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diff --git a/7437.txt b/7437.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..d828540 --- /dev/null +++ b/7437.txt @@ -0,0 +1,7865 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of A Peep Behind the Scenes, by Mrs. O. F. Walton + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: A Peep Behind the Scenes + +Author: Mrs. O. F. Walton + +Posting Date: October 14, 2012 [EBook #7437] +Release Date: February, 2005 +First Posted: April 30, 2003 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A PEEP BEHIND THE SCENES *** + + + + +Produced by Timeless Truths Online Library, Charles Franks, +Juliet Sutherland and the DP Team + + + + + + + + + + + +A PEEP BEHIND THE SCENES + +BY MRS. O. F. WALTON + +Author OF 'CHRISTIE'S OLD ORGAN,' 'SAVED AT SEA' 'SHADOWS,' ETC. + + + + +CONTENTS + +CHAPTER + +I. ROSALIE + +II. THE LITTLE THEATRE + +III. THE DAY AFTER THE FAIR + +IV. THE ACTRESS'S STORY + +V. ROSALIE'S FIRST SERMON + +VI. A FAMILY SECRET + +VII. THE CIRCUS PROCESSION + +VIII. LITTLE MOTHER MANIKIN + +IX. THE DOCTOR'S VISIT + +X. BRITANNIA + +XI. THE MOTHER'S DREAM + +XII. A LONE LAMB + +XIII. VANITY FAIR + +XIV. BETSEY ANN + +XV. LIFE IN THE LODGING-HOUSE + +XVI. A DARK TIME + +XVII. ALONE IN THE WORLD + +XVIII. THE LITTLE PITCHER + +XIX. SKIRRYWINKS. + +XX. MOTHER MANIKIN'S CHAIRS + +XXI. IN SIGHT OF HOME + +XXII. THE LOST LAMB FOUND + +XXIII. THE GREEN PASTURE. + + + + +[Illustration: ] + +A PEEP BEHIND THE SCENES + + + + +CHAPTER I + +ROSALIE + +Rain, rain, rain! How mercilessly it fell on the Fair-field that Sunday +afternoon! Every moment the pools increased and the mud became thicker. How +dismal the fair looked then! On Saturday evening it had been brilliantly +lighted with rows of flaring naphtha-lights; and the grand shows, in the +most aristocratic part of the field, had been illuminated with crosses, +stars, anchors, and all manner of devices. + +But there were no lights now; there was nothing to cast a halo round the +dirty, weather-stained tents and the dingy caravans. + +Yet, in spite of this, and in spite of the rain, a crowd of Sunday idlers +lingered about the fair, looking with great interest at the half-covered +whirligigs and bicycles, peeping curiously into the deserted shows, and +making many schemes for further enjoyment on the morrow, when the fair was +once more to be in its glory. + +Inside the caravans the show-people were crouching over their fires and +grumbling at the weather, murmuring at having to pay so much for the ground +on which their shows were erected, at a time when they would be likely to +make so little profit. + +A little old man, with a rosy, good-tempered face, was making his way +across the sea of mud which divided the shows from each other. He was +evidently no idler in the fair; he had come into it that Sunday afternoon +for a definite purpose, and he did not intend to leave it until it was +accomplished. After crossing an almost impassable place, he climbed the +steps leading to one of the caravans and knocked at the door. + +It was a curious door; the upper part of it, being used as a window, was +filled with glass, behind which you could see two small muslin curtains, +tied up with pink ribbon. No one came to open the door when the old man +knocked, and he was about to turn away, when some little boys, who were +standing near, called out to him-- + +'Rap again, sir, rap again; there's a little lass in there; she went in a +bit since.' + +'Don't you wish you was her?' said one of the little boys to the other. + +'Ay!' said the little fellow; 'I wish _our_ house would move about, +and had little windows with white curtains and pink bows!' + +The old man laughed a hearty laugh at the children's talk, and rapped again +at the caravan door. + +This time a face appeared between the muslin curtains and peered cautiously +out. It was a very pretty little face, so pretty that the old man sighed to +himself when he saw it. + +Then the small head turned round, and seemed to be telling what it had seen +to some one within, and asking leave to admit the visitor; for a minute +afterwards the door was opened, and the owner of the pretty face stood +before the old man. + +She was a little girl about twelve years of age, very slender and delicate +in appearance. Her hair, which was of a rich auburn colour, was hanging +down to her waist, and her eyes were the most beautiful the old man thought +he had ever seen. + +She was very poorly dressed, and she shivered as the damp, cold air rushed +in through the open door. + +'Good afternoon, my little dear,' said the old man. + +She was just going to answer him when a violent fit of coughing from within +caused her to look round, and when it was over a weak, querulous voice said +hurriedly-- + +'Shut the door, Rosalie; it's so cold; ask whoever it is to come in.' + +The old man did not wait for a second invitation; he stepped inside the +caravan, and the child closed the door. + +It was a very small place; there was hardly room for him to stand. At the +end of the caravan was a narrow bed something like a berth on board ship, +and on it a woman was lying who was evidently very ill. She was the child's +mother, the old man felt sure. She had the same beautiful eyes and sunny +hair, though her face was thin and wasted. + +There was not room for much furniture in the small caravan; a tiny stove, +the chimney of which went through the wooden roof, a few pans, a shelf +containing cups and saucers, and two boxes which served as seats, +completely filled it. There was only just room for the old man to stand, +and the fire was so near him that he was in danger of being scorched. + +Rosalie had seated herself on one of the boxes close to her mother's bed. + +'You must excuse my intruding, ma'am,' said the old man, with a polite bow; +'but I'm so fond of little folks, and I've brought this little girl of +yours a picture, if she will accept it from me.' + +A flush of pleasure came into the child's face as he brought out of his +pocket his promised gift. She seized it eagerly, and held it up before her +with evident delight, whilst her mother raised herself on her elbow to look +at it with her. + +It was the picture of a shepherd, with a very kind and compassionate face, +who was bearing home in his bosom a lost lamb. The lamb's fleece was torn +in several places, and there were marks of blood on its back, as if it had +been roughly used by some cruel beast in a recent struggle. + +But the shepherd seemed to have suffered more than the lamb, for he was +wounded in many places, and his blood was falling in large drops on the +ground. Yet he did not seem to mind it; his face was full of love and full +of joy as he looked at the lamb. He had forgotten his sorrow in his joy +that the lamb was saved. + +In the distance were some of the shepherd's friends, who were coming to +meet him, and underneath the picture were these words, printed in large +letters-- + +'Rejoice with Me, for I have found My sheep which was lost. There is joy in +the presence of the angels of God over one sinner that repenteth.' + +The little girl read the words aloud in a clear, distinct voice; and her +mother gazed at the picture with tears in her eyes. + +'Those are sweet words, ain't they?' said the old man. + +'Yes,' said the woman, with a sigh; 'I have heard them many times before.' + +'Has the Good Shepherd ever said them of _you_, ma'am? Has He ever +called the bright angels together and said to them of _you_, "Rejoice +with Me, for I have found My sheep which was lost"?' + +The woman did not speak; a fit of coughing came on, and the old man stood +looking at her with a very pitying expression. + +'You are very ill, ma'am, I'm afraid,' he said. + +'Yes, very ill,' gasped the woman bitterly; 'every one can see that but +Augustus!' + +'That's my father,' said the little girl. + +'No; he doesn't see it,' repeated the woman; 'he thinks I ought to get up +and act in the play, just as usual. I did try at the last place we went to; +but I fainted as soon as my part was over, and I've been in bed ever +since.' + +'You must be tired of moving about, ma'am,' said the old man +compassionately. + +'Tired?' said she; 'I should think I _was_ tired; it isn't what I was +brought up to. I was brought up to a very different kind of life from +_this_,' she said, with a very deep-drawn sigh. 'It's a weary time I +have of it--a weary time.' + +'Are you always on the move, ma'am?' asked the old man. + +'All the summer-time,' said the woman. 'We get into lodgings for a little +time in the winter; and then we let ourselves out to some of the small town +theatres; but all the rest of the year we're going from feast to feast and +from fair to fair--no rest nor comfort, not a bit!' + +'Poor thing! poor thing!' said the old man; and then a choking sensation +appeared to have seized him, for he cleared his throat vigorously many +times, but seemed unable to say more. + +The child had climbed on one of the boxes, and brought down a square red +pincushion from the shelf which ran round the top of the caravan. From this +she took two pins, and fastened the picture on the wooden wall, so that her +mother could see it as she was lying in bed. + +'It does look pretty there,' said the little girl; 'mammie, you can look at +it nicely now.' + +'Yes, ma'am,' said the old man, as he prepared to take his leave; 'and as +you look at it, think of that Good Shepherd who is seeking you. He wants to +find you, and take you up in His arms, and carry you home; and He won't +mind the wounds it has cost Him, if you'll only let Him do it. + +'Good-day, ma'am,' said the old man; 'I shall, maybe, never see you again; +but I would like the Good Shepherd to say those words of you.' + +He went carefully down the steps of the caravan, and Rosalie stood at the +window, watching him picking his way to the other shows, to which he was +carrying the same message of peace. She looked out from between the muslin +curtains until he had quite disappeared to a distant part of the field, and +then she turned to her mother and said eagerly-- + +'It's a very pretty picture, isn't it, mammie dear?' + +But no answer came from the bed. Rosalie thought her mother was asleep, and +crept on tiptoe to her side, fearful of waking her. But she found her +mother's face buried in the pillow, on which large tears were falling. + +And when the little girl sat down by her side, and tried to comfort her by +stroking her hand very gently, and saying, 'Mammie dear, mammie dear, don't +cry! What's the matter, mammie dear?' her mother only wept the more. + +At length her sobs brought on such a violent fit of coughing that Rosalie +was much alarmed, and fetched her a mug of water, which was standing on the +shelf near the door. By degrees her mother grew calmer, the sobs became +less frequent, and, to the little girl's joy, she fell asleep. Rosalie sat +beside her without moving, lest she should awake her, and kept gazing at +her picture till she knew every line of it. And the first thing her mother +heard when she awoke from sleep was Rosalie's voice saying softly-- + +'"Rejoice with Me, for I have found My sheep which was lost. There is joy +in the presence of the angels of God over one sinner that repenteth."' + + + + +CHAPTER II + +THE LITTLE THEATRE + +It was the next evening; the fair was once more in its glory, and crowded +with an admiring throng. The great shows were again illuminated, and three +rows of brilliant stars shone forth from the little theatre belonging to +Rosalie's father. He had been out all day, strolling about the town, and +had only returned in time to make preparation for the evening's +entertainment. + +'Norah,' said her husband, as he put his head in at the door of the +caravan, 'surely you mean to come and take your part to-night?' + +'I can't, Augustus, and you would know it, if you stayed long enough with +me; I've been coughing nearly the whole day.' + +'Well, I wish you would get better soon; it's very awkward to have to fill +your part up every time. Conrad has to take it, and every one can see he's +not used to it, he's so clumsy and slow.' + +'I'll come as soon as ever I can,' said the poor wife, with a sigh. + +'It's to be hoped you will,' said her husband. 'Women are always fancying +they are ill. They lie still thinking about it, and nursing themselves up, +long after a man would have been at his work again. It's half laziness, +that's what it is!' said Augustus fiercely. + +'If you felt as ill as I do, Augustus,' said his wife, 'I'm sure you +wouldn't do any work.' + +'Hold your tongue!' said her husband; 'I know better than that. Well, mind +you have Rosalie ready in time; we shall begin early to-night.' + +Little Rosalie had crept to her mother's side, and was crying quietly at +her father's rough words. + +'Stop crying this minute, child!' said Augustus harshly. 'Wipe your eyes, +you great baby! Do you think you'll be fit to come on the stage if they're +red and swollen with crying? Do you hear me? Stop at once, or it will be +the worse for you!' he shouted, as he shut the caravan door. + +'Rosalie, darling,' said her mother, 'you mustn't cry; your father will be +so angry, and it's time you got ready. What a noise there is in the fair +already!' said the poor woman, holding her aching head. + +Rosalie wiped her eyes and washed her face, and then brought out from one +of the boxes the dress in which she was to act at the play. It was a white +muslin dress, looped up with pink roses, and there was a wreath of paper +roses to wear in her hair. She dressed herself before a tiny looking-glass, +and then went to her mother to have the wreath of roses fastened on her +head. + +The poor woman raised herself in bed, and arranged her little girl's long +tresses. + +What a contrast Rosalie looked to the rest of the caravan! The shabby +furniture, the thin, wasted mother, the dirty, torn little frock she had +just laid aside, were quite out of keeping with the pretty little +white-robed figure which stood by the bed. + +At length her father's voice called her, and after giving her mother a last +kiss, and placing some water near her on the box, in case a violent fit of +coughing should come on, Rosalie ran quickly down the caravan steps, and +rushed into the brilliantly-lighted theatre. A crowd of people stared at +her as she flitted past and disappeared up the theatre steps. + +The audience had not yet been admitted, so Rosalie crept into the room +behind the stage, in which her father's company was assembled. They all +looked tired and cross, for this was the last night of the fair, and they +had had little sleep whilst it lasted. + +At length Augustus announced that it was time to begin, and they all went +out upon a platform, which was erected half way up the outside of the +theatre, just underneath the three rows of illuminated stars. Here they +danced, and sang, and shook tambourines, in order to beguile the people to +enter. Then they disappeared within, and a crowd of eager spectators +immediately rushed up the steps, paid their admission money, and took their +seats in the theatre. + +After this the play commenced, Augustus acting as manager, and keeping his +company up to their various parts. It was a foolish play, and in some of +the parts there was a strong mixture of very objectionable language; yet it +was highly appreciated by the audience, and met with vociferous applause. + +There were many young girls there, some of them servants in respectable +families, where they enjoyed every comfort; yet they looked up at little +Rosalie with eyes of admiration and envy. They thought her life was much +happier than theirs, and that her lot was greatly to be desired. They +looked at the white dress and the pink roses, and contrasted them with +their own warm but homely garments; they watched the pretty girl going +through her part gracefully