She was to have eighteenpence each for the baskets. Nine whole shillings! It seemed to Huldah a perfect fortune, and she would spend the whole of it on Mrs. Perry. She would get her in a store of coal, in readiness for the winter; then they would be able to have good fires, and not have to be counting the cost all the time.

That was the first decision. After a time, though, that seemed rather an uninteresting purchase. All her money would be gone at once, and almost before she had realised that she had got it. She next decided to get a large piece of bacon, two sacks of coal, and a sack of corn for the fowls; but this plan was changed again for others. Every day Huldah thought out some new and delightful purchases, and what she would have bought finally nobody knows, for Miss Rose and Mrs. Perry put an end to all her schemes, by insisting that the money was to be spent on herself. She was to buy a new winter coat for herself, they decided, and Huldah had to give in. She was bitterly disappointed at first; it had never entered her head to spend her money on anyone but Mrs. Perry, it was for her only that she had wanted it.

Autumn was well advanced now, the mornings and nights were cold, and the days not really hot, and Huldah soon began to realise that she did need a warm garment of some sort, for she had only her thin print frocks, and a little shoulder shawl that Mrs. Perry had given her.

So, as soon as she had got her nine shillings in her pocket, Miss Rose came with the pony-cart and drove her in to Belmouth to hunt through the shops in search of a coat or a cloak which would not cost more than nine shillings, and at the same time be neat and warm, and—at least, so Huldah hoped,—pretty.

Such a day as that was to Huldah! Such a day as had never come into her life before. First of all there was the drive, four whole miles with Miss Rose in her dear little pony-carriage, and actually wearing one of Miss Rose's old golf cloaks wrapped snugly round her. The sun shone and the birds sang, and the air was exhilarating with the first touch of frost; the trees glowed warmly in their autumn dress, and the hedges too.

Huldah was speechless with excitement, when, after leaving Rob, the pony, at a livery-stable, she followed Miss Carew into the big draper's shop where the purchase was to be made. She was half frightened too, the place was so large, and there were so many people there, who seemed to have nothing to do but stare about them. It was quite an ordeal to walk behind the shop-walker between the long lines of counters with so many people looking over them at her. She kept very close indeed to Miss Rose, and tried to believe that it was at Miss Rose they were staring, and not at herself.

Then at last they came to the jacket department, and before she knew what she was doing a very tall young woman was standing beside her with a bright scarlet coat in her hands, and actually holding it out for Huldah to try on.

"Oh, that will not do," interposed Miss Rose, sharply. She was sorry that Huldah should have seen it, it was so attractive, though unsuitable, and would probably make all the others seem dull and ugly. But Huldah knew too that it was quite unsuitable for her purpose. What she wanted was a serviceable garment for Sundays and week-days, wet weather and fine; she would have loved though to have it, and for years after, one of her ambitions was to have a bright red coat in the winter.

Miss Rose strolled away with the girl, after that, to say a word to her in private, and to try to help her pick out something suitable; and very soon they came back again with black coats, blue coats, dark green and grey coats, and one after the other Huldah tried them on, and one after the other they were thrown aside as useless. The shoulders came to her elbows nearly, and the cuffs beyond her finger-tips, while the collars refused to come anywhere near her neck! It was most disappointing.

"She is very narrow, and thin for her height," remarked the girl, apologetically, as one after the other the coats hung off Huldah's shoulders like loose sacks. "I wonder if you wouldn't find a cloak more satisfactory for her. Fit does not matter so much with a cloak. Now this one is a very good one; it cost fifteen shillings at first, but it is reduced very much, because it is a little out of fashion, and slightly shop-worn," and she held up a warm brown cloak with big bone buttons, and, oh! joy of joys in Huldah's eyes, a hood lined with blue! "Hoods aren't being worn now," she went on; but Huldah heard no more.

"Not worn! Out of fashion!" All her life Huldah had longed for a cloak with a hood! In a rapture she felt the cloak being placed on her shoulders, and saw the girl button the big horn buttons, and in a tumult of shy delight she looked over herself, and then up at Miss Carew.

"That fits her very well," said the girl, in a tone of relief.

Miss Rose read Huldah's eager face, and almost nervously enquired the price. It would be such a blow if it should be beyond them.

"It is reduced to eight shillings, madam," said the girl, who was almost as anxious to sell as they were to buy. "It is good cloth, a real bargain."

"Then we must have it, mustn't we, brownie?" cried Miss Rose, promptly. "It may not be as warm as a coat, but it certainly fits her and suits her. Why, we have turned you into a brownie again, Huldah! Are you pleased with your purchase?"

"Oh yes, miss! I think it is lovely, I like it better than any!" gasped Huldah, excitedly. She could scarcely believe yet that she was not in a dream, or that it could really be she, Huldah Bate, to whom all this was happening.

The young attendant stooped to unbutton the cloak, to take it away and wrap it in a parcel, but Miss Carew stopped her. "I think she may as well wear it home," she said. "It is cold, and it will be the easiest way of carrying it."

"Yes, madam. I will give you the bill."

When the stranger's back was turned, Huldah found her tongue. "Oh, Miss Rose, isn't it lovely! It's so warm, I can feel it already, and—and oh, I can't believe it is mine!"

"I am glad you like it, dear. Now get out your purse, and pay the bill."

That was indeed a proud moment! From the depth of her pocket, and from beneath the wonderful cloak, Huldah produced a small, rather shabby purse, an old one of Miss Carew's, and from its pockets she produced all her worldly wealth. Her fingers trembled so, she could scarcely separate the coins, but at last it was all managed; and, still in a maze of delight, she found herself walking out of the shop behind Miss Carew, clutching her thin little purse, in which reposed one solitary shilling, and proudly wearing her own purchase.

To have walked out in it between that double fire of staring eyes, would have been an ordeal she could scarcely have endured, if it had not been that her thoughts were more occupied with her shilling than with herself, for with it she was going to buy something to take home to Mrs. Perry, and what that something was to be was a matter for grave consideration.

However, with Miss Rose's help, the money was at last laid out on some tea and some biscuits, and, greatest treat of all, a smoked haddock, to make a feast for the tea which was to crown the end of that glorious afternoon.

The tea and the fish and some of the biscuits were for Mrs. Perry, and some of the biscuits were for Dick, as his share of the rejoicing, but for Miss Rose Huldah had nothing, and that was the one cloud on that happy, wonderful day. It was rather a big cloud, too, for she did long to do something for her, to show how grateful she was, and the thought of it kept her very quiet and grave for a part of the drive home.

"Are you tired, brownie?" asked Miss Rose, presently, noticing her silence.

Huldah looked up with grateful, happy eyes. "Oh no, miss. I am too happy to be tired! and it's lovely to feel the warmth of my cloak coming in to my shoulders. I think it is so beautiful. Do you like it, miss?"

"Very much indeed, and I like to have our brownie in brown again; it seems just right!"

Huldah laughed happily. "I wish"—she began, then stopped, as a sudden idea flashed on her mind. Why, of course, she could be a real brownie, and by getting up very early she could, without anyone's knowing anything about it, make one of her prettiest and nicest baskets for Miss Rose! Her spirits went up, and up with pleasure at the thought all her gravity left her, and when at last they drew up before the cottage in Woodend Lane, her face was one big radiant smile. Mrs. Perry was at the door as soon as they had reached the gate.

"Oh my!" she exclaimed, throwing up her hands with pleasure and surprise at the sight of Huldah walking up the path actually wearing her new purchase. "Oh my, how nice we do look! Now, I do call that just perfect!"

The child's face was glowing with health and happiness, her eyes were beaming with affection, and eager for sympathy. Could she possibly be the little ill-used, runaway waif who had come to her door starving, only so short a time ago? Mrs. Perry asked herself the question as she looked at her, and in her heart thanked God for sending her this blessing, this chance to help another; and for staying her tongue when she had felt tempted to bid her begone.

Across her mind too flashed the thought of what might have happened to Huldah, if she had turned her away that night. Would it have been to the workhouse, or the jail she would have drifted,—this bonnie, healthy, smiling child? But her mind was drawn back to healthier thoughts by Huldah's little brown work-worn hands.

"Don't you like it, ma'am?" she was asking, troubled by the gravity on Mrs. Perry's face.

"Like it!" she cried, coming back to the present with glad relief. "I should think I did, and you in it, too, dear!" and for the first time in her life she stooped and kissed the little maiden, and Huldah returned the kiss with all the warmth of her affectionate heart welling up to her lips.

It was the first time anyone had kissed her since her mother died, and the first time that she had kissed anyone but Dick and Charlie.



CHAPTER VII.

A MEETING AND AN ALARM.

Autumn had come now; late autumn with winter not so very far off, and the days were growing very short and dark; so short and dark that there was no chance of working early in the morning before she went downstairs, nor after she went to bed at night, except by candlelight, and she could not, of course, burn candles. So Mrs. Perry had to be taken into the secret, and Huldah worked in comfort by the fire in the afternoons, after she had done her housework.

And how she did love those cosy afternoons, and how the memory of them lived with her all her life after! The wind and rain storming outside, the snug little kitchen, where they sat so cosy and warm, Dick lying contentedly on his rug, Mrs. Perry sitting in her armchair by the fire, reading aloud from one of her few but precious books. They were old, those stories, but to Huldah they were more beautiful than any she ever came across later on.

Then came the glad day when the basket was completed. Huldah had taken more pains with it than with any she had ever made, and her care was rewarded, for a prettier, daintier basket no one could wish to possess. As soon as it was finished there arose the great question of how, and when, and where the gift should be made.

