPatch clambered out and walked away. Half-way down the platform theymet Mr. Dawson, he was pale and trembling, but his blue eyes, brightwith eagerness, looked for one face and figure only, and saw noother; Miss Patch and Miss Barley passed him quite unobserved; MissGrace smiled to herself, and they turned to watch. 

Along the platform he went, peering eagerly into every carriage. Jessie, in her corner, breathless with excitement, thought he wouldnever come. The time seemed so long, so very long, she began to fearthat the train would move on and carry her with it. In herexcitement she thrust back the curtain, and leaned forward--and thenext minute she was in his arms!

"Not asleep this time, granp!" she cried excitedly, "not asleep thistime! Oh, granp! granp!" and she hugged and kissed him again andagain. 

The guard came in at last, to warn them that the train was about tomove, and then there was a hasty gathering up of Miss Patch's eightparcels and her rose, and Jessie's three parcels and her geranium, and at last they all stood together on Springbrook platform, with thesun shining on them, the breeze blowing, the birds singing--andgranny at home waiting to welcome them to the new happy life whichlay before them. 

Miss Grace led Miss Patch out, and they got into a carriage which hadbeen sent from Norton for the purpose, but Jessie and her grandfatherbegged to walk back, as on that first occasion. He did not carry hernow, though he leaned on her instead, and seemed glad of the support. He leaned heavily, too, she noticed, and she realized vaguely thatthere was one more change than she had thought of. In the past shehad leaned all her weight on him, now it was he who would lean onher; and she hoped, with all the strength of her warm little heart, that she might be able to prove herself a real prop and staff to himand the dear granny who loved her so. 

 "God make my life a little staff, Whereon the weak may rest. "

She repeated to herself. 

"Here's granny, " said granp joyfully, as they reached the gardengate. Run on to her, child! and--and remember--one arm is helplessstill. You must be her right arm now, Jessie. "

"I will, " said Jessie eagerly, and the next moment was at hergranny's side. 

THE END.