and easily, and they contrasted her work with +theirs. How interesting, how delightful, they thought, to be doing this, +instead of scrubbing floors, or washing clothes, or nursing children! + +But they knew nothing of the life behind the scenes; of the sick mother, +the wretched home, the poor and insufficient food, the dirty, ragged frock. +They knew nothing of the bitter tears which had just been wiped away, nor +of the weary aching of the little feet which were dancing so lightly over +the stage. + +And those little feet became more and more weary as the night went on. As +soon as the play was over, the people rushed out into the fair to seek for +fresh amusement; but the actors had no rest. Once more they appeared on the +platform to attract a fresh audience, and then the same play was repeated, +the same songs were sung, the same words were said; fresh to the people who +were listening, but oh, how stale and monotonous to the actors themselves! + +And so it went on all night; as soon as one exhibition was over, another +began, and the theatre was filled and refilled, long after the clock of the +neighbouring church had struck the hour of twelve. + +At last it was over; the last audience had left, the brilliant stars +disappeared, and Rosalie was at liberty to creep back to her mother. So +weary and exhausted was she, that she could hardly drag herself up the +caravan steps. She opened the door very gently, that she might not disturb +her mother, and then she tried to undress herself. But she was aching in +every limb, and, sitting down on the box beside her mother's bed, she fell +asleep, her little weary head resting on her mother's pillow. + +Poor little woman! She ought to have been laid in a quiet little nest hours +ago, instead of being exposed to the close, hot, stifling air of the +theatre through all the long hours of a weary night. + +In about an hour's time her mother woke, and found her little girl sleeping +in her uncomfortable position, her white dress unfastened, and the pink +roses from her hair fallen on the ground. Weak as she was, the poor mother +dragged herself out of bed to help her tired child to undress. + +'Rosalie, dear,' she said tenderly, 'wake up!' + +But for some time Rosalie did not stir, and, when her mother touched her, +she sat up, and said, as if in her sleep-- + +'"Rejoice with Me, for I have found My sheep which was lost."' + +'She is dreaming of her picture, poor child,' said the mother to herself. + +Then Rosalie woke, and shivered as she felt the cold night air on her bare +neck and arms. Very gently the poor weak mother helped her to take off her +white dress and her small ragged petticoats; and then the child crept into +bed and into her mother's arms. + +'Poor little tired lamb!' said the mother, as the weary child nestled up to +her. + +'Am I the lamb?' said Rosalie, in a sleepy voice. + +The mother did not answer, but kissed her child passionately, and then lay +awake by her side, weeping and coughing by turns till the morning dawned. + + + + +CHAPTER III + +THE DAY AFTER THE FAIR + +The next morning Rosalie was waked by a rap at the caravan door. She crept +out of bed, and, putting her dress over her shoulders, peeped out between +the muslin curtains. + +'It's Toby, mammie,' she said; 'I'll see what he wants.' + +She opened the door a crack, and Toby put his mouth to it, and whispered-- + +'Miss Rosie, we're going to start in about half an hour. Master has just +sent me for the horses; we've been up all night packing; three of the +waggons is loaded, and they've only some of the scenery to roll up, and +then we shall start.' + +'Where are we going, Toby?' asked the child. + +'It's a town a long way off,' said Toby; 'we've never been there before, +master says, and it will take us nearly a week to get there. But I must be +off, Miss Rosie, or master will be coming.' + +'Aren't you tired, Toby?' said the child kindly. + +Toby shrugged his shoulders, and said, with a broad grin-- + +'I wonder if any one in this concern is ever anything else but tired!' + +Then he walked away into the town for the horses, which had been put up in +the stables of an inn, and Rosalie returned to her mother. There were +several things to be done before they could start; the crockery had all to +be taken from the shelf and stowed away in a safe place, lest the jolting +over the rough and uneven field should throw it down. Besides this, Rosalie +had to dress herself and get her mother's breakfast ready, that she might +eat it in peace before the shaking of the caravan commenced. + +When all was ready, Rosalie stood at the window and looked out. The fair +looked very different from what it had done the night before. Most of the +show-people had been up all night, taking their shows to pieces, and +packing everything up. Though it was not yet nine o'clock, many of them had +already started, and the field was half empty. It was a dreary scene of +desolation; all the little grass it had once possessed, which had given it +a right to the name of field, had entirely disappeared, and the bare, +uneven ground was thickly strewn with dirty pieces of paper, broken boxes, +and old rags, which had been left behind by the show-people; besides a +quantity of orange-peel and cocoa-nut and oyster shells, which had been +thrown into the mud the night before. Very dirty and untidy and forlorn it +looked, as Rosalie gazed at it from the door of the caravan. Then a waggon +jolted past, laden with the largest of the numerous whirligigs, the wooden +horses and elephants peeping out from the waterproof covering which had +been thrown over them. Then a large swing passed by, then the show of the +giant and dwarf; these were followed by a pea-boiling establishment and the +marionettes. And, a few minutes afterwards, the show of the blue horse and +the performing seal set out on its way to the next feast, accompanied by +the shows of the fat boy and of the lady without arms, who performed +wonders with her toes in the ways of tea-making and other household +business, and whose very infirmities and deformities were thus made into +gain, and exposed to the gaze of curious crowds by her own relations. + +All these rattled past, and Rosalie watched them out of sight. Then Toby +returned with the horses; they were yoked to the waggons and to the +caravans, and the little cavalcade set forth. The jolting over the rough +ground was very great, and much tried the poor sick woman, who was shaken +from side to side of her wretched bed. Then outside the field they had to +wait a long time, for the road was completely filled by the numerous +caravans of the wild-beast show, and no one could pass until they were +gone. + +The elephants were standing close to the pavement, now and again twisting +their long trunks into the trees of the small gardens in front of the +neighbouring houses; and they would undoubtedly have broken the branches to +atoms had not their keeper driven them off with his whip. A crowd of +children was gathered round them, feeding them with bread and biscuit, and +enjoying the delay of the show. + +But Augustus became very impatient, for he had a long journey before him; +so, after pacing up and down and chafing against the stoppage for some +time, he went up to the manager of the wild-beast show, and addressed him +in such violent and passionate language, that a policeman was obliged to +interfere, and desired him to keep the peace. + +At length the huge yellow caravans, each drawn by six strong cart-horses, +moved slowly on, led by a procession of elephants and camels, and followed +by a large crowd of children, who accompanied them to the outskirts of the +town. Here, by turning down a by-street, the theatre party was able to pass +them, and thus get the start of them on their journey. + +Rosalie was glad to leave the town, and feel the fresh country air blowing +upon her face. It was so very refreshing after the close, stagnant air of +the fair. She opened the upper part of the door, and stood looking out, +watching Toby, who was driving, and talking to him from time to time of the +objects which they passed by the way; it was a new road to Rosalie and to +her mother. + +At length, about twelve o'clock, they came to a little village, where they +halted for a short time, that the horses might rest before going farther. +The country children were just leaving the village school, and they +gathered round the caravans with open eyes and mouths, staring curiously at +the smoke coming from the small chimneys, and at Rosalie, who was peeping +out from between the muslin curtains. But, after satisfying their +curiosity, they moved away in little groups to their various homes, that +they might be in time to get their dinner done before afternoon school. + +Then the village street was quite quiet, and Rosalie stood at the door, +watching the birds hopping from tree to tree, and the bees gathering honey +from the flowers in the gardens. Her mother was better to-day, and was +dressing herself slowly, for she thought that a breath of country air might +revive and strengthen her. + +Augustus, Toby, and the other men of the company had gone into the small +inn for refreshment, and Toby was sent back to the caravan with large +slices of bread and cheese for Rosalie and her mother. The child ate of it +eagerly--the fresh air had given her an appetite--but the poor woman could +not touch it. As soon as she was dressed, she crept, with Rosalie's help, +to the door of the caravan, and sat on the top step, leaning against one of +the boxes, which the child dragged from its place to make a support for +her. + +The caravan was drawn up by the side of a small cottage with a thatched +roof. There was a little garden in front of it, filled with sweet flowers, +large cabbage-roses, southernwood, rosemary, sweetbriar, and lavender. As +the wind blew softly over them, it wafted their sweet fragrance to the sick +woman sitting on the caravan steps. The quiet stillness of the country was +very refreshing and soothing to her, after the turmoil and din of the last +week. No sound was to be heard but the singing of the larks overhead, the +humming of the bees, and the gentle rustling of the breeze amongst the +branches. + +Then the cottage door opened, and a little child, about three years old, +ran out with a ball in his hand, which he rolled down the path leading to +the garden gate. A minute afterwards a young woman, in a clean cotton gown +and white apron, brought her work outside, and, sitting on the seat near +the cottage door, watched her child at play with a mother's love and +tenderness. She was knitting a little red sock for one of those tiny feet +to wear. Click! click! click! went her knitting-needles; but she kept her +eyes on the child, ready to run to him at the first alarm, to pick him up +if he should fall, or to soothe him if he should be in trouble. Now and +then she glanced at the caravan standing at her garden gate, and gave a +look of compassion at the poor thin woman, whose cough from time to time +was so distressing. Then, as was her custom, she began to sing as she +worked; she had a clear, sweet voice, and the sick woman and her child +listened. + +The words of her song were these: + + 'Jesus, I Thy face am seeking, + Early will I turn to Thee; + Words of love Thy voice is speaking: + "Come, come to Me. + + '"Come to Me when life is dawning, + I thy dearest Friend would be; + In the sunshine of the morning, + Come, come to Me. + + '"Come to Me--oh, do believe Me! + I have shed My blood for thee; + I am waiting to receive thee, + Come, come to Me." + + 'Lord, I come without delaying, + To Thine arms at once I flee, + Lest no more I hear Thee saying, + "Come, come to Me."' + +When she had finished singing, all was quite still again; there was hardly +a sound except the pattering of the little feet on the garden path. But +presently the child began to cry, and the careful mother flew to his side +to discover what had pained him. It was only the loss of his ball, which he +had thrown too high, and which had gone over the hedge, and seemed to him +lost for ever. Only his ball! And yet that ball was as much to that tiny +mind as our most precious treasures are to us. + +The mother knew this, so she calmed the child's fears, and ran immediately +to recover his lost plaything. + +But Rosalie was before her. She had seen the ball come over the hedge, and +had heard the child's cry; and, when his mother appeared at the gate, she +saw the child of the caravan returning from her chase after the ball, which +had rolled some way down the hilly road. She brought it to the young +mother, who thanked her for her kindness, and then gazed lovingly and +pityingly into her face. She was a mother, and she thought of the happy +life her child led, compared with that of this poor little wanderer. With +this feeling in her heart, after restoring the ball to the once more +contented child, she ran into the house, and returned with a mug of new +milk, and a slice of bread, spread with fresh country butter, which she +handed to Rosalie and begged her to eat. + +'Thank you, ma'am,' said little Rosalie; 'but please may mammie have it? +I've had some bread and cheese; but she is too ill to eat that, and this +would do her such good.' + +'Yes, to be sure,' said the kind-hearted countrywoman; 'give her that, +child, and I'll fetch some more for you.' + +And so it came to pass that Rosalie and her mother had quite a little +picnic on the steps of the caravan; with the young woman standing by, and +talking to them as they ate, and now and then looking over the hedge into +the garden, that she might see if any trouble had come to her boy. + +'I liked to hear you sing,' said Rosalie's mother. + +'Did you?' said the young woman.' I often sing when I'm knitting; my little +one likes to hear me, and he almost knows that hymn now. Often when he is +at play I hear him singing, "Tome, tome, to Me," so prettily, the little +dear!' she said, with tears in her eyes. + +'I wish I knew it,' said Rosalie. + +'I'll tell you what,' said the young woman, 'I'll give you a card with it +on; our clergyman had it printed, and we've got two of them.' + +She ran again into the house, and returned with a card, on which the hymn +was printed in clear, distinct type. There were two holes pierced through +the top of the card, and a piece of blue ribbon had been slipped through, +and tied in a bow at the top. Rosalie seized it eagerly, and began reading +it at once. + +'We've got such a good clergyman here,' said the young woman; 'he has not +been here more than a few months, and he has done so many nice things for +us. Mrs. Leslie reads aloud in one of the cottages once a week; and we all +take our work and go to listen to her, and she talks to us so beautiful out +of the Bible; it always does me good to go.' + +She stopped suddenly, as she saw Rosalie's mother's face. She had turned +deadly pale, and was leaning back against the box with her eyes fixed upon +her. + +'What's the matter, ma'am?' said the kind-hearted little woman. 