"I want it to seem as if it comes from a brownie," Huldah insisted, eagerly. "I couldn't make it at night, as the brownies would have done, but couldn't I leave it, as they left their gifts, just where it is sure to be found? It would be much nicer, wouldn't it? Miss Rose would laugh, and be so pleased. I am sure she would like to have it that way."

At last, after a great deal of thought, and a great many plans had been made and set aside as not quite suitable, it was decided that Huldah should get up early in the morning and walk to the vicarage, then creeping softly into the stable, she would tie the parcel on to Rob's back, or to his manger, where he could not reach it. Miss Carew always went out early, to feed her hens, and to take Rob some bread and sugar, so she would be sure to see it.

Another plan was for Huldah to creep into Miss Rose's sitting-room when the maid's back was turned, and leave the parcel on the table; but they did not like this plan very well, for one thing, Huldah did not like creeping stealthily in and out of the house, and for another, Miss Rose might not find the basket for hours. She was always so busy about the garden and Rob and the hen-houses that she might not go to her room till quite late in the day.

No; Rob, they decided, must be the medium, and Huldah thrilled with excitement.

When she went to bed that night, she was so full of fears that she would not wake in good time in the morning that she tried to keep awake all night. But, after a while the time seemed so long, the night so endless, and the morning so far off, she longed to be able to go to sleep, to bring it nearer more quickly, and while she was wondering if the kitchen clock had really struck ten, or was it really six, and time to get up, she fell asleep, and the next thing she was conscious of was Mrs. Perry calling her, and the old clock in the kitchen striking six as hard as it could strike.

"You dress and get ready, and I will light the fire," she said; and when Huldah presently went downstairs, the kitchen was bright with lamp and firelight, the kettle was singing gaily, and Mrs. Perry was already warming the tea-pot.

By the time they had had their tea and Huldah was ready to start, it was already growing light out of doors. The night had been cold, and there was a thin layer of ice on the puddles in the road, and a nipping little wind made Huldah glad to wrap her old shawl snugly about her,—the shawl which Mrs. Perry had lent her, to save the new cloak. Dick bounded along delightedly; it was not often now that he had a walk at that hour of the morning, and he rejoiced in every inch of it; though he was rather hurt when, on reaching the vicarage gate, Huldah took a piece of string from her pocket and fastened it to his collar. It was only his perfect trust in his mistress that enabled him to bear such an indignity, and he followed her full of wonder as to what was to happen next.

Keeping on the grass by the side of the drive, they made their way noiselessly round to the courtyard and stables. No one was about out of doors, Huldah rejoiced to see, but guessed that Dinah was already up and in the kitchen, for smoke was coming out of a chimney.

With Dick keeping obediently close to her side, she timidly opened the stable door and crept swiftly in. Rob knew her well enough by this time, and only looked mildly surprised at her appearance. He had a horse-cloth over him, fastened round him by a girth, and while he scrunched up the sugar Huldah had brought him she secured her basket on his back by the girth, as fast as her nervous fingers could manage it. "Miss Rose can't help seeing it there," she thought, delightedly, "and Rob can't harm it before she comes." She stood for a second gazing in sheer joy at her handiwork, the dainty basket and the big white label tied to it, with "From a grateful Brownie," written in large letters on it. Then, fearful of being discovered, she hurried quickly out, fastened the door behind her, and with Dick still close at her heels raced away as quietly as ever she could, and never paused until she had reached the top of Woodend Lane once more.

Stephen Lea, the groom, had been ill, and was late that morning, and Miss Rose reached the stable first. Almost at once her eye was caught by something unusual on the pony's back, but in the dim light of the stable she could not make out what it was.

"Why, Rob," she exclaimed, laughing, "what have you been doing? Where have you been to pick up a load?" Then she searched his side, and made out what the load really was. "Oh, that dear child!" she cried, as she read the inscription written in a big round hand on a sheet of paper, and her eyes grew misty, "From a grateful Brownie." "Now when could she have brought that, and tied it there, I wonder. Rob, you bad boy, why don't you tell me all about it? You know you have been gobbling down sugar this morning, greedy little creature that you are; but I should never have known it from you, if I hadn't seen the crumbs. You are the best secret-keeper I know, but I do wish you could tell me about this, Rob dear."

She looked at the pretty basket with eyes full of tenderness and admiration. "Dear, kind little brownie!" she whispered softly.

Later that day, Rob, still looking as though he did not know what a secret or a brownie was, trotted down Woodend Lane, and drew up as a matter of course before the cottage gate. Indeed, his feelings would have been quite hurt if he had been told that he must not stop there, but must go further down the lane.

Huldah heard his steps, and saw him arrive, watched Miss Rose get down from the carriage and fasten Rob to the railings,—then, in a sudden access of shyness, flew out of the back door and down to the very bottom of the garden.

There Miss Rose found her, a few minutes later. "Huldah," she said, smiling, her pretty blue eyes full of pleasure, and gratitude, and affection, "I found on Rob's back this morning, left there by the brownies, a basket so pretty and so dainty that everyone who has seen it wants one like it. It was a brownie's basket, and as you are the only one of them that I know who can do work like it, I have come to bring you the order."

"Oh!" gasped Huldah, forgetting her shyness in her delight.

"I am going to call them 'Brownie baskets,' to distinguish them from any others; but the reason shall be our secret, shall it not? Thank you very, very much little brownie, for your sweet gift," and she stooped down and kissed Huldah on the forehead.

The child's eyes filled with tears, glad, grateful tears. "Oh, Miss Rose," she exclaimed, "I am so happy, I don't know what to do; it is all too lovely. I am always afraid I shall wake up and find it a dream."

"It is no dream, brownie; so long as you go on trying to make others happy you will find your own happiness is quite real. Happiness lies in helping others and bringing sunshine into their lives. You will have some disappointments. It will seem as though some people do not want to be made happy, others would not admit it if they were. Such people need a lot of patience shown them, but you must go on trying. There is always something to be done for someone. You must come indoors, though, or you will be taking cold, and we cannot afford to have that happen."

Huldah followed Miss Rose along the path, hardly conscious that her feet touched the earth. Her heart was throbbing with joy, her eyes were dancing. Dick followed his mistress, his tail wagging contentedly, he knew by instinct why she was happy, and his senses told him that she had been very happy ever since they started for that beautiful walk that morning.

"I am going to begin the work to-morrow morning," Huldah said, eagerly, to Mrs. Perry that evening, as they sat over their supper before the fire. "I expect Miss Rose would like to have the baskets soon, and they will take a little while to make."

Alas, though, when morning came, Huldah's eagerness received a sharp check. She had only the least little bit of raffia left, and to get more she would have to go into Belmouth.

"What a pity!" she cried, disappointedly; "it will take hours to walk there and back, and I meant to have done such a lot to-day!" She could have wept with vexation. Belmouth was four miles off, and one of the hilliest four miles imaginable. But it was not this that daunted her, it was the length of time that she would be kept from her work. However, there was no good done by worrying over it, or by delaying, so, as soon as she had done her housework, and dinner was over and the dishes put away, she put on her new brown cloak, and with Dick for company she started.

They stepped out briskly, for the days were short now, and Mrs. Perry grew anxious if they were long away, and nervous if she were left alone when the light began to fade. They stepped along so briskly that by half-past two they were in the town, and making their way to the shop where Miss Rose had bought the raffia before. The purchase took a little time, for the shopman had not enough out, and had to send to the stock-room to get some. But, now that she was there, Huldah did not mind that. She loved watching the people coming in and making their purchases; it was all so lively and new and interesting. The shopkeeper, who had seen her come there with Miss Carew, and had heard about her basket-making, was nice and friendly too. He seemed to take quite an interest in her work, and promised to get her some orders if he could, so that altogether Huldah came out of that shop feeling extremely happy, and not in the least sorry that she had had to come.

"I feel almost too happy," she was saying to herself, as she stepped out into the street, where the setting sun was flooding the place with radiance, a dazzling, rosy radiance that shone right in Huldah's eyes, and blinded her to all about her.

"It is all so lovely," she added, "it seems as if it can't be true, as if I can't be really me"—a sudden sharp, excited barking on the part of Dick made her turn quickly. She turned her back to the sun, and the dazzle went out of her eyes, and with it the sunshine from her life,—or so it seemed to her,—for there, drawn up by the opposite pavement was her uncle's van, and old Charlie! and, as Huldah knew, the owners themselves would not be far off!

Dick had recognised Charlie—that was the meaning of his excitement, and therein lay the greatest danger, for he was barking and leaping about the old horse in such delight that everyone's attention was attracted, and it was only a question as to how soon he would attract Uncle Tom's attention too. Huldah's own heart yearned to go over and speak to the dear old horse, but her fears were stronger. She felt half paralysed with terror, and for a moment her wits so forsook her that she did not know what to do. Then inspiration came to her, and she turned and hurried away as fast as her feet could carry her. She did not run, she was trembling too much for that, she dared not whistle for Dick, for that would have called attention to them both. She could only walk away, and trust to his following her; but even as she went she heard a dreaded voice shout out excitedly, "Why there's our Dick! Dick, Dick, come here"—but at the sound of it Dick felt the old fear in his heart leap to life, and with his old instinct to fly from his master, he dashed along the street as swiftly as his long legs could carry him, and was very quickly out of sight. So swiftly did he race that he shot past Huldah without recognising her, and her heart beat faster with thankfulness, for the further away he got the better, and it was better for both of them that they should not be seen together.

How she got over those four long miles home Huldah never knew. Her head swam, her legs trembled, indeed, her whole body shook with nervous dread, so that, in spite of her anxiety to get home quickly, she had to stand still many times, to quiet the beating of her heart, and get breath to go on again.

Half a mile out of the town she found Dick, running wildly backwards and forwards looking for her, and troubled and ashamed at having lost her. She wished, though, that he had gone all the way home, for if they were followed and seen together she would be recognised instantly, and she would have no power of escape such as Dick had had.

She took her hat off, and drew her hood over her head, but with Dick beside her nothing would save her, she knew. So slowly had she come that darkness was already beginning to fall. Seeing this, she tried to hurry on more quickly, and once within sight of their own lane relief gave her strength to run. In the lane the twilight was deeper, and already Mrs. Perry, growing nervous, had lighted the lamp in the kitchen. The warm glow streamed out on poor frightened Huldah, and welcomed her. At the sound of her footsteps the house door flew open, and Mrs. Perry came out on the step to meet her; but instead of her usual smile and greeting, Huldah fell exhausted into her arms and burst into a passion of bitter sobs.



CHAPTER VIII.

TRACKED DOWN.

"I tell you that there's my dog! He was stolen from me, and I'm going to 'ave the law of whoever's got 'im."

Tom Smith went blustering back into the public-house, almost speechless with anger. To have been so near Dick and then to have missed him, was almost more than he could bear. If he had known he had missed Huldah too, he would have been even more angry.

"You can't have the law of people for taking in a stray," remarked one man, quietly. They none of them liked Tom Smith, and most of them wished he would go on his way and leave them to their quiet gossip.

"Perhaps he ran away," suggested another, drily.

Tom Smith glowered at him sullenly. "What should he run away for?" he asked, sharply.

"Well, that's more'n I can say," answered the man, calmly. "It seems to be his way, by the look of him just now. Dogs do it sometimes, when they think they'd like a change."

"I know he didn't run away; he was stolen, and I'd give five shillings to know who'd got him, and where he lives."

He did not mean what he said, and he never intended to part with five shillings, but he did want to find Dick, and he meant to do it, too. For once he was taken at his word.

"Hand over your five bob. I can tell you where the dog lives." The voice came from over by the window, and all eyes were turned in that direction. A young man, a stranger to all there, was standing leaning eagerly towards Tom Smith, his hand held out. He had been sitting silent until this moment, but listening attentively to all that was being said.

Tom Smith turned towards him, looking very foolish; and, as usual, when he felt small he began to bluster. "Likely tale I'm going to hand over five shillings now! How do I know you knows anything about the dog; what one I means, or where he lives, or anything at all about him? Besides, I don't give the five bob unless I actually gets hold of the dog."

"I tell you I do know him; he's a yaller dog, a long-legged thing with a short tail, and he goes about with a girl, and he's called Dick. I shouldn't have said I know'd him if I didn't."

"A girl!" Tom Smith's cruel eyes lightened with eagerness. "Have you seen a girl with him? a kid about twelve-year old? When? Now? Are you sure? Why, 'twas she that stole him!"

"What should a child of that age want to steal a dog for?" asked one of the other men.

"Better ask her, if you want to know!" retorted the other, rudely. "I'll give 'ee another shilling if you can help me lay my hands on the both of them."

"Right you are," agreed Bob, promptly, and without a single qualm of conscience. "We'd better start; 'tis about four miles from here they live, and it'll be dark soon."

"Ugh!" Tom Smith looked vexed; he was a lazy man, and he did not relish the prospect of a four miles' tramp. "I've got to wait for my old woman to come back," he muttered.

Emma Smith was going round the town with a big basket of tins and brushes and things, trying to sell some, while he hung about the public-house, enjoying himself doing nothing. Her round was a long one, and few people seemed tempted to buy of such a slovenly, disagreeable-looking woman, one who grew rude too, if people did not want any of her goods.

So it was that Huldah had got safely home without being overtaken, and once within that cosy kitchen felt herself safe from all danger. She little dreamed that at that moment the three persons she feared most in the world were starting out from Belmouth in search of her. Poor Huldah!

It was six o'clock and quite dark by the time the trio, and Charlie and the van, reached Wood End; and many a time before they got there Bob Thorp would have thrown up the job, if he had not wanted the money so badly. For the whole of the four miles Tom Smith grumbled, bullied his wife, beat Charlie, and snapped and snarled at everyone and everything.

"I don't wonder at anybody's running away from you," remarked Bob at last, losing all patience. "If I was your wife I'd do the same."

Whereupon Tom snarled again with rage, "She'd better let me catch her trying it on, that's all," he said, threateningly, and glared at his wife, as though she had threatened to do so.

A little way beyond the village they drew up, and without troubling to ask anyone's leave Tom drove the van into a field,—where they had no possible right to be, and poor tired Charlie and his tired mistress were left to themselves for, at any rate, a few minutes' peace.

The two men walked on again in silence until they reached the top of Woodend Lane, There Bob Thorp drew up, and showed a decided disinclination to go any further.

"'Tis down there they live, the first cottage you come to; you can't mistake it. There's only an old woman, I b'lieve, besides the girl and the dog. I'd better keep away, 'cause they knows me, leastways the girl does, and—and the dog. If you'll hand over that six bob now, I'll be getting home. I've got a good step to go yet."

Tom Smith agreed almost pleasantly. "Right you are," he said, diving his hand into an inside pocket, "and, thank 'ee, I'll manage the rest, and I'd better manage it alone. I don't want to draw my friends into any trouble over it,—leastways not those that have done me a good turn."

He fumbled for some time over the counting out of the money, but when at last he had put it into Bob's hand, the latter turned abruptly away, and with only a brief 'good-night' plunged hurriedly down the dark lane.

"Good-night," said Bob, "and thank 'ee. Three florins isn't it?" But Tom Smith was out of sight, and Bob was glad to hurry away too, as fast as his legs could take him. He did not feel altogether pleased, though he did try to cheer himself by chinking his money in his pocket, and planning how he would spend it. All the way he went he seemed to see again Huldah's pained, sorrowful face, as she knelt in the road beside her dog, and tried to shelter him with her own body. How she must love the ugly yellow creature, and how he loved her! and how they would feel it, if they were parted. What a life they'd lead, if they had to go back to the van and that ill-tempered, grumbling pair!

"I couldn't wish anybody any worse harm than to have to live with that fellow," he muttered to himself. "'Tis a poor look-out for 'em, poor toads!"

The thought of Huldah, and the desire not to be mixed up in the affair, sent him home and to bed, to be out of the way. So he went to sleep, and tried to forget what he had done, and his three florins remained untouched in his pocket until morning.

In the meantime Tom Smith had made his way stealthily down the lane until he reached the little cottage. At the gate he stopped, and peering about him, listened for a time, while he tried to plan what his first move should be. Should he be civil and friendly, or should he just go in and frighten them all? As he stood there debating he looked like some mean beast of prey, waiting to spring on his victim. A cheerful light shone out of one of the little windows, and in the stillness of the night the sound of voices reached him. One he recognised at once as Huldah's. A savoury smell of cooking was wafted out to him, and roused him to greater anger.

"That little hussy is a-selling of her baskets, I'll be bound, and she and the old woman live on the fat of the land with the money that they bring. My baskets, I calls 'em. It's sheer thieving! A fine old yarn she'll have told, too, and a nice character she'll have give'd me, ugh, the little—"

A ripple of laughter sounded through the silence. To him it seemed as though Huldah were mocking him. Hesitating no longer, he strode up the path and knocked heavily on the door. Instantly the voices and the laughter ceased. There was a spring at the door and a growl. Dick had scented the enemy! Then after a moment's pause a voice asked timidly, "Who is there?"

Tom Smith heard the alarm in the voice, and rejoiced. It gave him the greatest pleasure always to know that he inspired fear in anyone.

"Open the door. It's me, Tom Smith, and I've come after that dog of mine that you've stole!"

No answer came, nor was the door opened.

"Open the door, I say, or I'll fetch the police for you! pack of thieves that you are!"

The threat of the police would have made Huldah smile, if she had not been in such a state of terror for herself, and even more so for Dick. She knew that her "uncle" would not go within a mile of a policeman if he could help it. Indeed, she longed and prayed for a policeman to come along then, that she might appeal to him for protection.

Unfortunately for them, though, not even a bolt stood between them and their enemy, and before Huldah could step forward to shoot it, or turn the key, the latch was raised, and Tom Smith was in the kitchen. With one well-aimed kick he sent Dick into the furthest corner, and with equally sure aim he seized Huldah by the wrist. "Now, you come along of me, and no nonsense, do you hear? A fine dance you've led me and your poor aunt! You deserves a good hiding, both of 'ee, and I ain't sure but what you'll get it yet."

"Let her alone," gasped Mrs. Perry, "let her go—she isn't yours. You've no—right—to her." Her face was grey white, her heart seemed to have stopped beating, and she could hardly speak.

Tom Smith took no notice of her whatever, he was not going to waste time in arguing—bullying was more in his line. "Now then, come along. If you makes any noise, I'll turn the p'lice on the old lady there, for harbouring thieves and receiving stolen property. Stop it now!" as Huldah wrenched herself away. "P'raps that'll teach you," and he caught her a heavy blow on the ear.

Mrs. Perry screamed. "Don't hurt her—oh, don't do them any harm!" she pleaded. "Promise not—to beat them." It seemed to her impossible to resist him, they were helpless there, those two alone. Huldah and Dick must go.