'I'm afraid +you've turned faint; and how you do tremble! Let me help you in; you'd +better lie on your bed, hadn't you?' + +She gave her her arm, and she and Rosalie took her inside the caravan and +laid her on her bed. But she was obliged to leave her in a minute or two, +as her little boy was climbing on the gate, and she was afraid he would +fall. + +A few minutes afterwards a great noise was heard in the distance, and a +number of the village children appeared, running in front of the wild-beast +show, which was just passing through. The young woman took her little boy +in her arms, and held him up, that he might see the elephants and camels, +which were marching with stately dignity in front of the yellow vans. + +When they had gone, Toby appeared with the horse, and said his master had +told him he was to start, and he would follow presently with the rest of +the waggons. The horse was soon put in the caravan, and they were just +starting, when the young woman gathered a nosegay of the lovely flowers in +her garden, and handed them to Rosalie, saying, 'Take them, and put them in +water for your mother; the sight of them maybe will do her good. You'll +learn the hymn, won't you? Good-bye, and God bless you!' + +She watched them out of sight, standing at her cottage door with her child +in her arms, whilst Rosalie leaned out of the window to nod to her and +smile at her. + +Then they turned a corner, and came into the main street of the village. + +'Can you see the church, Rosalie?' asked her mother hurriedly. + +'Yes, mammie dear,' said Rosalie; 'it's just at the end of this street. +Such a pretty church, with trees all round it!' + +'Are there any houses near it?' asked her mother. + +'Only one, mammie dear, a big house in a garden; but I can't see it very +well, there are so many trees in front of it.' + +'Ask Toby to put you down, Rosalie, and run and have a look at it as we +pass.' + +So Rosalie was lifted down from the caravan, and ran up to the vicarage +gate, whilst her mother raised herself on her elbow to see as much as she +could through the open window. But she could only see the spire of the +church and the chimneys of the house, and she was too exhausted to get up. + +Presently Rosalie overtook them, panting with her running. Toby never dared +to wait for her, lest his master should find fault with him for stopping; +but Rosalie often got down from the caravan, to gather wild flowers, or to +drink at a wayside spring, and, as she was very fleet of foot, she was +always able to overtake them. + +'What was it like, Rosalie?' asked her mother, when she was seated on the +box beside her bed. + +'Oh, ever so pretty, mammie dear; such soft grass and such lovely roses, +and a broad gravel walk all up to the door. And in the garden there was a +lady; such a pretty, kind-looking lady! and she and her little girl were +gathering some of the flowers.' + +'Did they see you, Rosalie?' + +'Yes; the little girl saw me, mammie, peeping through the gate, and she +said, "Who is that little girl, mamma? I never saw her before." And then +her mamma looked up and smiled at me; and she was just coming to speak to +me when I turned frightened, and I saw the caravan had gone out of sight; +so I ran away, and I've been running ever since to get up to you.' + +The mother listened to her child's account with a pale and restless face. +Then she lay back on her pillow and sighed several times. + +At last they heard a rumbling sound behind them, and Toby announced, 'It's +master; he's soon overtaken us.' + +'Rosalie,' said her mother anxiously, 'don't you ever tell your father +about that house, or that I told you to go and look at it, or about what +that young woman said. Mind you never say a word to him about it; promise +me, Rosalie.' + +'Why not, mammie dear?' asked Rosalie, with a very perplexed face. + +'Never mind why, Rosalie,' said her mother fretfully; 'I don't wish it.' + +'Very well, mammie dear,' said Rosalie. + +'I'll tell you some time, Rosalie,' said her mother gently, a minute or two +afterwards; 'not to-day, though; oh no! I can't tell it to-day.' + +Rosalie wondered very much what her mother meant, and she sat watching her +pale, sorrowful face as she lay on her bed with her eyes closed. What was +she thinking of? What was it she had to tell her? For some time Rosalie sat +quite still, musing on what her mother had said, and then she pinned the +card on the wall just over her dear picture, and once more read the words +of the hymn. + +After this she arranged the flowers in a small glass, and put them on the +box near her mother's bed. The sweet-briar and cabbage-roses and +southernwood filled the caravan with their fragrance. Then Rosalie took up +her usual position at the door, to watch Toby driving, and to see all that +was to be seen by the way. + +They passed through several other villages, and saw many lone farmhouses +and solitary cottages. When night came, they drew up on the outskirts of a +small market-town. Toby took the horses to an inn, and they rested there +for the night. + + + +CHAPTER IV + +THE ACTRESS'S STORY + +The next morning, as soon as it was light, the horses were put in again, +and the theatre party proceeded on their way. Rosalie's mother seemed much +better; the country air and country quiet had, for a time, restored to her +much of her former strength. She was able, with Rosalie's help, to dress +herself and to sit on one of the boxes beside her bed, resting her head +against the pillows, and gazing out at the green fields and clear blue sky. +The sweet fresh breezes came in at the open door, and fanned her careworn +face and the face of the child who sat beside her. + +'Rosalie,' said her mother suddenly, 'would you like to hear about the time +when your mother was a little girl?' + +'Yes, mammie dear,' said Rosalie, nestling up to her side; 'I know nothing +at all about it.' + +'No, Rosalie,' said her mother; 'it's the beginning of a very sad story, +and I did not like my little girl to know about it; but I sometimes think I +sha'n't be long with you, and I had rather tell it to you myself than have +any one else tell it. And you're getting a great girl now, Rosalie; you +will be able to understand many things you could not have understood +before. And there have been things the last few days which have brought it +all back to me, and made me think of it by day and dream of it by night.' + +'Please tell me, mammie dear,' said Rosalie, as her mother stopped +speaking. + +'Would you like to hear it now?' said the poor woman, with a sigh, as if +she hardly liked to begin. + +'Please, mammie dear,' said Rosalie. + +'Then draw closer to me, child, for I don't want Toby to hear; and, mind, +you must never speak of what I'm going to tell you before your +father--_never_; promise me, Rosalie,' she said earnestly. + +'No, never, mammie dear,' said little Rosalie. + +Then there was silence for a minute or two afterwards--no sound to be heard +but the cracking of Toby's whip and the rumbling of the waggons behind. + +'Aren't you going to begin, mammie?' said Rosalie at length. + +'I almost wish I hadn't promised to tell you, child,' said her mother +hurriedly; 'it cuts me up so to think of it; but never mind, you ought to +know, and you will know some day, so I had better tell you myself. Rosalie, +your mother was born a lady. + +'Yes,' said the poor woman, as the child did not speak; + +'I was never born to this life of misery, I brought myself to it. I chose +it,' she said bitterly; 'and I'm only getting the harvest of what I sowed +myself.' + +When she had said this, she turned deadly pale, and shivered from head to +foot. Rosalie crept still closer to her, and put her little warm hand in +her mother's cold one. Then the poor woman by a strong effort controlled +herself, and she went on. + +'So now, darling, I'll tell you all about it, just as if I was talking +about some one else; I'll forget it is myself, or I shall never be able to +tell it. I'll try and fancy I'm on the stage, and talking about the sorrows +and troubles of some one I never knew, and never cared for, and of whom I +shall never think again when my part is over. + +'I was born in a country village, hundreds of miles from here, in the south +of England. My father was the squire of the place. We lived in a large +mansion, which was built half way up the side of a wooded hill, and an +avenue of beautiful old trees led up to the house. There was a large +conservatory at one side of it, filled with the rarest flowers, and in a +shady corner of the grounds my mother had a kind of grotto, filled with +lovely ferns, through which a clear stream of water was ever flowing. This +fernery was my mother's great delight, and here she spent much of her time. +She was a very worldly woman; she took very little notice of her children; +and when she was not in the garden, she was generally lying on the sofa in +the drawing-room, reading novels, which she procured from a London library. + +'My father was a very different man; he was fond of quiet, and fond of his +children; but he was obliged to be often from home, so that we did not see +as much of him as we should otherwise have done. + +'I had one brother and one sister. My brother was much older than we were; +there had been several children between us, who had died in their infancy, +so that he was in the sixth form of a large public school whilst we were +children in the nursery. + +'My sister Lucy was a year younger than I was. She was such a pretty child, +and had a very sweet disposition. When we were children we got on very well +together, and shared every pleasure and every grief. My father bought us a +little white pony, and on this we used to ride in turns about the park when +we were quite small children, our old nurse following, to see that no harm +came to us. + +'She was a very good old woman; she taught us to say our prayers night and +morning, and on Sundays she used to sit with us under a tree in the park, +and show us Scripture pictures, and tell us stories out of the Bible. There +was one picture of a shepherd very like that, Rosalie; it came back to my +mind the other day, when that old man gave it to you, only in mine the +shepherd was just drawing the lamb out of a deep miry pit, into which it +had fallen, and the text underneath it was this: "The Son of Man is come to +seek and to save that which is lost." We used to learn these texts, and +repeat them to our nurse when we looked at the pictures; and then, if we +had said them correctly, she used to let us carry our tea into the park and +eat it under the tree. And after tea we used to sing one of our little +hymns and say our prayers, and then she took us in and put us to bed. I +have often thought of those quiet, happy Sundays when I have been listening +to the noise and racket of the fair. + +'I thought a great deal at the time about what our nurse told us. I +remember one Sunday she had been reading to us about the Judgment Day, and +how God would read out of a book all the wrong things we had done. And that +same afternoon there was a great thunderstorm; the lightning flashed in at +the window, and the thunder rolled overhead. It made me think of what nurse +had said, and of the Judgment Day. And then I knelt down, and prayed that +God would take care of me, and not let the lightning kill me. I crept +behind the sofa in the large drawing-room, and trembled lest the books +should be opened, and all my sins read out; and I asked God to keep them +shut a little longer. + +'And I remember another day, when I had told a lie, but would not own that +I had done so. Nurse would not let me sleep with Lucy, but moved my little +bed into her room, that I might lie still and think about my sin. It was a +strange room, and I could not sleep for some time, but I lay awake with my +eyes closed. When I opened them I saw one bright star shining in at the +closed window. It seemed to me like the eye of God watching me; I could not +get the thought out of my mind. I shut my eyes tightly, that I might not +see it; but I could not help opening them to see if it was still there. And +when nurse came up to bed, she found me weeping. I have often seen that +star since, Rosalie, looking in at the window of the caravan; and it always +reminds me of that night, and makes me think of that Eye. + +'I had a very strong will, Rosalie, and even as a child I hated to be +controlled. If I set my heart upon anything, I wanted to have it at once, +and if I was opposed, I was very angry. I loved my dear old nurse; but when +we were about eight years old, she had to leave us to live with her mother, +and then I was completely unmanageable. My mother engaged a governess for +us, who was to teach us in a morning and take us out in the afternoon. She +was an indolent person, and she took very little trouble with us, and my +mother did not exert herself sufficiently to look after us, or to see what +we were doing. Thus we learnt very little, and got into idle and careless +habits. Our governess used to sit down in the park with a book, and we were +allowed to follow our own devices, and amuse ourselves as we pleased. + +'When my brother Gerald came home, it was always a great cause of +excitement to us. We used to meet him at the station, and drive him home in +triumph. Then we always had holidays, and Miss Manders went away, and +Gerald used to amuse us with stories of his school friends, as we walked +with him through the park. He was a very fine-looking lad, and my mother +was very proud of him. She thought much more of him than of us, because he +was a boy, and was to be the heir to the property. She liked to drive out +with her handsome son, who was admired by every one who saw him, and +sometimes we were allowed to go with them. We were generally left outside +in the carriage, whilst mamma and Gerald called at the large houses of the +neighbourhood; and we used to jump out, as soon as they had disappeared +inside the house, and explore the different gardens, and plan how we would +lay out our grounds when we had houses of our own. But what's that, +Rosalie?--did the waggons stop?' + +Rosalie ran to the door and looked out. + +'Yes, mammie,' she said; 'my father's coming.' + +'Then mind, not a word,' said her mother, in a hoarse whisper. + +'Well,' said Augustus, entering the caravan in a theatrical manner, 'I +thought I might as well enjoy the felicity of the amiable society of my +lady and her daughter!' + +This was said with a profound bow towards his wife and Rosalie. + +'Glad to see you so much better, madam,' he continued. 'Rather singular, +isn't it, that your health and spirits have revived immediately we have +left the inspired scene of public action, or--to speak in plain terms--when +there's no work to do!' + +'I think it's the fresh air, Augustus, that has done me good; there was +such a close, stifling smell from the fair, I felt worse directly we got +there.' + +'It's to be hoped,' he said, with a disagreeable smile on his face, 'that +this resuscitation of the vital powers may be continued until we arrive at +Lesborough', but the probability is that the moment we arrive on the scene +of action, you will be seized with that most unpleasant of all maladies, +distaste to your work, and will be compelled once more to resume that most +interesting and pathetic occupation of playing the invalid!' + +'Oh, Augustus, don't speak to me like that!' said the poor wife. + +Augustus made no answer, but, taking a piece of paper from his pocket, +twisted it up, and, putting it into the fire, lighted a long pipe and began +to smoke. The fumes of the tobacco brought on his poor wife's cough, but he +took very little notice of her, except to ask her occasionally, between the +whiffs of his pipe, how long that melodious sound was to last. Then his +eyes fell upon Rosalie's picture, which was pinned to the side of the +caravan. + +'Where did you get that from?' he inquired, turning to his wife. + +'It's mine, father,' said little Rosalie; 'an old gentleman in the fair +gave it to me. Isn't it pretty?' + +It will do for a child,' he said scornfully. 