Huldah's heart sank with overwhelming sorrow. Was she really to be given up? was she to leave her new home, her new happiness, her work, Mrs. Perry, Miss Rose,—all to go back to the old torture? Oh no, it could not be. She could never bear it! Mrs. Perry spoke as if she would have to; but what would she herself do there alone? She would be almost frightened to death.

Poor Huldah grew frantic. "I am not going. I can't go, and Miss Rose said you can't make me. I am not yours. Oh, Miss Rose, Miss Rose do come and save us!"

With a little whimper of pain Dick crawled out of his corner and came towards her. He seemed to realise that his little mistress was in danger, and he meant to stand by her.

"Shut up your noise!" shouted her "uncle," and dealt her another sharp blow on the side of the head.

Mrs. Perry screamed, and fell fainting into the chair, and with the same Tom Smith picked up Huldah in his arms and made for the door.

The sound of footsteps and bitter cries died away in the lane, and a deep oppressive silence followed. The kettle sang and boiled and bubbled over, the supper burnt in the pan, the fire died down, and still that senseless form lay huddled up in her chair, her white face turned upwards to the ceiling, as though beseeching help.

Minutes passed before any sign of life came back to her, and with a shuddering sigh she opened her eyes again. At first she was dazed, and her mind a blank, then the open door, the empty room, the stillness, brought all back to her in a sudden overwhelming rush of sorrow.

For a few moments she sat, weak, white, and trembling, trying to think; then rising stumblingly to her feet she picked up her shawl, and wrapping it over her head and shoulders, she groped her way out of the house, down the garden, and out into the darkness of the night.

Stumbling, tottering, having to pause every few minutes, to rest her shaking limbs and gasp for breath, she made her way up the lane. She must find Miss Rose. Miss Rose must know, Miss Rose would help them! Oh it must come right! She could not lose her child and Dick. She could not live without them now!

Tears welled up, and poured down her ashy face, as she thought of those two, and what they might be enduring now.

"Dear Father, protect them!" she prayed. "Dear Jesus, take care of them!" and all the way she went her pleadings beat at Heaven's gate for the two poor waifs she so loved. "Dear Jesus, protect them, and bring them back to me. I love them so, and they are all I have."

Her heart laboured so heavily she could scarcely breathe, her head throbbed distractingly, her limbs shook so much under her that she could scarcely drag herself along. Every now and then she fancied she heard a scream or Huldah's sobs; then again she thought she heard Dick's bark, and each time she stopped and listened, and gazed into the darkness, but presently the loneliness and darkness so oppressed her that she could not bring herself to stop again. All she could do was to stumble onward until the vicarage was reached, and arrived there she sank down on the doorstep exhausted. The fright and the walk, so long for her, had nearly killed her.

Dinah came quickly to the door, in response to the frightened frantic knock, and as she opened it Martha Perry fell in at her feet, faint and helpless.

"My—Huldah"—she panted, "he's found her; he's taken her—away—and Dick too! Help me—to—" then, as they raised her and carried her into the kitchen, she lost consciousness entirely.

When she opened her eyes again Miss Rose was standing beside her. "Huldah! where's my Huldah?" she cried, her poor eyes filling with tears. "What—can we do?"

Miss Rose's face was very white, but her eyes were brave and smiling. "It's all right, Martha, dear. She will be back with you to-morrow, I hope. We have sent to the police; they are to take the matter up, and see it through, and we have telegraphed to Belmouth, and Woodleigh, and Crinnock, to tell the police there to look out for the man, and stop him."

Mrs. Perry moaned with disappointment, she could not help it, when she thought of poor Huldah, every moment going further and further from them all. Longing, hoping, expecting every moment that someone would overtake them and save her, straining her ears to hear help coming,—and then, at last, in utter hopeless despair realising that she was left to herself, helpless, broken-hearted! She would not know that it was only for one night, and that help was coming in the morning.

Martha tried to smile back at Miss Rose, and to seem pleased, but her misery was too great. Then an idea came to her, which brought her swiftly to her feet, with new hope in her heart. Perhaps, oh, perhaps, Huldah and Dick might manage again to escape! If they did, they would go to her, surely! Of course she should be at home to receive them! She told Miss Rose, and though Miss Rose scarcely believed it possible, she thought it kinder to humour her,—besides which there was just the chance,—a chance which could not be missed.

So the two went back to the cottage, where the lamplight still shone out cheerfully through the open door. For a moment hope leaped in their hearts, then a glance round the little kitchen assured them that it was deserted still, and hope died down again.

"Never mind; morning will soon be here," said Miss Rose, hopefully, "and 'joy cometh with the morning.' Now I am going to make up a good fire, and I will read to you, and you must try, Martha, dear, to listen, and not to think of anything else."

She made Martha comfortable in the old armchair, with her feet upon a stool, and a shawl about her knees, then she took down the well-worn Bible, and began to read. Her sweet voice rose and fell evenly, soothingly; for more than an hour she read on, unwearied, never faltering, selecting all the most helpful and comforting passages she could find; and by-and-by Martha Perry's face grew less drawn and anxious, her sad eyes grew tired, then the lids closed in a blessed, peaceful slumber, and Miss Rose's voice ceased, and silence fell on the little cottage.

The night sped on, the cold grew greater, the darkness deeper. Miss Rose sat quietly at the table, the open Bible before her, keeping watch over the sleeping woman and the fire, her ear always alert for a sound outside. Her hearing grew so strained that over and over again she thought she heard footsteps coming, Huldah's quick, brisk step and Dick's pat-pat patter; again and again she tip-toed to the door, and opening it wide peered out into the darkness. But no real sound broke the silence, save the hoot of an owl, and by-and-by the chirping of the waking birds.

Then at last day dawned, and streaks of light appeared in the sky, turning presently to a glorious fiery radiance, as the sun rose, flooding the sky and all the world with brightness and with hope.

Martha Perry stirred stiffly in her chair, and opened her eyes. "Oh, Miss Rose, I've been asleep, and left you keeping watch all by yourself! Oh, I am ashamed!"

"Not by myself, Martha. I had this," laying her hand on the open Bible, "and I felt God nearer me than ever in my life before, I think. He is going to help us, I know. I feel that He has given me His word this night!"

"She has not come?" sighed Martha, glancing round the kitchen, as though expecting to see Huldah hiding somewhere. "Oh, what a night of misery she must have endured!"

"She has not come yet, but she is coming, and brownie is very brave, Martha, and patient and hopeful. She has the blessed gift of making the best of what can't be helped, and she has a wonderful faith. Look, Martha, look at the sky, does it not already sing to us 'joy cometh with the morning'?"

Martha Perry walked to the door and looked out, and even her timid, doubting heart could not but feel calmed and comforted.

"'God's in His heaven: All's right with the world,'" quoted Miss Rose, softly, as they stood there together. And already help was on its way to Huldah.



CHAPTER IX.

TO THE RESCUE.

When Bob Thorp awoke that same morning about six o'clock, his first thought was that he had six shillings in his pocket. Six shillings got without working for them, so that he had every right to look on them as an extra, and spend them on himself.

Having made up his mind on this point, he lay for a happy half-hour, thinking how he should lay it out to get most pleasure out of it. "Why, I know!" he almost exclaimed aloud, as a particularly pleasant idea struck him. "I'll go to the big football match at Crinnock. It's going to be a clipper, they say. Ain't I glad I thought of it! I shall have just enough to do it comfortably."

The idea so excited him that he jumped out of bed then and there, and, banging at his poor mother's door, he bade her get up sharp, and light the fire, and get the breakfast, because he had to be off early. Then he dressed himself in the best he'd got, and presented himself in the kitchen.

In answer to his mother's surprised looks and questionings, he explained that he had to go away on business, in search of a job, and must look his best; and his mother, rejoicing in the prospect of a day of freedom from him, cooked him the last egg she had, and gave him as big a breakfast as he could eat; and he ate it heartily, without a qualm of conscience for his deception towards her.

At the railway station he met quite a crowd, all going in the same direction as himself; neither the darkness nor the cold could affect their energy or spirits, and Bob's spirits rose too, as he followed the stream of travellers into the little gas-lit booking office for his ticket.

"Third return, Crinnock," he said, loudly, tossing a shining new florin on to the counter.

At the sound of it the booking clerk half hesitated in stamping the ticket he held in his hand, glanced sharply at the florin, and hurriedly picking it up, scanned it closely.

"Bad 'un," he said, shortly, handing it back to Bob. "Ninepence, please." Then, seeing the look of blank dismay on Bob's face, he added, "Been had?"

Bob's cheeks were white, and his hand shaking, as he dived in his pocket for the other two florins,—the only money he possessed in the world. He saw himself tricked, cheated out of a day's pleasure, made to look small in everyone's eyes.

He turned out the two other florins upon the counter, and at the first ring of them on the wood he knew the truth, and his passion blazed out fiercely against the man who had fooled him under cover of the darkness.

"I'll have the law of him!" he stammered, almost speechless with anger. "I know where he is, or pretty near, and I'll set the p'lice on him, I will. Why—why—I might have been had up myself for trying to pass bad money! Oh I'll make him sorry he ever tried his games on me, I will!"

Back through the waiting crowd Bob elbowed his way, in search of a policeman. His disappointment about the football match was swallowed up in his longing for revenge.