'Toby, what are you after? +You're creeping along; we shall never get there at this pace.' + +'The horse is tired, master,' said Toby; 'he's had a long stretch these two +days.' + +'Beat him, then,' said the cruel man; 'flog him well. Do you think I can +afford to waste time upon the road? The wild beasts are a mile ahead, at +the very least, and the marionettes will be there by this time. We shall +just arrive when all the people have spent their money, and are tired out.' + +Now there was one subject of standing dispute between Toby and his master. +Toby was a kind-hearted lad, and hated to see the horses over-worked, +ill-fed, and badly used. He was always remonstrating with his master about +it, and thereby bringing down upon himself his master's wrath and abuse. +Augustus cared nothing for the comfort or welfare of those under him. To +get as much work as possible out of them, and to make as much gain by them +as he could, was all he thought of. They might be tired, or hungry, or +overburdened; what did it matter to him, so long as the end for which he +kept them was fulfilled? The same spirit which led him to treat his company +and his wife with severity and indifference, led him to ill-treat his +horses. + +Toby resolutely refused to beat the poor tired horse, which was already +straining itself to its utmost, the additional weight of Augustus having +been very trying to it the last few miles. + +When Augustus saw that Toby did not mean to obey him, he sprang to the door +of the caravan in a towering passion, seized the whip from Toby's hand, and +then beat the poor horse unmercifully, causing it to start from side to +side, till nearly everything in the caravan was thrown to the ground, and +Rosalie and her mother trembled with suppressed indignation and horror. + +Then, with one last tremendous blow, aimed at Toby's head, Augustus threw +down the whip, and returned to his pipe. + +Blank Page [Illustration: The Sisters.] + + + +CHAPTER V + +ROSALIE'S FIRST SERMON + +The next morning, as soon as they had started on their journey, Rosalie +begged her mother to continue her story. So, after satisfying herself that +her husband did not intend to favour them with his company, the poor woman +took up the thread of her story at the place at which she had left it when +they were interrupted the day before. + +'I was telling you, dear, about my life in that quiet country manor-house. +I think I can remember nothing worth mentioning, until an event happened +which altered the whole course of our lives. + +'Lucy and I had been out riding in the park on the beautiful new horses +which our father had given us a few months before, and we had had a very +pleasant afternoon. I can see Lucy now in her riding-habit--her fair hair +hanging down her back, and her cheeks glowing with the air and exercise. +She was very pretty, was my sister Lucy. People said I was handsomer than +she was, and had a better figure and brighter eyes; but Lucy was a +sweet-looking little thing, and no one could look at her without loving +her. + +'We got down from our horses, leaving them with the groom who had been +riding out with us, and ran into the house. But we were met by one of the +servants, with a face white with alarm, who begged us to go quietly +upstairs, as our father was very ill, and the doctor said he was to be +perfectly quiet. We asked her what was the matter with him, and she told us +that as he had been riding home from the railway station, his horse, which +was a young one he had just bought, had thrown him, and that he had been +brought home insensible. More than this she could not tell us, but our +mother came into our bedroom, and told us, with more feeling than I had +ever seen in her face before, that our father could not live through the +night. + +'I shall never forget that night. It was the first time that I had been +brought close to death, and it frightened me. I lay awake, listening to the +hall clock as it struck one hour after another. Then I crept out of bed, +and put my head out of the window. It was a close, oppressive night,--not a +breath seemed to be stirring. I wondered what was going on in the next +room, and whether I should ever see my father again. Then I thought I heard +a sound, but it was only Lucy sobbing beneath the bedclothes. + +'"Lucy," I said, glad to find she was awake, "isn't it a long night?" + +'"Yes, Norah," she answered. "I'm so frightened; shall we have a light?" + +'I found the matches and lighted a candle; but three or four large moths +darted into the room, so that I had to close the window. + +'We lay awake in our little beds watching the moths darting in and out of +the candle, and straining our ears for any sound from our father's room. +Each time a door shut we started, and sat up in bed listening. + +'"Wouldn't you be frightened if you were dying, Norah?" said Lucy, under +her breath. + +'"Yes," I said, "I'm sure I should." + +'Then there was silence again for a long time; and I thought Lucy had +fallen asleep, when she got up in bed and spoke again-- + +'"Norah, do you think you would go to heaven if you were to die?" + +'"Yes, of course," I said quickly; "why do you ask me?" + +'"I don't think _I_ should," said Lucy; "I'm almost sure I shouldn't." + +'We lay still for about another hour, and then the door opened, and our +mother came in. She was crying very much, and had a handkerchief to her +eyes. + +"'Your father wants to see you," she said; "come at once." + +'We crept very quietly into the room of death, and stood beside our +father's bed. His face was so altered that it frightened us, and we +trembled from head to foot. But he held out his hand to us, Rosalie, and we +drew closer to him. Then he whispered-- + +'"Good-bye! don't forget your father; and don't wait till you come to die +to get ready for another world." + +'Then we kissed him, and our mother told us to go back to bed. I never +forgot my father's last words to us; and I often wondered what made him say +them. + +'The next morning we heard that our father was dead. Gerald arrived too +late to see him; he was at college then, and was just preparing for his +last examination. + +'My mother seemed at first very much distressed by my father's death; she +shut herself up in her room, and would see no one. The funeral was a very +grand one; all the people of the neighbourhood came to it, and Lucy and I +peeped out of one of the top windows to see it start. After it was over, +Gerald went back to college, and my mother returned to her novels. I think +she thought, Rosalie, that she would be able to return to her old life much +as before. But no sooner had Gerald passed his last examination than she +received a letter from him to say that he intended to be married in a few +months, and to bring his bride to the Hall. Then for the first time the +truth flashed upon my mother's mind, that she would soon be no longer the +mistress of the manor-house, but would have to seek a home elsewhere. She +seemed at first very angry with Gerald for marrying so early; but she could +say nothing against his choice, for she was a young lady of title, and one +in every way suited to the position she was to occupy. + +'My mother at length decided to remove to a town in the midland counties, +where she would have some good society and plenty of gaiety, so soon as her +mourning for my father was ended. + +'It was a great trial to us, leaving the old home. Lucy and I went round +the park the day before we left, gathering leaves from our favourite trees, +and taking a last look at the home of our childhood. Then we walked through +the house, and looked out of the windows on the lovely wooded hills with +eyes which were full of tears. I have never seen it since, and I shall +never see it again. Sometimes, when we are coming through the country, it +brings it back to my mind, and I could almost fancy I was walking down one +of the long grassy terraces, or wandering in the quiet shade of the trees +in the park. Hush! what was that, Rosalie?' said her mother, leaning +forward to listen; 'was it music?' + +At first Rosalie could hear nothing except Toby whistling to his horse, and +the rumbling of the wheels of the caravan. She went to the door and leaned +out, and listened once more. The sun was beginning to set, for Rosalie's +mother had only been able to talk at intervals during the day, from her +frequent fits of coughing, and from numerous other interruptions, such as +the preparations for dinner, the halting to give the horses rest, and the +occasional visits of Augustus. + +The rosy clouds were gathering in the west, as the pure evening breeze +wafted to the little girl's ears the distant sound of bells. + +'It's bells, mammie,' she said, turning round, 'church bells; can't you +hear them? Ding-dong-bell, ding-dong-bell.' + +'Yes,' said her mother, 'I can hear them clearly now; our old nurse used to +tell us they were saying, "Come and pray, come and pray." Oh, Rosalie, it +is such a comfort to be able to speak of those days to some one! I've kept +it all hidden up in my heart till sometimes I have felt as if it would +burst.' + +'I can see the church now, mammie,' said Rosalie; 'it's a pretty little +grey church with a tower, and we're going through the village; aren't we, +Toby?' + +'Yes, Miss Rosie,' said Toby; 'we're going to stop there all night; the +horses are tired out, and it's so fair to see, that even master can see it +now. We shall get on all the quicker for giving them a bit of rest.' + +'Can't you hear the bells nicely now, mammie?' said Rosalie, turning round. + +'Yes,' said the poor woman; 'they sound just like the bells of our little +church at home; I could almost cry when I hear them.' + +By this time they had reached the village. It was growing dark, and the +country people were lighting their candles, and gathering round their small +fires. Rosalie could see inside many a cheerful little home, where the +firelight was shining on the faces of the father, the mother, and the +children. How she wished they had a little home! + +Ding-dong-bell, ding-dong-bell; still the chimes went on, and one and +another came out of the small cottages, and took the road leading to the +church, with their books under their arms. + +Toby drove on; nearer and nearer the chimes sounded, until at last, just as +the caravan reached a wide open common in front of the church, they ceased, +and Rosalie saw the last old woman entering the church door before the +service began. The waggons and caravans were drawn up on this open space +for the night. Toby and the other men led the horses away to the stables of +the inn; Augustus followed them, to enjoy himself amongst the lively +company assembled in the little coffee-room, and Rosalie and her mother +were left alone. + +'Mammie dear,' said Rosalie, as soon as the men had turned the corner, 'may +I go and peep at the church?' + +'Yes, child,' said her mother; 'only don't make a noise if the people are +inside.' + +Rosalie did not wait for a second permission, but darted across the common, +and opened the church gate. It was getting dark now, and the gravestones +looked very solemn in the twilight. She went quickly past them, and crept +along the side of the church to one of the windows. She could see inside +the church quite well, because it was lighted up; but no one could see her +as she was standing in the dark churchyard. Her bright quick eyes soon took +in all that was to be seen. The minister was kneeling down, and so were all +the people. There were a good many there, though the church was not full, +as it was the week-evening service. + +Rosalie watched at the window until all the people got up from their knees, +when the clergyman gave out a hymn, and they began to sing. Rosalie then +looked for the door, that she might hear the music better. It was a warm +evening, and the door was open, and before she knew what she was about, she +had crept inside, and was sitting on a low seat just within. No one noticed +her, for they were all looking in the opposite direction. Rosalie enjoyed +the singing very much, and when it was over the clergyman began to speak. +He had a clear, distinct voice, and he spoke in simple language which every +one could understand. + +Rosalie listened with all her might; it was the first sermon she had ever +heard. 'The Son of Man is come to seek and to save that which is lost.' +That was the text of Rosalie's first sermon. + +As soon as the service was over, she stole out of the church, and crept +down the dark churchyard. She had passed through the little gate and was +crossing the common to the caravan before the first person had left the +church. To Rosalie's joy, her father had not returned; for he had found the +society in the village inn extremely attractive. Rosalie's mother looked up +as the child came in. + +'Where have you been all this time, Rosalie?' + +Rosalie gave an account of all she had seen, and told her how she had crept +in at the open door of the church. + +'And what did the clergyman say, child?' asked her mother. + +'He said your text, mammie--the text that was on your picture: "The Son of +Man is come to seek and to save that which is lost."' + +'And what did he tell you about it?' + +'He said Jesus went up and down all over to look for lost sheep, mammie; +and he said we were all the sheep, and Jesus was looking for us. Do you +think He is looking for you and me, mammie dear?' + +'I don't know, child; I suppose so,' said her mother. '_I_ shall take +a good deal of looking for, I'm afraid.' + +'But he said, mammie, that if only we would _let_ Him find us, He +would be sure to do it; He doesn't mind how much trouble He takes about +it.' + +Rosalie's mother was quite still for some time after this. Rosalie stood at +the caravan door, watching the bright stars coming out one by one in the +still sky. + +'Mammie dear,' she said, 'is _He_ up there?' + +'Who, Rosalie, child?' said her mother. + +'The Saviour; is He up in one of the stars?' + +'Yes; heaven's somewhere there, Rosalie; up above the sky somewhere.' + +'Would it be any good telling Him, mammie?' + +'Telling Him what, my dear?' + +'Just telling Him that you and me want seeking and finding.' + +'I don't know, Rosalie; you can try,' said her mother sadly. + +'Please, Good Shepherd,' said Rosalie, looking up at the stars, 'come and +seek me and mammie, and find us very quick, and carry us very safe, like +the lamb in the picture.' + +'Will that do, mammie?' said Rosalie. + +'Yes,' said her mother, 'I suppose so.' + +Then Rosalie was still again, looking at the stars; but a sudden thought +seized her. + +'Mammie, ought I to have said amen?' + +'Why, Rosalie?' + +'I heard the people at church say it. Will it do any good without amen?' + +'Oh, I don't think it matters much,' said her mother; 'you can say it now, +if you like.' + +'Amen, amen,' said Rosalie, looking at the stars again. + +But just then voices were heard in the distance, and Rosalie saw her father +and the men crossing the dark common, and coming in the direction of the +caravan. + + + +CHAPTER VI + +A FAMILY SECRET + +How sweet and calm the village looked the next morning, when Rosalie woke +and looked out at it. She was quite sorry to leave it, but there was no +rest for these poor wanderers; they must move onwards towards the town +where they were next to perform. And as they travelled on, Rosalie's mother +went on with her sad story. + +'I told you, darling, that my mother took a house in town, and that we all +moved there, that my brother Gerald might take possession of our old home. +We were getting great girls now, and my mother sent Miss Manders away, and +left us to our own devices. + +'My sister Lucy had been very different since our father died. She was so +quiet and still, that I often wondered what was the matter with her. She +spent nearly all her time reading her Bible in a little attic chamber. I +did not know why she went there, till one day I went upstairs to get +something out of a box, and found Lucy sitting in the window-seat reading +her little black Bible. I asked her what she read it for, and she said-- + +'"Oh, Norah, it makes me so happy! won't you come and read it with me?" But +I tossed my head, and said I had too much to do to waste my time like that; +and I ran downstairs, and tried to forget what I had seen; for I knew that +my sister was right and I was wrong. Oh, Rosalie darling, I've often +thought if I had listened to my sister Lucy that day, what a different life +I might have led! + +'Well, I must go on; I'm coming to the saddest part of my story, and I had +better get over it as quickly as I can. + +'As I got older, I took to reading novels. Our house was full of them, for +my mother spent her days in devouring them. I read them and read them till +I lived in them, and was never happy unless I was fancying myself one of +the heroines of whom I read. My own life seemed dull and monotonous; I +wanted to see more of the world, and to have something romantic happen to +me. Oh, Rosalie, I got so restless and discontented! I used to wake in the +night, and wonder what _my_ fortunes would be; and then I used to +light the candle, and go on with the exciting novel I had been reading the +night before. Often I used to read half the night, for I could not sleep +again till I knew the end of the story. I quite left off saying my prayers, +for I could not think of anything of that sort when I was in the middle of +a novel. + +'It was just about this time that I became acquainted with a family of the +name of Roehunter. They were rich people, friends of my mother. Miss +Georgina and Miss Laura Roehunter were very fast, dashing girls. They took +a great fancy to me, and we were always together. They were passionately +fond of the theatre, and they took me to it night after night. + +'I could think of nothing else, Rosalie. I dreamt of it every night. It +took even more hold of me than the novels had done for it seemed to me like +a _living_ novel. I admired the scenery, I admired the actors, I +admired everything that I saw. I thought if I was only on the stage I +should be perfectly happy. There was nothing in the world that I wanted so +much; it seemed to me such a free, happy, romantic life. When an actress +was greeted with bursts of applause, I almost envied her. How wearisome my +life seemed when compared with hers! + +'I kept a book then, Rosalie darling, in which I wrote all that I did every +day, and I used to write again and again-- + +'"No change yet; my life wants variety. It is the same over and over +again." + +'I determined that, as soon as possible, I would have a change, cost what +it might. + +'Soon after this the Roehunters told me that they were going to have some +private theatricals, and that I must come and help them. It was just what I +wanted. Now, I thought, I could fancy myself an actress. + +'They engaged some of the professional actors at the theatre to teach us +our parts, to arrange the scenery, and to help us to do everything in the +best possible manner. I had to go up to the Roehunters' again and again to +learn my part of the performance. And there it was, Rosalie dear, that I +met your father. He was one of the actors whom they employed. + +'You can guess what came next, my darling. Your father saw how well I could +act, and how passionately fond I was of it; and by degrees he found out how +much I should like to do it always, instead of leading my humdrum life at +home. So he used to meet me in the street, and talk to me about it, and he +told me that if I would only come with him, I should have a life of +pleasure and excitement, and never know what care was. And he arranged that +the day after these private theatricals we should run away and be married. + +'Oh, darling, I shall never forget that day! I arrived home late at night, +or rather early in the morning, worn out with the evening's entertainment. +I had been much praised for the way I had performed my part, and some of +the company had declared I should make a first-rate actress, and I thought +to myself that they little knew how soon I was to become one. As I drove +home, I felt in a perfect whirl of excitement. The day had come at last. +Was I glad? I hardly knew--I tried to think I was; but somehow I felt sick +at heart; I could not shake that feeling off, and as I walked upstairs, I +felt perfectly miserable. + +'My mother had gone to bed; and I never saw her again! Lucy was fast +asleep, lying with her hand under her cheek, sleeping peacefully. I stood a +minute or two looking at her. Her little Bible was lying beside her, for +she had been reading it the last thing before she went to sleep. Oh, +Rosalie, I would have given anything to change places with Lucy then! But +it was too late now; Augustus was to meet me outside the house, and we were +to be married at a church in the town that very morning. Our names had been +posted up in the register office some weeks before. + +'I turned away from Lucy, and began putting some things together to take +with me, and I hid them under the bed, lest Lucy should wake and see them. +It was no use going to bed, for I had not got home from the theatricals +till three o'clock, and in two hours Augustus would come. So I scribbled a +little note to my mother, telling her that when she received it I should be +married, and that I would call and see her in a few days. Then I put out +the light, lest it should wake my sister, and sat waiting in the dark. And, +Rosie dear, that star--the same star that I had seen that night when I was +a little girl, and had told that lie--that same star came and looked in at +the window. And again it seemed to me like the eye of God. + +'I felt so frightened, that once I thought I would not go. I almost +determined to write Augustus a note giving it up; but I thought that he +would laugh at me for being such a coward, and I tried to picture to myself +once more how fine it would be to be a real actress, and be always praised +as I had been last night. + +'Then I got up, and drew down the blind, that I might hide the star from +sight. I was so glad to see it beginning to get light, for I knew that the +star would fade away, and that Augustus would soon come. + +'At last the church clock struck five, so I took my carpetbag from under +the bed, wrapped myself up in a warm shawl, and, leaving my note on the +dressing-table, prepared to go downstairs. But I turned back when I got to +the door, to look once more at my sister Lucy. And, Rosalie darling, as I +looked, I felt as if my tears would choke me. I wiped them hastily away, +however, and crept downstairs. Every creaking board made me jump and +tremble lest I should be discovered, and at every turning I expected to see +some one watching me. But no one appeared; I got down safely, and, +cautiously unbolting the hall door, I stole quietly out into the street, +and soon found Augustus, who carried my bag under his arm, and that morning +we were married. + +'And then my troubles began. It was not half as pleasant being an actress +as I had thought it would be. I knew nothing then of the life behind the +scenes. I did not know how tired I should be, nor what a comfortless life I +should lead. + +'Oh, Rosalie, I was soon sick of it. I would have given worlds to be back +in my old home. I would have given worlds to lead that quiet, peaceful life +again. I was much praised and applauded in the theatre; but after a time I +cared very little for it; and as for the acting itself, I became thoroughly +sick of it. Oh, Rosalie dear, I have often and often fallen asleep, unable +to undress myself from weariness, after acting in the play; and again and +again I have wished that I had never seen the inside of a theatre, and +never known anything of the wretched life of an actress! + +'We stopped for some time in the town where my mother lived, for Augustus +had an engagement in a theatre there, and he procured one for me. We had +miserable lodgings, and often were very badly off. I called at home a few +days after I was married; but the servant shut the door in my face, saying +that my mother never wished to see me again, or to hear my name mentioned. +I used to walk up and down outside, trying to catch a glimpse of my sister +Lucy; but she was never allowed to go out alone, and I could not get an +opportunity of speaking to her. All my old friends passed me in the +street--even the Roehunters would take no notice of me whatever. + +'And then your father lost his engagement at the theatre, + + + +--I need not tell you why, Rosalie darling,--and we left the town. And then +I began to know what poverty meant. We travelled from place to place, +sometimes getting occasional jobs at small town theatres, sometimes +stopping at a town for a few months, and then being dismissed, and +travelling on for weeks without hearing of any employment. + +'And then it was that your little brother was born. Such a pretty baby he +was, and I named him Arthur after my father. I was very, very poor when he +was born, and I could hardly get clothes for him to wear, but oh, Rosalie +darling, I loved him very much! I wrote to my mother to tell her about it, +and that baby was to be christened after my father; but she sent back my +letter unread, and I never wrote to her again. And one day, when I took up +a newspaper, I saw my mother's death in it; and I heard afterwards that she +said on her dying bed that I was not to be told of her death till she was +put under the ground, for I had been a disgrace and a shame to the family. +And that, they said, was the only time that she mentioned me, after the +week that I ran away. + +'My sister Lucy wrote me a very kind letter after my mother died, and sent +me some presents; but I was sorry for it afterwards, for your father kept +writing to her for money, and telling her long tales about the distress I +was in, to make her send us more. + +'She often sent us money; but I felt as if I could not bear to take it. And +she used to write me such beautiful letters--to beg me to come to Jesus, +and to remember what my father had said to us when he died. She said Jesus +had made her happy, and would make me happy too. I often think now of what +she said, Rosalie. + +'Well, after a time I heard that Lucy was married to a clergyman, and your +father heard it too, and he kept writing to her and asking her for money +again and again. And at last came a letter from her husband, in which he +said that he was very sorry to be obliged to tell us that his wife could do +no more for us; and he requested that no more letters on the same subject +might be addressed to her, as they would receive no reply. + +'Your father wrote again; but they did not answer it, and since then they +have left the town where they were living, and he lost all clue to them. +And, Rosalie darling, I hope he will never find them again. I cannot bear +to be an annoyance to my sister Lucy--my dear little sister Lucy. + +'As for Gerald, he has taken no notice of us at all. Your father has +written to him from time to time, but his letters have always been returned +to him. + +'Well, so we went on, getting poorer and poorer. Once your father took a +situation as a post-master in a small country village, and there was a lady +there who was very kind to me. She used to come and see my little Arthur; +he was very delicate, and at last he took a dreadful cold, and it settled +on his chest, and my poor little lamb died. And, Rosalie darling, when I +buried him under a little willow-tree in that country churchyard, I felt as +if I had nothing left to live for. + +'We did not stay in that village long; we were neither of us used to +keeping accounts, and we got them in a complete muddle. So I had to leave +behind my little grave, and the only home we ever had. + +'Then your father fell in with a strolling actor, who was in the habit of +frequenting fairs, and between them, by selling their furniture, and almost +everything they possessed, they bought some scenery and a caravan, and +started a travelling theatre. And when the man died, Rosalie, he left his +share of it to your father. + +'So the last twelve years, my darling, I've been moving about from place to +place, just as we are doing now. And in this caravan, my little girl, you +were born. I was very ill a long time after that, and could not take my +place in the theatre, and, for many reasons, that was the most miserable +part of my miserable life. + +'And now, little woman, I've told you all I need tell you at present; +perhaps some day I can give you more particulars; but you will have some +idea now why I am so utterly wretched. + +'Yes, utterly wretched!' said the poor woman, 'no hope for this world, and +no hope for the next.' + +'Poor, poor mammie!' said little Rosalie, stroking her hand very gently and +tenderly--'poor mammie dear!' + +'It's all my own fault, child,' said her mother; 'I've brought it all upon +my self, and I've no one but myself to blame.' + +'Poor, poor mammie!' said Rosalie again. + +Then the sick woman seemed quite exhausted, and lay upon her bed for some +time without speaking or moving. Rosalie sat by the door of the caravan, +and sang softly to herself-- + + 'Jesus, I Thy face am seeking, + Early will I come to Thee.' + +'Oh, Rosalie,' said her mother, looking round, 'I didn't come to Him +early--oh, if I only had! Mind you do, Rosie; it's so much easier for you +now than when you get to be old and wicked like me.' + +'Is that what "In the sunshine of the morning" means, in the next verse, +mammie dear?' + +'Yes, Rosalie,' said her mother; 'it means when you're young and happy. Oh, +dear, dear! if I'd only come to Him then!' + +'Why don't you come now, mammie dear?' + +'I don't know; I don't expect He would take me now; oh, I have been such a +sinner! There are other things, child, I have not told you about; and they +are all coming back to my mind now. I don't know how it is, Rosalie, I +never thought so much of them before.' + +'Perhaps the Good Shepherd is beginning to find you, mammie.' + +'I don't know, Rosalie; I wish I could think that. Anyhow, they are all +rising up as clear as if I saw them all; some of them are things I did +years and years ago, even when I was a little girl in that old home in the +country; they are all coming hack to me now, and oh, I am so very, very +miserable!' + +'Rosalie,' said her father's voice, at the door of the caravan, 'come into +the next waggon. We've a new play on at this town, and you have your part +to learn. Come away!' + +So Rosalie had to leave her poor mother; and instead of singing the +soothing words of the hymn, she had to repeat again and again the foolish +and senseless words which had fallen to her share in the new play which her +father was getting up. Over and over again she repeated them, till she was +weary of their very sound, her father scolding her if she made a mistake, +or failed to give each word its proper emphasis. And when she was released, +it was time to get tea ready; and then they halted for the night at a small +market-town, just eight miles from Lesborough, where they were next to +perform, and which they were to enter the next morning, as the fair began +on Monday. + + + + +CHAPTER VII + +THE CIRCUS PROCESSION + +It was a bright, sunshiny morning when the theatre party reached +Lesborough. Not a cloud was to be seen in the sky, and Augustus was in +capital spirits, for he thought that if the fine weather lasted, his +profits would be larger than usual. + +On the road leading to the town they passed several small shows bound for +the same destination. There was the show of 'The Lancashire Lass,''The +Exhibition of the Performing Little Pigs,''Roderick Polglaze's Living +Curiosities,' and 'The Show of the Giant Horse.' Augustus knew the +proprietor of nearly every caravan that passed them, and they exchanged +greetings by the way, and congratulated each other on the fine weather +which seemed to be before them. + +Then they drew near the town, and heard a tremendous noise in the distance. +As they entered the main street, they saw a cloud of dust in front of them, +and then an immense crowd of people. Rosalie and her mother came to the +door of the caravan and looked out. + +Presently the dust cleared away, and showed them a glittering gilded car, +which was coming towards them, surrounded by throngs of boys and girls, men +and women. + +'What is it, Toby?' asked