"Look here, bobby," he said, going up to the constable who was standing on the platform to see the crowd off peacefully. "Look at this!" thrusting the coins under his very nose. "Bad money, that's what 'tis,—passed off on me last night! But I know who done it, and where he is,—leastways where he was last night, and he can't have got so very far. He's Tom Smith, the hawker, and he'd got his van in a field nigh 'pon the top of Woodend Lane last night—put it there without a with-your-leave or a by-your-leave! Trespassing, that's what he was, and that's another thing you can have him up for. He was there to kidnap a child and a dog what he said was his; but I'll bet they wasn't—and that's another thing against him. Of course he'd move on as soon as he'd got the kid, but he can't have got so very far with that old horse of his—he looked as if he'd drop dead if he was made to go another mile."

The policeman stayed to see the train depart with the crowd safely packed inside it, then turned away with Bob. He was as anxious as Bob himself to follow up the case. Policemen did not get much chance in little country places, and promotion came slowly. "What was he giving you six shillings for?" he asked, as Bob and he trudged up the hill from the station.

Bob looked foolish. "Oh—for—for showing him the way," he stammered.

The policeman looked at him sharply. "What way?" he asked.

"To—to Woodend Lane," he answered, shortly, wondering distractedly how he could avoid giving true explanations; but the policeman, to his relief, did not press the matter further, and whatever his thoughts were, he kept them to himself.

Presently he asked, casually, "Where was the child he wanted to get hold of? In Woodend Lane?"

"Yes—I mean I dunno. I don't know nothing about it."

"I only asked, 'cause we've had word to keep a look-out for a man, probably with a caravan, who has stolen a child and a dog from Wood—"

"Why, look, what's that over there?" interrupted Bob, in sudden excitement.

"That over there" was a shabby brown caravan, hung about with tins and brushes, standing beneath a high hedge in a corner of a distant field. From the road beneath it, it would not be visible to any passer-by, but looking across country as they were the glitter of the tins flashing in the rays of the morning sun caught the eye, and discovered the van in its hiding-place.

"Here goes!" cried the policeman, excitedly. "A chap don't get a chance like this every day. Come along, young fellow, and don't make a noise."

Avoiding every possible risk of being observed approaching, Bob Thorp, led by the constable, made his way to the field where the caravan stood. Tethered to the hedge close by was Charlie, and securely roped to the van lay poor Dick.

"That's the dog," whispered Bob Thorp, excitedly.

Dick growled slightly at the faint sounds which now reached him, and more violently when he recognised his old enemy.

"Lie down, can't you?" bellowed a hoarse voice, roughly; and walking cautiously round to the front of the van they found the very man they were in search of lying on the ground rolled in a rug, with a couple of sacks over him. At the sight of Bob Thorp and the policeman he sprang to his feet at once.

"Anything you want, gentlemen? Anything I can sell you?" he asked, impudently. "A nice scrubbing-brush or—"

"'Tis you needs the scrubbing-brush, by the looks on you," said Bob, cheekily.

"And I want you," said the constable, sharply.

"Want me? What for?" he demanded, indignantly; but his face had suddenly turned an unhealthy gray colour, and in his eyes they could plainly read his alarm.

"Passing bad money," answered the policeman, quietly.

"Who says so? Who brought that charge against me?"

"'Im," the policeman jerked his head and his thumb towards Bob.

"And who's he, that his word should be took agin mine? Who's to say he hasn't been passing it himself, and—and of course he's got to put it off on someone, when he's found out."

"Well, you can fight that out before the magistrates. You've got to come along of me now. If you can explain it, that is all right, and you will soon be back again."

"All right," said Tom, agreeing, because he saw the uselessness of holding out. His brain was busy, though, trying to think out a plan. "I must just step inside, and break it to my wife—"

"Oh yes, and empty your pockets of all the rest of the bad money you've got!" burst out Bob, unable to control himself. "Likely tale that, eh!"

The policeman stepped over and laid his hand on Tom Smith's shoulder. "There's one or two other little matters too," he said. "You're wanted for some little affair about a girl and a dog. Is that the dog?"

"She's my own niece—"

"Is she? All right; you've only got to prove it, and that you're her lawful guardian, and a fit and proper person—"

A sharp scream suddenly rent the air, and made them all start. Emma Smith, waking from her heavy sleep, had heard the sound of voices, and looking cautiously out of the window, had caught sight of the policeman grasping her husband by the arm. Day and night for years she had been fearing this, and now it had actually happened! The shock was too much for her. Scream after scream pierced their ears, as she staggered out of the van and flung herself upon her husband.

The screams, which roused Dick to a fury of barking, and startled even poor old worn-out Charlie, wakened Huldah from the deep sleep into which she had fallen, exhausted by sorrow.

Springing from her bed, she saw the policeman, and that he had his hand on her uncle, holding him securely, in spite of Aunt Emma's attack. But why was Bob Thorp there, too? Huldah recognised him with a shock of surprise and fear.

For a moment she gazed frightened yet fascinated at the group, then across her mind flashed the thought, Here was her chance of escape! Quick as thought she caught up a knife from the table, and slipping down the steps cut the rope which held Dick, then, sheltered from view by the van itself, she clambered through the hedge with the dog at her heels, and away and away as fast as her feet could cover the ground. Her aunt's screams deadened any other noise, and her aunt's furious attack took all the attention of the three men, so that escape was easy.

It never entered Huldah's head that the policeman had come on her account, and that she was safer now than ever in her life before. She did not know there had been time to communicate with the police, and the one thought that had filled her mind all these weary hours was escape, and getting back to Mrs. Perry.

At first she raced wildly, but before very long her strength gave out, her excitement died down. Her pace grew slower and slower, more and more halting, and then finally she stopped. Thoughts of her Aunt Emma would force themselves on her mind. If her uncle was taken to jail, her aunt would be left alone with the horse and van. What would she do, day and night alone? How could she manage? Could she, Huldah, go and leave her like that!—but could she live that dreadful life again! Every day going further and further from Miss Rose and Mrs. Perry, and the dear little cottage, never perhaps to see them again! Huldah sat down on a bank underneath the hedge, to try and think the matter out. Dick came back from his happy wanderings and sat beside her, staring at her with wistful eyes, for he saw that she was in trouble, but why she should be was more than he could understand,—for were they not away together, and on their way home?

He gave a little whine, and Huldah looked up at him. "Oh, Dick, what can I do? Mrs. Perry will be so frightened there alone, and she'll be troubling about us so, and—and there's Miss Rose too"—more tears trickled down Huldah's cheeks,—"yet I can't go and leave Aunt Emma all alone now, with the van and Charlie to look after, and Uncle Tom in jail. Oh, what can I do? what can I do!"

Dick was puzzled too, but at that moment a fresh burst of screams burst on her ears, terrible, noisy screams, and bitter cries and shoutings. Tom Smith was being led away by the constable, and his wife had flung herself on the ground in hysterics, real or feigned.

Huldah crept back to the hedge and peered through. Her heart was heavy as lead. Her body ached with the blows she had received the night before, and her head throbbed painfully too, but these were as nothing compared with the pain of her poor little aching disappointed heart. On the other side of the hedge she saw her aunt lying on the ground, sobbing, screaming, and beating the ground with her fists.

Huldah crept back through the hedge, and up to her side. "Aunt Emma, don't take on like that," she said, gently, trying to comfort her. "He'll be back soon. They won't do anything to him, for certain." She little dreamed how black the case was against him.

But the sight of the girl seemed to change her aunt's overwhelming grief to sudden and violent anger against herself. Springing to her feet, she snatched the heavy whip from the van, and brought it down with all the force of which she was capable across Huldah's shoulders.

"It's all your fault!" she screamed, "it's all your fault! It was only to get hold of you that he offered the fellow the money, and if you hadn't run away he'd never have had to do it. 'Tis all your fault he's took, and I'll make you smart for it, my lady!" and seizing the poor shrinking, frightened child, she beat her until her arm dropped to her side exhausted.

"Stop that!" cried a stern voice, loudly. Huldah and her aunt fell back, shocked and startled by the sight of another policeman close to them. In the noise and excitement they had not heard anyone approaching. "Give me that whip."

Huldah gave one terrified glance at the man in blue, and fell fainting at his feet.

Emma Smith handed over the whip meekly enough. She was thoroughly scared now, for she never doubted that Huldah was dead, and that the policeman would declare that she had killed the child. In her terror for herself, her anxiety about her husband was forgotten. She began to wail and sob and beg forgiveness. She threw herself on the ground, calling loudly to Huldah to open her eyes and get up. She tried coaxings and all sorts of promises, but the policeman only thrust her aside.

"Go and get some cold water," he said, sternly.

She crept away meekly, and presently brought back a little drop in a broth basin. "That's all there is," she said, apologetically. It was very little, but with it the big man bathed the child's face and hands, and dabbed her lips and her brow.

"Go and get a blanket," he ordered. "She oughtn't to be lying on the cold wet ground so long. She doesn't seem to be coming round." He felt Huldah's pulse, and laid his hand over her heart. "It is beating," he muttered, in a tone of relief. Then he lifted her on to the blanket, and wrapped her in it, then bathed her brow again, until presently a faint quiver of the body and a fluttering sigh showed that consciousness was returning.

At last Huldah opened her eyes and looked vaguely about her, wondering where she was. At sight of her aunt and the policeman the old look of terror came back to her face, and she struggled to sit up.

"Don't you hurry yourself, now," said the policeman, kindly. "And don't you be afraid of me. I've come to look after you, and take you back to your friends."

"You can't," muttered Emma Smith, sullenly. "She's mine. The child's right enough; they all want a hiding sometimes."

"Sometimes, perhaps, but not constant; and never as you lays it on. I should be taking you up for murder if you did it often in your way!"

Emma Smith only looked more sullen. "Well, she's mine, and no one else's, and I'm going to keep her."