Rosalie. + +'It's a large circus, Miss Rosie; master said they were going to be here, +and he was afraid they would carry a good many people off from us.' + +The theatre party had to draw up on one side of the street to let the long +procession pass. + +First came a gilded car filled with musicians, who were playing a noisy +tune. This was followed by about a dozen men on horseback, some dressed in +shining armour, as knights of the olden time, and others as cavaliers of +the time of the Stuarts. + +Then came another large gilded car, on the top of which was a golden +dragon, with coloured reins round its neck, which were held by an old man, +dressed as an ancient Briton, and supposed to personate St. George. Then +came a number of mounted ladies, dressed in brilliant velvet habits, one +green, one red, one yellow, one violet; each of them holding long orange +reins, which were fastened to spirited piebald horses, which they drove +before them. + +These were followed by a man riding on two ponies, standing with one leg on +each, and going at a great pace. Then two little girls and a little boy +passed on three diminutive ponies, and next a tiny carriage, drawn by four +little cream-coloured horses, and driven by a boy dressed as the Lord +Mayor's coachman. + +Then came an absurd succession of clowns, driving, riding, or standing on +donkeys, and dressed in hideous costumes. Then, three or four very tall and +fine horses, led by grooms in scarlet. + +And lastly, an enormous gilded car, drawn by six piebald horses, with +coloured flags on their heads. On the top of this car sat a girl, intended +for Britannia, dressed in white, with a scarlet scarf across her shoulders, +a helmet on her head, and a trident in her hand. She was leaning against +two large shields, which alone prevented her from falling from her giddy +height. Some way below her, in front of the car, sat her two maidens, +dressed in glittering silver tinsel, upon which the rays of the sun made it +dazzling to look; whilst behind her, clinging on to the back of the car, +were two iron-clad men, whose scaly armour was also shining brightly. + +Then the procession was over, and there was nothing to be heard or seen but +a noisy rabble, who were hastening on to get another glimpse of the +wonderful sight. + +There were some girls standing near the caravan, close to Rosalie and her +mother, as the circus procession passed, and they were perfectly enraptured +with all they saw. When Britannia came in sight, they could hardly contain +themselves, so envious were they of her. One of them told the other she +would give anything to be sitting up there, dressed in gold and silver, and +she thought Britannia must be as happy as Queen Victoria. + +'Oh,' said Rosalie's mother, leaning out and speaking in a low voice, 'you +would _soon_ get tired of it.' + +'Not I,' said the girl; 'I only wish I had the chance.' + +Rosalie's mother sighed, and said to Rosalie, 'Poor things! they little +know; I should not wonder if that poor girl is about as wretched as I am. +But people don't consider; they know nothing about it; they have to be +behind the scenes to know what it is like.' + +Nothing further happened until the theatre party reached the place where +the fair was to be held. It was a large open square in the middle of the +town, which was generally used as a market-place. Although it was only +Saturday morning, and the fair was not to begin until Monday, many of the +shows had already arrived. The marionettes and the wild-beast show had +completed their arrangements, and one of the whirligigs was already in +action, and from time to time its proprietor rang a large bell, to call +together a fresh company of riders. + +The children had a holiday, as it was Saturday, and they rushed home and +clamoured for pennies, that they might spend them in sitting on a wooden +horse, or elephant, or camel, or in one of the small omnibuses or open +carriages, and then being taken round by means of steam at a tremendous +pace, till their breath was nearly gone; and when they alighted once more +on the ground, they hardly knew where they were, or whether they were +standing on their heads or on their feet. And for long after many of these +children were dizzy and sick, and felt as if they were walking on ground +which gave way beneath them as they trod on it. + +As soon as Augustus arrived at the place where his theatre was to be +erected, he and his men began their work. For the next few hours there was +nothing to be heard on all sides but rapping and hammering, every one +working with all his might to get everything finished before sunset. Each +half hour fresh shows arrived, had their ground measured out for them by +the market-keeper, and began to unload and fasten up immediately. + +Rosalie stood at the door and looked out; but she had seen it all so often +before that it was no amusement to her, and she felt very glad, as, one by +one, the shows were finished and the hammering ceased. + +But, just as she hoped that all was becoming quiet, she heard a dreadful +noise at the back of the caravan. It was her father's voice, and he was in +a towering passion with one of the men, who had annoyed him by neglecting +to put up part of the scaffolding properly. The two men shouted at each +other for some time, and a large number of people, who were strolling about +amongst the shows, collected round them to see what was the matter. + +At length a policeman, seeing the crowd, came and ordered them off, and +they were obliged to retreat inside the theatre. + +That night Augustus came into the caravan to smoke his pipe, and informed +his wife that it was very well she was so much better, for he and Conrad +had had a disagreement, and Conrad had taken his things and gone off, so of +course she would have to take her part on Monday night. + +Rosalie looked at her mother, and Rosalie's mother looked at her, but +neither of them spoke. + +But as soon as her father had left them for the night, Rosalie said-- + +'Mammie dear, you'll _never_ be able to stand all that long, long +time; I'm sure it will make you worse, mammie dear.' + +'Never mind, Rosalie; it's no use telling your father, he thinks I am only +complaining if I do.' + +'But oh, mammie dear, what if it makes you bad again, as it did before?' + +'It can't be helped, child; I shall have to do it, so it's no use talking +about it; I may as well do it without making a fuss about it; your father +is put out to-night, darling, and it would never do to annoy him more.' + +But little Rosalie was not satisfied, she looked very tenderly and +sorrowfully at her mother; and the next morning she went timidly to tell +her father that she did not think her mother would ever get through her +part, she was too weak for it. But he told her shortly to mind her own +business; so little Rosalie could do nothing more--nothing, except watch +her mother very carefully and gently all that long, dreary Sunday, scarcely +allowing her to rise from her seat, but fetching her everything she wanted, +and looking forward, sick at heart, to the morrow. + +The church-bells chimed in all directions, crowds of people in their Sunday +clothes passed along the market-place to church or chapel; but to Rosalie +and her mother Sunday brought no joy. + +It was a fine, bright day, so most of the show-people were roaming about +the town; but Rosalie's mother was too weak to go out, and her little girl +did not like to leave her. + +'Rosalie,' said her mother that Sunday afternoon, 'I'm going to give you a +present.' + +'A present for me, mammie dear?' said Rosalie. + +'Yes, little woman. Pull that large box from under the bed. It's rather +heavy, dear; can you manage it?' + +'Oh yes, mammie dear, quite well.' + +Rosalie's mother sat down by the box, and began to unpack it. At the top of +the box were some of her clothes and Rosalie's; but it was a long time +since she had turned out the things at the bottom of the box. She took out +from it a small bundle pinned up in a towel, then, calling Rosalie to her +side, she drew out the pins one by one, and opened it. Inside were several +small parcels carefully tied up in paper. + +In the first parcel was a little pair of blue shoes, with a tiny red sock. + +'Those were my little Arthur's, Rosalie,' said her mother, with tears in +her eyes; 'I put them away the day he was buried, and I've never liked to +part with them. No one will care for them when I'm gone, though,' said she, +with a sigh. + +'Oh, mammie dear,' said Rosalie, 'don't talk so!' + +The next parcel contained a small square box; but before she opened it, she +went to the door and looked cautiously out. Then, after seeing that no one +was near, she touched a spring, and took out of the velvet-lined case a +beautiful little locket. There was a circle of pearls all round it, and the +letters N.E.H. were engraved in a monogram outside. + +Then she opened the locket, and showed Rosalie the picture of a girl with a +very sweet and gentle face, and large, soft brown eyes. + +'Rosalie darling,' said her mother, 'that is my sister Lucy.' + +Rosalie took the locket in her hand, and looked at it very earnestly. + +'Yes,' said the poor woman, 'that is my sister Lucy--my own sister Lucy. I +haven't looked at it for many a day; I can hardly bear to look at it now, +for I shall never see her again--never, darling! What's that, Rosalie?' she +said fearfully, covering the locket with her apron, as some one passed the +caravan. + +'It's only some men strolling through the fair, mammie dear,' said Rosalie. + +'Because I wouldn't have your father see this for the world; he would soon +sell it if he did. I've hid it up all these years, and never let him find +it. I could not bear to part with it; she gave it to me my last birthday +that I was at home. I remember it so well, Rosalie dear; I had been very +disagreeable to Lucy a long time before that, for I knew I was doing wrong, +and I had such a weight on my mind that I could not shake it off, and it +made me cross and irritable. + +'Lucy was never cross with me, she always spoke gently and kindly to me; +and I sometimes even wished she would be angry, that I might have some +excuse for my bad behaviour. + +'Well, dear, when I woke that morning, I found this little box laid on my +pillow, and a note with it, asking me to accept this little gift from my +sister Lucy, and always to keep it for her sake. Oh, Rosalie darling, +wasn't it good of her, when I had been so bad to her? + +'Well, I kissed her, and thanked her for it, and I wore it round my neck; +and when I ran away that morning, I put it safely in my bag, and I've kept +it ever since. Your father has not seen it for many years, and he has +forgotten all about it. When we were so poor, I used to be so afraid he +would remember this locket and sell it, as he did all my other jewels. It +was hard enough parting with some of them; but I did not care so much so +long as I kept this one, for I promised Lucy that morning that I would +_never_, _never_ part with it.' + +'It is pretty, mammie dear,' said Rosalie. + +'Yes, child; it will be yours some day, when I die; remember, it is for +you; but you must never let it be sold or pawned, Rosalie, I couldn't bear +to think it ever would be. And now we'll put it back again, it won't be +safe here; your father might come in any minute.' + +'Here's one more parcel, mammie.' + +'Yes, keep that out, dear; that's your present,' said her mother. 'I can't +give you the locket yet, because I must keep it till I die; but you shall +have the other to-day.' + +She took off the paper, and put into Rosalie's hands a small black +Testament. The child opened the book, and read on the fly-leaf, 'Mrs. +Augustus Joyce. From her friend Mrs. Bernard, in remembrance of little +Arthur, and with the prayer that she may meet her child in heaven.' + +'I promised her that I would read it, Rosalie; but I haven't,' said the +poor woman. 'I read a few verses the first week she gave it to me, but I've +never read it since. I wish I had--oh, I _do_ wish I had!' + +'Let me read it to you, mammie dear.' + +'That's what I got it out for, darling; you might read a bit of it to me +every day; I don't know whether it will do me any good, it's almost too +late now, but I can but try.' + +'Shall I begin at once, mammie dear?' + +'Yes, directly, Rosalie; I'll just write your name in it, that you may +always remember your mother when you see it.' + +So Rosalie brought her a pen and ink, and she wrote at the bottom of the +page--'My little Rosalie, with her mother's love.' + +'And now, child, you may begin to read.' + +'What shall it be, mammie dear?' + +'Find the part about your picture, dear; I should think it will say under +the text where it is.' + +With some trouble Rosalie found Luke xv. and began to read-- + +'And He spake this parable unto them, saying, What man of you, having an +hundred sheep, if he lose one of them, doth not leave the ninety and nine +in the wilderness, and go after that which is lost, until he find it? And +when he hath found it, he layeth it on his shoulders, rejoicing. And when +he cometh home, he calleth together his friends and neighbours, saying unto +them, Rejoice with me; for I have found my sheep which was lost. I say unto +you, that likewise joy shall be in heaven over one sinner that repenteth, +more than over ninety and nine just persons, which need no repentance.' + +'_I_ need repentance, Rosalie, child,' said her mother. + +'What is repentance, mammie dear?' + +'It means being sorry for what you've done, Rosalie darling, and hating +yourself for it, and wishing never to do wrong again.' + +'Then, mammie, if you need repentance, you must be like the _one_ +sheep, not like the ninety-nine.' + +'Yes, child, I'm a lost sheep, there's no doubt about that; I've gone very +far astray,--so far that I don't suppose I shall ever get back again; it's +much easier to get wrong than to get right; it's a _very, very_ hard +thing to find the right road when you've once missed it; it doesn't seem +much use my trying to get back, I have such a long way to go.' + +'But, mammie dear, isn't it just like the sheep?' + +'What do you mean, Rosalie darling?' + +'Why, the sheep couldn't find its way back, could it, mammie? sheep never +can find their way. And this sheep didn't walk back; did it? He carried it +on His shoulder, like my picture; I don't suppose it would seem so very far +when He carried it.' + +Rosalie's mother made no answer when her child said this, but she seemed to +be thinking about it. She sat looking thoughtfully out of the window; much, +very much was passing in her mind. Then Rosalie closed the Testament, and, +wrapping it carefully in the paper in which it had been kept so many years, +she hid it away in the box again. + +It was Sunday evening now, and once more the church-bells rang, and once +more the people went past with books in their hands. Rosalie wished very +much that she could creep into one of the churches and hear another sermon. +But just then her father and the men came back and wanted their tea; and, +instead of the quiet service, Rosalie had to listen to their loud talking +and noisy laughter. + +And then her father sent for her into the large caravan, and made her go +through her part of the play. She was just finishing her recital as the +people passed back again from evening service. + + + + +CHAPTER VIII + +LITTLE MOTHER MANIKIN + +It was Monday night, and Rosalie's mother was dressing herself, to be ready +to act in the play. Rosalie was standing beside her, setting out the folds +of her white dress, and fetching everything she needed; her large necklace +of pearl beads, the wreath of white lilies for her hair, and the bracelets, +rings, and other articles of mock jewellery with which she was adorned. All +these Rosalie brought to her, and the poor woman put them on one by one, +standing before the tiny looking-glass