"Look here, my woman, what's the good of going on like that? You've got to prove, first of all, that she is yours, and then that you're a fit and proper person to have her. In the meantime I've got my orders to fetch her away, and if you want her you can apply to the magistrates, and prove to them all that you've been saying. Now, then, where's her bonnet and shawl?"

"She hasn't got any," sulkily.

"Then you've got to provide her with some. Hurry up; but first of all, has she had anything to eat or drink to-day?"

"No, nor won't have. I haven't got anything for myself."

"That seems unlucky; but if you'll come along of me you shall have a good cup of tea and a bit of breakfast. Now then, missie, are you ready?"

Huldah had sat speechless all this time. She felt giddy and ill, and quite worn out. She was so dazed too, she could not think what to do, or what she ought to do. Things seemed to have got beyond her, and to be taken out of her hands.

She struggled to her feet, and let the policeman wrap her, head and all, in the old shawl. She wondered vaguely if she would feel better able to walk when once she had started; but even the standing on her feet seemed too much for her, and it was with a real sense of relief that she felt the man lift her in his arms and stride away with her.

No word of farewell was said, but in a moment or two she heard her aunt's rough voice calling after them, "You've no right to that dog, and if you takes him I'll have the law of you!"

The policeman stopped, and turned round. "Oh, by the way, I've forgot one thing now. I want to see your dog-licence."

But Emma Smith only walked away into the van muttering angrily, and banging the door after her, left them to go their way in peace.

Huldah scarcely knew how that walk passed. She was conscious now and then of a feeling of shame, for letting herself be carried. She felt she ought to walk, but before she could say so the old faintness stole over her again, and she knew that to walk was beyond her power. Now and then she heard the policeman talking in a friendly voice to Dick, who walked close beside them, and Dick's excited bark. She was wondering how much further they had to go, when they drew up, and Huldah found herself being laid on a wooden bench in a room where two or three policemen were standing round a fire.

To her surprise, she was no longer afraid of them, they were too kind and gentle for that. One of those standing by the fire, an elderly man, came over to where she lay.

"Well, young woman," he said, cheerfully, "and when did you have anything to eat last? Day before yesterday, by the look of you."

Huldah tried to remember. "It wasn't quite so long ago as that," she said, feebly. "I had some dinner—yesterday, I think. When was yesterday?"

The man laughed. "Don't you worry," he said, kindly; "you've been living two days in one, and have got muddled. You will feel better when you've had a basin of hot bread and milk. Bring her over to the fire, Harry, she's starved with the cold."

"Harry," her first friend, carried her over, and put her in a big armchair by the fire, and presently one of the others brought her a basin of hot bread and milk, and a plateful of food for Dick, and before Huldah had taken a half of it she was feeling altogether a different person.

"I didn't feel hungry, but I s'pose I was," she said, simply, looking up with grateful, friendly eyes at the old policeman. "I feel ever so much better now."

"Ay, ay; we don't always know what we want, nor what is good for us,—but here's somebody as'll be good for you, unless I'm very much mistaken!" and Huldah, following the direction of his eyes as they travelled to the door, gave one long low cry of rapturous delight, for there walking in to the police station were Mrs. Perry and Miss Rose!



CHAPTER X.

ONE SUMMER'S AFTERNOON.

Huldah was home again, and Dick too, and more free and happy than they had ever been in their lives before, for, from Huldah, at any rate, there was lifted the great dread of being traced by her uncle and taken back, a dread which had in the old days lain always like a shadow on her life. Now, the worst had happened, and was over, for the law had declared that neither Tom Smith nor Emma, his wife had the slightest claim to her, not being related at all. Nor were they fit and proper persons to have the charge of any child. And to her great delight she was handed over to the guardianship of the vicar and Miss Rose Carew, and to the care of Mrs. Perry, to be trained and brought up to be an honest, truthful, industrious woman.

Never to the end of her life would Huldah forget that home-coming, that drive back to Woodend Lane, or those days that followed.

"Was it really only yesterday that I was here, and Dick and I walked into Belmouth?" she asked, incredulously, as she lay back in the carriage. "It seems weeks and weeks ago! Oh, how lovely everything is! It seems as if I didn't notice it enough till now;" and she drew in long breaths of the fresh cold air, and the mingled scents of wet earth and pine trees. "I seem to smell vi'lets, but they can't be out yet, can they, miss?"

Miss Carew laughed. "Lots of things have happened since yesterday, brownie; but even the brownies could not make the violets spring up and open in one night."

"But God could," thought Huldah to herself.

After all that happened in the last twenty-four hours, she felt that nothing was beyond His power, but she was too shy to say so aloud. A deep sense of love and gratitude for all the goodness shown to her made her feel, a moment later, ashamed of her shyness. God had been so good to her, how could she be so bad as to feel ashamed to speak of Him? She had prayed and prayed, and prayed to Him all that long night through, and He had heard her, and sent her help.

She had been frightened, and she had been made to suffer, but it was only that all might be made better for her presently. Young though she was, she could see that if she had not had this trial to go through, she would always have had the old danger, the old fear hanging over her. She would never have felt quite safe and happy.

Miss Rose had taught her about God, and His Son, the gentle, loving Christ. She had taught her to pray to Him, and to read her Bible, and to sing hymns, but only now did He become real to Huldah, her very only loving Father, and her heart swelled with love and gratitude to Him who had stood by her and taken care of her. She knew now, too, that He would take care of her all her life through.

"Oh, it's grand!" she thought to herself, "to have a big strong Father and a Brother to watch over one!" And she felt as though no one could harm her any more.

Rob was walking in leisurely fashion up the hill now, and no sound broke the silence but the twittering of the birds in the hedge, Rob's short, sharp steps on the hard road, and the scrunching of the gravel under the wheels, when suddenly Miss Rose's voice sounded singing softly but sweetly,

"Lead Kindly Light, amid the encircling gloom, Lead Thou me on; The night is dark, and I am far from home, Lead Thou me on. Keep Thou my feet; I do not ask to see The distant scene,—one step enough for me."

Then Martha Perry's feeble voice joined in, and last of all Huldah's shy, weak treble. They were all so grateful, so full of thankfulness and faith, they could not help it. And ever after, when Huldah passed along that road, the same lines sprang spontaneously to heart and lips, "One step enough for me."

Winter ended soon, and spring came early that year. In the cottage garden the wallflowers and daffodils had sprung up and burst into bloom before anyone had quite realised that their time had come. In the field opposite the hedges were so lined with primroses that the scent greeted you across the road.

In those warm days, when school was over, and on half-holidays, Huldah took her work across to the field, and sat in the sunshine surrounded by the gold-starred hedges, where the ferns and violets and ladies' smocks fought for room, and mingled in one sweet tangle of beauty. She was very, very happy in those days, and busy from morning till night. She had her house-work, her school-work, and also her basket-making, and she worked very hard indeed at the last, for by means of it she was able to buy many little comforts for "Aunt Martha," as she had learnt to call Mrs. Perry, and was able to clothe herself, and put something by in the bank. At least, she hoped to be able to go on doing that, if the orders came in as they had done.

"When I leave school I shall have ever so much more time, too," she thought, joyfully,—for Huldah did not love school, and longed for the time when she would be freed from it.

In the middle of the field rose a high hillock, over which the young lambs loved to run and play in the spring-time, and on the top of the hillock lay the trunk of a large tree, which had lain there ever since a storm had blown it down years ago.

Huldah, at any rate, was glad of the idleness which had never put the tree to any good use, for it formed her favourite seat now. The view from it was lovely, she could look right down over the slope of the hill to the woods and stream at the foot, and then away up over the moorland beyond, and she could see the road, too, and keep watch over the cottage, and if Aunt Martha wanted her, she had only to step to the door and wave her hand.

Sometimes during that summer she got Mrs. Perry up to the fallen tree too, and more than once they had their tea there. But Mrs. Perry was not very fond of sitting out of doors, and more often Huldah was alone, save for Dick, alone with her thoughts and hopes and dreams.

That summer was a long and hot one, with frequent heavy thunderstorms. Mrs. Perry could not endure the storms, they made her feel ill, and frightened her, until all her nerves were set quivering. Huldah herself felt no fear, but she did dread the storms for her aunt's sake, and there seemed no end to them that summer.

"I do believe there's another coming up," she sighed, as, suddenly noticing that the light was going, she lifted her eyes from her work and looked about her. "I'd better go in now, in case it does come on; but it is vexing. I did so want to finish this."

It was the last day of August, and the close of the holidays, and Huldah had made up her mind to get the last of an order finished, and ready to send away before she went back to school. She glanced down hesitatingly at her unfinished work, and then at the gathering blackness of the sky around her, a blackness which had a red-brown angry glow underneath,—a glow which left no time for hesitation.

There was no doubt about it, she must go, and go quickly, or Aunt Martha would be worrying. She glanced across at the cottage, and there sure enough was Mrs. Perry standing waving her hand to call her in.

Huldah sprang to her feet at once. "Run on, Dick, and tell her I'm coming. Run home, that's a good dog!"

Dick started, hesitated, but at a sign from his mistress ran on again. Huldah collected her work and rolled it all up in her work-apron,—one with big pockets, which Miss Rose had made for her,—but before she was ready a sharp bark from Dick made her wheel round quickly. A strange, shabbily dressed woman was standing talking to Mrs. Perry. She had come so silently, so unexpectedly that Huldah had quite a shock, it seemed almost as though she had sprung up out of the ground.

"Only someone begging, I suppose," she said to herself, but there was a vague feeling of trouble at her heart that she could not account for. The new-comer looked harmless enough, a poor, shabbily dressed beggar-woman, thin, stooping, feeble-looking.