to arrange them in their proper +places. + +It was a very thin, sorrowful face which that glass reflected; so ill and +careworn, so weary and sad. As soon as she was ready, she sat down on one +of the boxes, whilst Rosalie dressed herself. + +'Oh, mammie dear,' said Rosalie, 'I'm sure you are not fit to act +to-night.' + +'Hush, Rosalie!' said her mother; 'don't speak of that now. Come and sit +beside me, darling, and let me do your hair for you; and before we go, +Rosalie dear, sing your little hymn.' + +Rosalie tried to sing it; but somehow her voice trembled, and she could not +sing it very steadily. There was such a sad expression in her mother's +face, that, in the midst of the hymn, little Rosalie burst into tears, and +threw her arms round her mother's neck. + +'Don't cry, darling, don't cry!' said her mother; 'what is the matter with +you, Rosalie?' + +'Oh, mammie dear, I don't want you to go to-night!' + +'Hush, little one!' said her mother; 'don't speak of that. Listen to me, +dear; I want you to make your mother a promise to-night. I want you to +promise me that, if ever you can escape from this life of misery, you will +do so; it's not good for you, darling, all this wretched acting--and oh, it +makes my heart ache every time you have to go to it. You'll leave it if you +can, Rosalie; won't you?' + +'Yes, mammie dear, if you'll come with me,' said little Rosalie. + +The poor mother shook her head sorrowfully. + +'No, dear; I shall never leave the caravan now. I chose this life myself; I +chose to live here, darling; and here I shall have to die. But you didn't +choose it, child; and I pray every day that God may save you from it. You +remember that little village where we passed through, where you got your +card?' + +'Yes, mammie dear--where we had the milk and bread.' + +'Do you remember a house which I sent you to look at?' + +'Oh yes, mammie dear--the house with a pretty garden, and a lady and her +little girl gathering roses.' + +'That lady was my sister Lucy, Rosalie.' + +'Aunt Lucy?' said Rosalie; 'was it, mammie dear? And was that little girl +my cousin?' + +'Yes, darling; I knew it was your Aunt Lucy as soon as that young woman +mentioned her name. Lucy married a Mr. Leslie; and it was just like her to +read to those people in the cottages, just as she used to do when we lived +in that town of which I told you.' + +'Then I've really seen her?' said Rosalie. + +'Yes, darling; and now I want you to promise me that, if ever you have the +opportunity of getting to your Aunt Lucy without your father knowing it, +you'll go. I've written a letter to her, dear, and I've hid it away in that +box, inside the case where the locket is. And if ever you can go to your +Aunt Lucy, give her that letter; you will, won't you, Rosalie? and show her +that locket; she will remember it as soon as she sees it; and tell her, +darling, that I never, never parted with it all these long, dreary years.' + +'But why won't you come with me, mammie dear?' + +'Don't ask me that now, darling; it's nearly time for us to go into the +theatre. But before you go, just read those verses about your picture once +through; we shall just about have time for it before your father comes.' + +So Rosalie read once more the parable of the Lost Sheep. + +'Rosalie, child,' said her mother, when she had finished, 'there are four +words in that story which I've had in my mind, oh, so many times, since you +read it last.' + +'What are they, mammie dear?' + +'"Until He find it," Rosalie. All last night I lay awake coughing, and I +kept thinking there was no hope for me; it was no use my asking the Good +Shepherd to look for me. But all of a sudden those words came back to me +just as if some one had said them to me. "Until He find it--until He find +it. He goeth after that which is lost until He find it." It seems He +doesn't give up at once, He goes on looking until He find it. And then it +seemed to me, Rosalie--I don't know if I was right, I don't know if I even +dare hope it--but it seemed to me last night that perhaps, if He takes such +pains and looks so long, if He goes on _until He find it_, there might +even be a chance for me.' + +'Are you ready?' said Augustus' voice, at the door of the caravan; 'we're +just going to begin.' + +Rosalie and her mother jumped hastily up, and, thrusting the Testament into +the box, they hurried down the caravan steps and went into the theatre. +There were still a few minutes before the performance commenced; and +Rosalie made her mother sit down on a chair in the little room behind the +stage, that she might rest as long as possible. + +Several of the company came up to the poor woman, and asked her how she +was, in tones which spoke of rough though kindly sympathy. Rosalie looked +earnestly in their faces, and read there that they did not think her mother +equal to her work; and it filled her little heart with sorrowful +forebodings. + +She had never seen her mother look more lovely than she did at the +beginning of the play; there was a bright colour in her face, and her +beautiful eyes shone more brilliantly than ever before. Rosalie really +hoped she must be better, to look so well as that. But there was a weary, +sorrowful expression in her face, which went to the child's heart. Her +mother repeated the words of the play as if they were extremely distasteful +to her, and as if she could hardly bear the sound of her own voice. In her +eyes there was a wistful yearning, as if she were looking at and longing +for something far, far away from the noisy theatre. She never smiled at the +bursts of applause; she repeated her part almost mechanically, and, from +time to time, Rosalie saw her mother's eyes fill with tears. She crept to +her side, and put her little hand in hers as they went up to the platform +after the first performance was over. + +Her mother's hand was burning with fever, and yet she shivered from head to +foot as they went out on the platform into the chill night air. + +'Oh, mammie dear,' said Rosalie, in a whisper, 'you ought to go back to the +caravan now.' + +But Rosalie's mother shook her head mournfully. + +About half-way through the next play there came a long piece which Rosalie +had to recite alone, the piece which her father had been teaching her +during the last week. She was just half-way through it, when, suddenly, her +eyes fell on her mother, who was standing at the opposite side of the stage +in a tragical position. All the colour had gone from her face, and it +seemed to Rosalie that each moment her face was growing whiter and more +deathlike. She quite forgot the words she was saying, all remembrance of +them faded from her mind. She came to a sudden stop. Her father's +promptings were all in vain, she could hear nothing he said, she could see +nothing but her mother's sorrowful and ghastly face. + +And then her mother fell, and some of the actors carried her from the room. +Rosalie rushed forward to follow her, and the noise in the theatre became +deafening. But she was stopped on the stairs by her father, who blamed her +most cruelly for breaking down in her part, and ordered her to return +immediately and finish, accompanying his command with most awful +threatenings if she refused to obey. + +Poor little Rosalie went on with her recital, trembling in every limb. Her +mother's place was taken by another actor, and the play went on as before. +But Rosalie's heart was not there. It was filled with a terrible, sickening +dread. What had become of her mother? Who was with her? Were they taking +care of her? And then a horrible fear came over her lest her mother should +be dead--lest when she went into the caravan again she should only see her +mother's body stretched upon the bed--lest she should never, never hear her +mother speak to her again. + +As soon as the play was over, she went up to her father, and, in spite of +the annoyed expression of his face, begged him to allow her to leave the +theatre and to go to her mother. But he told her angrily that she had +spoilt his profits quite enough for one night, and she must take care how +she dared to do so again. + +Oh, what a long night that seemed to Rosalie! When they went out on the +platform between the performances, she gazed earnestly in the direction of +her mother's caravan. A light seemed to be burning inside, but more than +that Rosalie could not see. + +It seemed as if the long hours would never pass away. Each time she went +through her recital, she felt glad that she had at least once less to say +it. Each time that the Town Hall clock struck, she counted the hours before +the theatre would close. And yet, when all was over, and when Rosalie was +at length allowed to return to the caravan, she hardly dared to enter it. +What would she find within? + +Was her mother dead, and was her father hiding it from her till her part +was over, lest she should break down again? + +Very, very gently she opened the door. There was a candle burning on the +table, and by its light Rosalie could see her mother lying on the bed. She +was very pale, and her eyes were tightly closed. But she was breathing, she +was not dead. The relief was so great that Rosalie burst into tears. + +When she first came into the caravan, she thought that her mother was +alone, but a small hoarse whisper came from the corner of the caravan-- + +'Don't be frightened, my dear,' said the voice; 'it's only me. Toby told me +about your mother, and so I came to sit with her till you came.' + +Rosalie walked to her mother's side, and on the box by the bed she found a +little creature about three feet high, with a very old and wrinkled face. + +'Who are you?' said Rosalie. + +'I belong to the Dwarf Show, my dear,' said the old woman. 'There are four +of us there, and not one of us more than three feet high.' + +'But isn't it going on to-night?' said Rosalie. + +'Yes, it's going on, my dear; it always goes on,' said the tiny old woman; +but I'm old and ugly, you see, so I can be better spared than the others. I +only go in sometimes, my dear; old age must have its liberties, you see.' + +'Thank you so much for taking care of my mother,' said Rosalie; 'has she +spoken to you yet?' + +'Yes, my dear,' said the old woman; 'she spoke once, but I couldn't well +hear what she said. I tried to reach up near to her mouth to listen; but +you see I'm only three feet high, so I couldn't quite manage it. I thought +it was something about a sheep, but of course it couldn't be that, my dear; +there are no sheep here.' + +'Oh yes,' said Rosalie, 'that would be it; we had been reading about sheep +before we went into the theatre.' + +Just then a noise was heard at the door of the caravan, and Augustus +entered. He went up to his wife, and felt her pulse; then he muttered-- + +'She's all right now. Let her have a good sleep; that's all she wants, +Rosalie.' + +He looked curiously at the dwarf, and then left the caravan and shut the +door. + +'Rosalie,' said the tiny old woman when he had gone, 'I'll stop with you +to-night, if you like.' + +'Oh would you?' said little Rosalie; 'I should be so glad!' + +She felt as if she could not bear all those long, dark hours alone, beside +her unconscious mother. + +'Yes,' said the dwarf, 'I'll stay; only you must go and tell them in our +tent. Can you find it, do you think?' + +'Where is it?' said Rosalie. + +The little old woman described the situation of the tent, and Rosalie put a +shawl over her head, and went in search of it. There were some stalls still +lighted up, and the flaring naphtha showed Rosalie an immense picture +hanging over the tent, representing a number of diminutive men and women; +and above the picture there was a board, on which was written in large +letters--'The Royal Show of Dwarfs.' + +Rosalie had some difficulty in finding the entrance to this show. She +groped round it several times, pulling at the canvas in different places, +but all to no purpose. Then she heard voices within, laughing and talking. +Going as near to these as possible, she put her mouth to a hole in the +canvas, and called out-- + +'Please will you let me in? I've brought a message from the little lady +that lives here.' + +There was a great shuffling in the tent after this, and a clinking and +chinking of money; then a piece of the canvas was pulled aside, and a +little squeaky voice called out-- + +'Come in, whoever you are, and let us hear what you've got to say.' + +So Rosalie crept in through the canvas, and stepped into the middle of the +tent. + +It was a curious scene which she saw when she looked round. Three little +dwarfs stood before her, dressed in the most extraordinary costumes, and +far above over their heads there towered a tall and very thin giant. Not +one of the tiny dwarfs came up to his elbow. On the floor were scattered +tiny tables, diminutive chairs, and dolls' umbrellas, which the little +people had been using in their performance. + +'What is it, my dear?' said the giant loftily, as Rosalie entered. + +'Please,' said Rosalie, 'I've brought a message from the little lady that +belongs to this show.' + +'Mother Manikin,' said one of the dwarfs, in an explanatory tone. + +'Yes, Mother Manikin,' repeated the giant, and the two other dwarfs nodded +their heads in assent. + +'My mother's very ill,' said Rosalie, 'and she's taking care of her; and +she's going to stay all night, and I was to tell you.' + +'All right,' said the giant majestically. + +'All right, all right, all right,' echoed the three little dwarfs. + +Then the two lady dwarfs seized Rosalie by the hand, and wanted her to sit +down and have supper with them. But Rosalie steadily declined; she must not +leave her mother nor Mother Manikin. + +'Quite right,' said the giant, in a superior voice; 'quite right, child.' + +'Quite right, child, quite right,' repeated the three little dwarfs. + +Then they escorted Rosalie to the door of the show, and bowed her +gracefully out. + +'Tell Mother Manikin not to come home in daylight,' called the giant, as +Rosalie was disappearing through the canvas. + +'No, no,' said the three dwarfs; 'not in daylight!' + +'Why not?' said Rosalie. + +'Our pennies,' said the giant mysteriously. + +'Yes, our pennies and halfpennies for seeing the show,' repeated the +dwarfs; 'we must not make ourselves too cheap.' + +'Good-night, child,' said the giant. + +'Good-night, child,' said the dwarfs. + +Sorrowful as she was, they almost made Rosalie smile, they were such tiny +little creatures to call her 'child' in that superior manner. But she +hastened back to the caravan, and after telling Mother Manikin that she had +delivered her message to her friends, she took up her place by her mother's +side. + +It was a great comfort having little Mother Manikin there, she was so kind +and considerate, so thoughtful and clever, and she always seemed to know +exactly what was wanted, though Rosalie's mother was too weak to ask for +anything. + +All night long the poor woman lay still, sometimes entirely unconscious, at +other times opening her eyes and trying to smile at poor little Rosalie, +who was sitting at the foot of the bed. Mother Manikin did everything that +had to be done. She was evidently accustomed to a sickroom and knew the +best way of making those she nursed comfortable. She climbed on a chair and +arranged the pillows, so that the sick woman could breathe most easily. And +after a time she made the poor tired child take off her white dress, and +lie down at the foot of the bed, wrapped in a woollen shawl. And in a few +minutes Rosalie fell asleep. + +When she awoke, the grey light was stealing in at the caravan window. She +raised herself on the bed and looked round. At first she thought she was +dreaming, but presently the recollection of the night before came back to +her. There was her mother sleeping quietly on the bed, and there was little +Mother Manikin sitting faithfully at her post, never having allowed herself +to sleep all that long night, lest the sick woman should wake and want +something which she could not get. + +'Oh, Mother Manikin,' said Rosalie, getting down from the bed and throwing +her arms round the little old woman's neck, 'how good you are!' + +'Hush, child!' said the dwarf; 'don't wake your mother; she's sleeping so +peacefully now, and has been for the last hour.' + +'I'm so glad!' said Rosalie. 