When Mrs. Perry raised her head and looked up over the field again, Huldah saw that her face was white and frightened, and in sudden alarm she took to her heels, and ran as fast as she could to the gate.

At the click of the latch the new-comer turned and looked across the road, and as she looked Huldah felt her head reel, and her heart almost stop beating, for the tramp was Aunt Emma! Aunt Emma, come to cross her path once more. Aunt Emma, shabbier and dirtier than ever, and with a pinched, starved look, which showed that things had not been going well with her.

When she caught sight of Huldah, her face lightened a little, and she hurried across the road to meet her.

"I've come to know if you can help me," she began, in the same old fretful, whining voice. "I know you don't want to see me again, nobody does, but I'm starving. I've been starving mostly ever since Tom was took away—"

"Took away," gasped Huldah faintly. "Where?"

"He's got three years. Didn't you know? And I'm left to keep myself, and I can't do it. I'll never live till he comes out, I know. I've sold the van and everything. I couldn't go round with it by meself, but the man that had it off me cheated me something crool. When Tom knows he'll—he'll—oh he'll be mad with me—"

"And Charlie?" asked Huldah, anxiously.

"Charlie! Oh, he's dead. He dropped down in the road one day. 'Twas lucky I'd sold him, wasn't it? He died only two days after."

Tears sprang to Huldah's eyes. "Oh, Charlie, poor dear old Charlie!" she cried, "and—and I never said good-bye to him, or anything!"

"He's best off," said Emma Smith, coldly. "I wouldn't have been sorry if I'd dropped down dead, too."

Huldah gasped.

"I can't get anything to do. I've tried to sell laces and buttons, and cotton, but nobody don't seem to want any,—leastways not of me," and neither of her listeners wondered, when they looked at her, so dirty, so untidy, so forbidding in appearance.

"I couldn't earn enough to get food or a bed, leave alone buy a new stock."

Huldah wondered why she had come. Was it only to beg? In another moment she knew.

"I came to see if you couldn't 'elp me a bit. You've got good friends and a comfortable home, and plenty to eat and drink. You surely wouldn't let me go starving—me that brought you up, and did everything for you."

"Everything!" Huldah's thoughts flew back over her life, from the time her mother died until she made her escape, a year ago, and wondered what was meant by "everything."

"I know as you can make a good bit by your baskets, and it don't seem fair that strangers should have it all, do it?"

"Strangers don't have it all," said Huldah, warmly. "Even my best friends don't. I have what I earn, to buy what I like with. I buy my own clothes, and I give Mrs. Perry a little for keeping me—"

"Oh! a pretty fine thing that! Why, she ought to be paying you wages for being a little galley-slave to her, and doing all her work!"

"I don't!" cried Huldah, indignantly. "I don't work nearly as hard as I did for you, when I never had a penny of my own, not even from what my baskets made."

In a moment, though, she was sorry she had lost her temper. Mrs. Perry, standing at her door watching them, looked so frightened when their words rose high, and Emma Smith herself looked so weary and miserable one could not help pitying her.

"I—I've got half-a-crown in my purse. I'll give you that," said Huldah, gently. "It's all I have now, but it will get you a bed and some food."

Mrs. Perry came towards them. "Huldah," she said, kindly, "if your— if Mrs. Smith will come in and rest, I'll make her a cup of tea. She looks fit to drop."

The poor tramp turned to her gratefully. "I feels like it too. I haven't tasted anything since yesterday," she added, feebly; and, now that the eagerness and excitement had died out of her face, she looked almost like a dying woman.

They led the way into the cottage, and gave her the most comfortable chair. She dropped into it with almost a groan of relief, and then, as though the kindness overcame her, she began to weep weakly. "I couldn't help coming to Huldah," she sobbed. "I couldn't keep away. I haven't a friend or relation in the world but her, nor nowhere to go,—but the workhouse, and I can't go there. I'd rather die under a hedge. I've always been so used to the open, and my freedom, and I couldn't bear it. But I haven't got a penny, nor no means of getting one. Whatever I'm going to do I don't know. Tom's put away for three years, and I shan't ever live to see him come out, I know,—but nobody cares! It don't matter to nobody whether I'm alive or dead."

The storm had broken by this time, and the crashing of the thunder seemed to add horror to the hopeless misery of her sobs and complainings. Huldah could scarcely bear it.

"Aunt Emma, don't say such things," she cried. "I care, I do really. You shan't starve,—not while I can work. I'll work harder, and help you. I'll ask Miss Rose about it."

But the half-starved, miserable woman could not check her sobs, once they had begun. The hunger and want and loneliness had worn her health and spirit until a little kindness was more than she could bear. She broke down entirely under it.

Huldah sat with a very grave face all the time they were taking their tea. Things had suddenly become so perplexing, she did not know what to do or think.

"Oh dear," she sighed, "it all seemed so lovely only an hour ago. I thought it was going to last like it for ever and ever." She was so lost in perplexity about Aunt Emma's future, that Mrs. Perry was left to entertain their guest,—to listen, at least, to the tale of her wanderings and sufferings, and the hardships she had endured all her life.

"I've never 'ad nobody to care for me, nor no kindness from anybody, so I haven't got to thank anybody for anything—that's one thing!" the poor foolish woman kept repeating, as though, instead of being ashamed of it, it was something to be proud of.

"As we sow, we reap," thought Aunt Martha; the truth of the words had come home to her many times, since she had taken in the two friendless waifs. Dick and Huldah would have loved this woman too, if she had allowed them to. She grew a little impatient of the long complainings. "We don't get love back, if we don't give any," she said at last.

"Who'd I got? Who'd want me to love them?" she demanded, peevishly.

"Why, the child, for one, and Dick, and that poor old horse, not to speak of your husband."

Emma Smith was silent. It had never before entered her head that to be loved one must love, that the way to win it is to think of others first, and self last. She ceased her complaining, as she realised for the first time that others besides herself had something to complain of. She had always been one of those who are so full of pity for themselves that they never have time to feel pity for others.

By the time the meal was finished Huldah's mind was made up. She must talk to Miss Rose about things. The matter seemed so puzzling, so complicated, she could not sort out the right and the wrong of it at all. It was all beyond her. Aunt Martha fell in with the plan at once.

"Mrs. Smith can stay here with me till you come back," she said, hospitably; and the visitor agreed eagerly.

The storm was over by that time, but the air was oppressive, and the heat great. Huldah walked along very soberly, for there was a sense of depression weighing on her, a foreboding that an end was coming to her happy, peaceful life. There was always trouble when any part of her old life cropped up again.

She was ashamed, too, to be troubling Miss Rose again about her affairs; she felt she had done little but bring trouble to them all ever since she had walked into their lives that summer's night a year ago. She who longed to bring them nothing but pleasure!

Just then she came to the top of the little hill up which Rob had crawled that winter morning, and once again the words Miss Rose had sung came back to her, as though they still lingered on the air there,

"Keep Thou my feet; I do not ask to see The distant scene,—one step enough for me."

Huldah sang them aloud as she descended the slope, and the load of care slipped off her heart, leaving her with a brave determination to face courageously whatever might have to be faced.



CHAPTER XI.

HULDAH'S NEW HOME.

And there was very much to be faced, she found as the days came and went, for within a week of that afternoon when Emma Smith crossed her path again, much had been discussed and arranged, and another change was to come into Huldah's life.

The doctor, the vicar's own doctor, had seen and examined Emma Smith, and had given her but another year to live. He had not told her that, but he had warned her very gravely that she was in a very bad state of health, and that he would not answer for the consequences, if she did not obey him; and something in his voice or manner had stopped her peevish complainings, and set her thinking seriously.

The doctor strongly urged that she should go to the workhouse infirmary. "She will be well nursed and looked after there," he said, "and she will be provided with all she requires," but she herself showed such violent opposition that at last, in fear for her health, they ceased to press it. Had they done so, she would surely have run away. At the same time she had no other home, no means, and what powers she had had of earning any were fast failing her.

"I thought you'd be able to help me, now you'm getting on so well," she said to Huldah. "We fed and clothed and did everything for you, and now's your chance of returning some of it." Then her mood changed, and she wept and moaned, and clung to the girl passionately. "Don't you leave me!" she pleaded, hysterically; "don't you go and turn your back on me, too. You was mine before you was hers," nodding her head towards Mrs. Perry.

Her clinging to Huldah was more than a passing fancy, as they found, when they tried to get her to go into a home where she could have had rest and change and food and nursing. She sobbed and pleaded, then flatly refused to go, unless Huldah went too.

"She's the only one in the world I know," she cried. "Don't send me away with strangers, they'll all look down on me, and—and I—no, I couldn't bear it. I won't go, I won't, I won't! I'll go off on the tramp again, where none of you will ever find me, and I won't ever bother any of you any more."

At last Huldah went with tears in her eyes to Miss Carew. "I'll have to go with her, miss," she said, piteously. "She can't go away on the tramp all by herself. I can keep us both pretty well. I must go with her, Miss Rose, wherever she goes; she hasn't got anybody else."

This of course they could not allow. They could never send such a child as Huldah out into the world, with only a dying woman as companion and protector, to live where and how she could, in nobody knew what dreadful haunts. So it was decided between them that Emma Smith was to settle down amongst them, and Huldah must leave Mrs. Perry and go to live with her. No lodgings could be found for her, for in that village the houses were not big enough to hold in comfort even the families that lived in them, and there was certainly no room for a lodger. And houses were as scarce as lodgings.

At last a brilliant idea came to Miss Carew, and with her father's permission she hurried off with the good news.

"You shall have the two rooms over our coach-house," she cried, delightedly, for it was a real relief to her to feel that Huldah would be so near her, and under her own eye. "They are a good size, and dry and airy; and we must all pull together to get what furniture we can."

Huldah's face grew brighter and brighter with every word Miss Rose uttered, for she had begun to fear that they would have to go elsewhere.

To be near Miss Rose, too, would help to make up for the pain of leaving Aunt Martha and Dick and the cottage, a parting which had been weighing on her more heavily than she would have liked anyone to know. Dick, it was decided, was to remain with Mrs. Perry, for without him she declared she could not live on in the cottage when Huldah was gone.

As soon as the rooms had been cleaned and papered, the furnishing began, and that was really rather fun. No one was rich, and no one could give much, but what they gave they gave with a will. Miss Rose turned out some sheets and pillow-cases, a table and a chair, the vicar ordered in half a ton of coal, the doctor's wife gave them a bed, some pieces of carpet, curtains, a kettle and an old basket chair. Mrs. Perry gave a teapot, cups and saucers, and a rag-rug of her own making. The doctor sent in some pots and pans, and meat and other food to put in them, and the folks in the village, who had come to know Huldah's story, turned out something, and sent, a jug, a brush, a sack of firewood, a bar of soap, and all manner of odds and ends, every one of which came in usefully. Huldah's own little bed and looking-glass and odds and ends came from her bedroom in the cottage, and all together helped to make the two bare rooms look home-like and comfortable.

The furniture was scanty and shabby, but to anyone accustomed to rough it as Emma Smith had done, the place was beautiful, and full of comfort and rest.

When it was ready, and she was first taken into it, she dropped into the basket chair by the fire, and burst into grateful tears. It was the first time she had shown any gratitude or pleasure in what was being done for her.

"It's like 'ome," she sobbed, weakly, "and I've never had one since I got married, till now,—and now—how I'm ever going to thank everybody, I don't know. I never seem able to do any good to anybody, I don't. 'Tis all take, with me, and no give, and I'm ashamed of it."

Huldah felt some of the load slip off her spirits as she looked about her. Here really was a home for Aunt Emma,—and now it rested with herself to make it as neat and comfortable and happy as a home could be. She would keep it as clean as a new pin, and as pretty as lay in her power. She tried to conquer her sadness by hard work, to put away her sorrow at leaving Aunt Martha and Dick and their happy life together.

"Brownies always go where there's most to be done, Miss Rose says, not where they'll be most comfortable," she said to herself, bravely, but her poor little face was very wistful. A few days later, though, when, after a long day's work, she sat down and looked about her, she remarked cheerfully, "I don't think anybody can go on feeling very miserable when they've lots to do and somebody to take care of." A glow of pride warmed her heart, as she sat there drying her water-soaked hands, and glanced from the gleaming stove and fire-irons to the speckless window, and well-scrubbed table.

On the table stood a jar full of autumn flowers, and on the window-sill a box full of brown earth and little roots, double daisies, primulas, wallflowers. This last was Huldah's special joy and pride.

"We'll have a proper little garden there, when the spring comes," she remarked proudly to Aunt Emma.

Aunt Emma shook her head in melancholy fashion. "I shan't be here to see it."

"Oh yes you will. You'll be helping me with the spring cleaning," said Huldah, trying to keep cheerful,—one of the hardest of her daily tasks, for Aunt Emma's melancholy seldom left her. She never saw the bright side of anything, poor soul, nor the best, nor did she try to; and the depressingness of it told on the child's spirits more than anyone knew.

She worked very hard indeed at this time. The vicar had given them the rooms rent-free; but Huldah's basket-making had to supply almost everything else—food, clothing, lights, and many an extra—needed for Aunt Emma. Their rooms were few, and there was not much in them, but all that had to be done fell to Huldah to do. Emma Smith never put her hand to anything, not even to wash a dish, cook a meal, or make her own bed. She needed a great deal of waiting on, too, and was very fretful. She did not like to be left alone, even while Huldah went out to do the errands; and on the days when the poor child had to go to Belmouth to deliver her work, or get more raffia, Aunt Emma had always a very bad turn, and an attack of melancholy.

It was quite pathetic to see the way she clung to the little waif she had treated so cruelly when she had her in her power. She wanted no one but Huldah now, and she wanted her always. She loved her brightness and cheerfulness. When Huldah laughed and sang she was quite content, but the moment she was sad or quiet, Aunt Emma would grow peevish and uneasy.

"You'm fretting because you've got to stay here with me, I know. You'm longing to be back with that Mrs. Perry. I know it's 'ard to 'ave to live with a poor miserable creature like me, and I wonder you can bear it as well as you do."

Then she would burst into tears. It never occurred to her that she might try to make it less miserable for Huldah, by trying to be cheerful herself sometimes.

"I'm not fretting. I love taking care of you," pleaded poor Huldah. "I was only trying to think how to make a new-shaped basket that people might take a fancy to. Shall I read to you, Aunt Emma?"

Emma Smith loved being read to, and hour after hour Huldah spent over a book when she knew she ought to be at her basket-making. To try to make up the time, she got up at four or five in the morning, but in the winter that meant burning oil, and they could not afford that. Then one day it occurred to her to sing instead of reading, and after that she found things easier, for she could sing while she worked.

It was a strange medley of songs that echoed through the rooms in the thin child-like voice. "Home, sweet Home," "Father, dear Father, come Home," "God save the King," "The Old Folks at Home," were some of their favourites, and if the words and air were not always correct, they never failed to bring pleasure to both performer and audience.

Of hymns Huldah had a greater store in her brain, and by degrees these ousted the songs as favourites.

"Sing that one about the green hill without any wall round it," Aunt Emma said one day. "It does mind me so of 'ome when we were children. Our cottage was just at the foot of a hill like that, and mother used to turn us out there to play together by the hour. It was what they call a mountain. We used to dare each other to go to the top."

"Did you ever do it?" asked Huldah, plaiting away industriously.

"Never; we was so afraid. It was so high up, and the top looked so far away, and—oh, it used to frighten me! I'd dream at night that I was lost up there, and I'd call and call, and nobody ever heard me or came to save me."

"He'd have saved, if you'd asked Him," said Huldah, gravely.

"I wonder why He didn't save Himself," said Aunt Emma. "I spose He could have, couldn't He?"

"Oh yes, He could, and He could have struck all His enemies down dead if He'd liked, only He was always one for thinking about others, never about Himself."

"And that's the sort that always gets put upon," said Aunt Emma, quickly.

"He died that we might go to Heaven, He died to make us good, He died that we might be forgiven—"

Aunt Emma's voice failed, and she suddenly burst into tears. "I couldn't never be good enough," she sobbed, piteously. "I haven't been good since I was a child, and now I'm going to die—I know it, I feel it, I see it in the doctor's face, and—and everybody's. I've got to die, and just when I'm happy for the first time. He says He loves everybody, but nobody ever loved me, I never gave 'em reason to, and—and I'm afraid to die, Huldah! I've been so bad, and it'll be so lonely! I wouldn't mind so much if there was somebody over—over the other side that loved me."

There had been a footstep on the stair, but neither of them had heard it, and when Miss Rose entered the room neither of them saw her, for their eyes were blinded with tears.

"Oh, Aunt Emma!" cried Huldah, springing to her bedside, "I love you! I do, I do, and—and oh, I wish someone would tell you all about it, so that you'd understand, and feel happy!"

A soft, light step crossed the room, and a gentle hand was laid on Huldah's bowed head. "Dear, shall I try? Shall we try together?"

Huldah sprang to her feet with a glad cry. "Oh, Miss Rose, I was longing for you to come. You can tell Aunt Emma."

Miss Rose sat down beside the bed, and laid her hand gently on Emma's hand. "I wish I was more clever," she said, wistfully. "I wish I could make you feel how dearly Jesus has always loved you, how He has wept for you and longed for you, how He has forgiven you all the neglect and insults you have heaped on Him, and has held out His arms, beseeching you to come to Him! At this very moment He is standing at the door, patiently waiting for you to let Him in. Will you keep Him outside, dear Emma?"

Miss Rose's voice died away, and silence reigned in the darkening room; the fire fell together and sent up a cheerful flame, Emma Smith lay thinking,—"Was it really true that He wanted her?" That she had turned her back on Him, and mocked and insulted Him, she knew, knew better than anyone else could,—and could He really love her in spite of all?

Miss Rose's voice broke the silence, singing softly,

"Knocking, knocking, who is there? Waiting, waiting, oh, how fair! 'Tis a Pilgrim, strange and kingly, Never such was seen before; Ah, my soul, for such a wonder Wilt thou not undo the door? Knocking, knocking—what, still there? Waiting, waiting, grand and fair, Yes, the pierced hand still knocketh, And beneath the crowned hair Beam the patient eyes, so tender, Of the Saviour, waiting there."

Low sobs broke from the poor soul on the bed, sobs of grief and joy and repentance. "If He really cares—if He is really like that!" she sobbed. "Oh, I want Him! I do want Him to love and take care of me, too!"

Miss Rose's arms were round her, her lips were on her brow. "My dear, He is all that, and more. He will take care of you always, in this world and the next. He will love you so that you cannot feel lonely any more. Put your hand in His, put all your troubles off on His shoulders, trust Him, and follow where He leads you, and nothing can harm you. Don't be afraid. He will lead you to a home, and love and happiness such as no one could know in this world, where we are all so weak and full of faults."