'Do you think she will soon be better, Mother +Manikin?' + +'I can't say, my dear; we'll leave that just now. Tell me what that picture +is about up there? I've been looking at it all night.' + +'Oh, that's my picture,' said Rosalie; 'that shepherd has been looking for +that lamb all over, and at last he has found it, and is carrying it home on +his shoulder; and he is so glad it is found, though he has hurt himself +very much in looking for it.' + +'And what is that reading underneath?' said the little old woman. 'I can't +read, my dear, you see; I am no scholar.' + +'"Rejoice with Me; for I have found My sheep which was lost. There is joy +in the presence of the angels of God over one sinner that repenteth."' + +'What does that mean, child?' said the old woman. + +'It means Jesus is like the shepherd, and He is looking for us, Mother +Manikin; and it makes Him so glad when He finds us.' + +The dwarf nodded her head in assent. + +'We ask Him every day to find us, Mother Manikin--mammie and me; and the +story says He will look for us until He finds us. Shall I read it to you? +It's what mammie and I were reading before we went in to the play.' + +Rosalie went to the box and brought out the little black Testament, and +then, sitting at Mother Manikin's feet, she read her favourite story of the +lost sheep. + +'Has he found you, Mother Manikin?' she said, as she closed the book. + +The little dwarf put her head on one side, and smoothed her tiny grey +curls, but made no answer. Rosalie was almost afraid she had vexed her, and +did not like to say anything more. But a long time afterwards--so long that +Rosalie had been thinking of a dozen things since--Mother Manikin answered +her question, and said in a strange whisper-- + +'No, child; He _hasn't_ found _me_.' + +'Won't you ask Him, dear Mother Manikin?' said Rosalie. + +'Yes, child; I'll begin to-day,' said the little dwarf. 'I'll begin now, if +you'll say the words for me.' + +Rosalie slipped down from her stool, and, kneeling on the floor of the +caravan, she said aloud-- + +'O Good Shepherd, you are looking for mammie and me; please look for Mother +Manikin too; and please put her on your shoulder and carry her home. Amen.' + +'Amen!' said old Mother Manikin, in her hoarse whisper. + +She did not talk any more after this. About six o'clock there came a rap on +the caravan door, and a woman in a long cloak appeared, asking if Mother +Manikin were there. She belonged to the Royal Show of Dwarfs, and she had +come to take Mother Manikin home before the business of the market-place +commenced. Some men were already passing by to their work; so the woman +wrapped Mother Manikin in a shawl, and carried her home like a baby, +covering her with her cloak, so that no one should see who she was. Rosalie +thanked her with tears in her eyes for all her kindness; and the little +woman promised soon to come again and see how her patient was. + + + + +CHAPTER IX + +THE DOCTOR'S VISIT + +Rosalie was not long alone after Mother Manikin left her. There was a rap +at the door, and on opening it she found Toby. + +'Miss Rosie,' he said, 'how is she now?' + +'I think she is sleeping quietly, Toby,' said Rosalie. + +'I would have come before, but I was afraid of disturbing her,' said Toby. +'I've been thinking of her all night; I didn't get many winks of sleep, +Miss Rosie!' + +'Oh, Toby, was it you that fetched little Mother Manikin?' + +'Yes, Miss Rosie; I used to belong to their show before I came to master; +and once I had a fever, and Mother Manikin nursed me all the time I had it, +so I knew she would know what to do.' + +'She _is_ a kind little thing!' said Rosalie. + +'Yes, missie; she has only got a little body, but there's a great kind +heart inside it. But, Miss Rosie, I wanted to tell you something; I'm going +to fetch a doctor to see missis.' + +'Oh, Toby! but what will my father say?' + +'It's he that has sent me, Miss Rosie; you see, I think he's ashamed. You +should have seen the men last night, when they were shutting up the theatre +after you had gone away. They went up to master, and gave him a bit of +their minds about letting missis come on the stage when she was so ill. +They told him it was a sin and a shame the way he treated her, taking less +care of her than if she were one of his old horses (not that he's over and +above good to them neither). Well, master didn't like it, Miss Rosie, and +he was very angry at the time; but this morning, as soon as it was light, +he told me to get up at seven o'clock and fetch a doctor to see missis at +once. So I thought I'd better tell you, Miss Rosie, that you might put +things straight before he comes.' + +As soon as Toby had gone, Rosalie put the caravan in order, and awaited +anxiously the doctor's arrival. Her father brought him in, and stayed in +the caravan whilst he felt the poor woman's pulse, and asked Rosalie +several questions about her cough, which from time to time was so +distressing. Then they went out together, and little Rosalie was left in +suspense. She had not dared to ask the doctor what he thought of her mother +when her father was present, and her little heart was full of anxious fear. + +Augustus came in soon after the doctor had left; and Rosalie crept up to +him, and asked what he had said of her mother. + +'He says she is very ill,' said her father shortly, and in a voice which +told Rosalie that she must ask no more questions. And then he sat down +beside the bed for about half an hour, and looked more softened than +Rosalie had ever seen him before. She was sure the doctor must have told +him that her mother was very bad indeed. + +Rosalie's father did not speak; there was no sound in the caravan but the +ticking of the little clock which was fastened to a nail in the corner, and +the occasional falling of the cinders in the ashpan. Augustus' reflections +were not pleasant as he sat by his wife's dying bed. For the doctor had +told him she would never be better, and it was only a question of time how +long she would live. And when Augustus heard that, all his cruel treatment +came back to his mind--the hard words he had spoken to her, the unkind +things he had said of her, and, above all, the hard-hearted way in which he +had made her come on the stage the night before, when she was almost too +ill to stand. All these things crowded in upon his memory, and a short fit +of remorse seized him. It was this which led him, contrary to his custom, +to come into the caravan and sit by her side. But his meditations became so +unpleasant at length, that he could bear them no longer; he could not sit +there and face the accusations of his conscience; so he jumped up hastily, +and went out without saying a word to his child, slammed the little caravan +door after him, and sauntered down the marketplace. Here he met some of his +friends, who rallied him on his melancholy appearance, and offered to treat +him to a glass in the nearest public-house. And there Augustus Joyce +banished all thoughts of his wife, and stifled the loud, accusing voice of +his conscience. When he returned to the theatre for dinner, he appeared as +hard and selfish as ever, and never even asked how his wife was before he +sat down to eat. Perhaps he dreaded to hear the answer to that question. + +And that evening Rosalie was obliged to take her part in the play; her +father insisted on it; it was impossible for him to spare her, he said, and +to fill up both her place and her mother's also. Rosalie begged him most +earnestly to excuse her, but all in vain; so with an aching heart she went +to the Royal Show of Dwarfs and asked for Mother Manikin. + +The good little woman was indignant when Rosalie told her she was not +allowed to stay with her mother, and promised immediately to come and sit +beside the poor woman in her absence. The other dwarfs rather grumbled at +this arrangement; but Mother Manikin shook her little fist at them, and +called them hard-hearted creatures, and declared that old age must have its +liberties. She had been entertaining the company all the afternoon, and +must have a little rest this evening. + +'Oh, Mother Manikin!' said Rosalie; 'and you had no sleep last night.' + +'Oh, my dear, I'm all right,' said the good little woman. 'I had a nap or +two this morning. Don't trouble about me; and Miss Mab and Master Puck +ought to be ashamed of themselves for wanting me when there's that poor +dear thing so ill out there. Bless me, my dears!' said the old woman, +turning to the dwarfs, 'what should you want with an ugly little thing like +me? It's you lovely young creatures that the company come to see. So I wish +you good-night, my dears. Take care of yourselves, and don't get into any +mischief when I'm away! Where's Susannah?' + +'Here, ma'am,' said the woman who had come for Mother Manikin that morning. + +'Carry me to Joyce's van,' said the little old woman, jumping on a chair +and holding out her arms. + +Susannah wrapped her in her cloak, and took her quickly in the direction of +the theatre, Rosalie walking by her side. + +Then the little woman helped the child to dress--pulling out the folds of +her white dress for her, and combing her long hair in a most motherly +fashion. When the child was ready, she stood looking sorrowfully at her +mother's pale face. But as she was looking, her mother's eyes opened, and +gazed lovingly and tenderly at her, and then, to the child's joy, her +mother spoke. + +'Rosalie darling,' she whispered, 'I feel better to-night. Kiss your +mother, Rosie.' + +The child bent down and kissed her mother's face, and her long dark hair +lay across her mother's pillow. + +'Who is it taking care of me, Rosalie?' + +'It's a little lady Toby knows, mammie dear; she's so kind, and she says +she will sit with you all the time I'm out. I didn't want to leave you--oh, +I wanted so much to stay! but I could not be spared, father says.' + +'Never mind, darling,' said her mother. 'I feel a little better to-night. I +should like a cup of tea.' + +Mother Manikin had a cup of tea ready almost directly. She was the quickest +little body Rosalie had ever seen; yet she was so quiet that her quick +movements did not in the least disturb the sick woman. + +'How kind you are!' said Rosalie's mother, as the dwarf climbed on a chair +to give her the tea. + +'There's nothing like tea,' said the tiny old woman, nodding her wise +little head; 'give me a cup of tea, and I don't care what I go without! +You're better to-night, ma'am.' + +'Yes,' said Rosalie's mother; 'I can talk a little now. I heard a great +deal you said before, though I could not speak to you. I heard you talking +about Rosalie's picture.' + +'To think of that!' said the little old woman cheerily. 'To think of that, +Rosalie! Why, she heard us talking; bless me, child! she's not so bad after +all.' + +'I think that did me good,' said the poor woman; 'I heard Rosalie pray.' + +'Yes,' said Mother Manikin; 'she put me in her prayer, bless her! I haven't +forgotten that!' + +Then Rosalie's mother seemed very tired, and her careful nurse would not +let her talk any more, but made her lie quite quietly without moving. When +Rosalie left her to go on the stage, she was sleeping peacefully, with kind +Mother Manikin sitting by her side. And when the child returned late at +night, there she was sitting still. And she insisted on Rosalie's +undressing and creeping into bed beside her mother, that she might have a +proper night's rest. For poor little Rosalie was completely exhausted with +the stifling air, the fatigue, and the anxiety to which she had been +subjected. + +The next day her mother seemed to have revived a little, and was able to +take a little food, and to talk to her in whispers from time to time. + +'Rosalie,' she said, that afternoon, 'there is a verse come back to me +which our old nurse taught me; I haven't thought of it for years, but that +night when I was so ill I woke saying it.' + +'What is it, mammie dear?' said Rosalie. + +'"All we like sheep have gone astray; we have turned every one to his own +way; and the Lord hath laid on Him the iniquity of us all." That was it, +dear.' + +'Mother Manikin told me you said something about sheep, mammie.' + +'Yes, that was it,' said the poor woman; 'it's such a beautiful verse! "All +we like sheep have gone astray;" that's just like me, darling--I've gone +astray, oh, so far astray! "And have turned every one to his own way;" +that's me again,--my own way, that's just what it was;--I chose it myself; +I would have my own way. It's just like me, Rosalie.' + +'And what's the end of the verse, mammie dear?' + +'"The Lord hath laid on Him the iniquity of us all." That means Jesus; the +Lord put all our sins on Him when He died on the cross.' + +'Did God put your sins on Jesus, mammie dear?' + +'Yes, child; I think it must mean mine, because it says, "the iniquity of +us all." I think "all" must take me in, Rosalie; at least I hope so. I have +been asking Him to let it take me in, because, you know, if the sin is laid +on Him, Rosie darling, I sha'n't have to bear it too.' + +The poor woman was quite exhausted when she had said this; and Rosalie +brought her some beef-tea which Mother Manikin had made for her, and which +was simmering on the stove. The good little woman came once more to stay +with Rosalie's mother whilst the play was going on. + +The theatre closed rather earlier that night, for a large fair was to be +held at a town some way off, at which Augustus Joyce was very anxious to be +present; and as he did not think there was much more to be done in +Lesborough, he determined to start at once. So, the moment that the last +person had left the theatre, Augustus and his men hastily put off the +clothes in which they had been acting, slipped on their working coats, and +began to pull down the scenery. + +All night long they were hammering, and knocking down, and packing up, and +when morning dawned they were ready to start. + +They were not the only ones who had been packing up all night. There were +several other fairs drawing near, at which the show-people had taken +ground; so they worked away as those who had no time to lose. + +'Miss Rosie,' said Toby's voice, at about five o'clock that morning, 'they +are all going off except us. Master says we can wait a bit longer, to give +missis a little more rest. He and the other men are going off at once, to +get the theatre set up and everything ready, and master says it will be +time enough if we are there by the first night of the fair. He can't do +without you then, he says.' + +'I am very glad mammie hasn't to be moved just yet,' said Rosalie; 'the +shaking would hurt her so much, I'm sure.' + +Augustus came into the caravan for a few minutes before he set off. He told +Rosalie that they might stay two days longer; but on Saturday morning they +must be off early, so as to get into the town on Sunday night. + +'I wouldn't have you away from the play in this town, Rosalie, not for the +world. It's a large seaside place, and I hope to make a pretty penny there, +if every one does their duty.' + +'Augustus,' said his wife, in a trembling voice, 'can you stay five minutes +with me before you go?' + +'Well,' said Augustus, taking out his watch, 'perhaps I might spare five +minutes; but you must be quick. I ought to be off by now.' + +'Rosalie darling,' said her mother, 'leave me and your father alone.' + +Little Rosalie went down the steps of the caravan, shutting the door gently +behind her, and stood watching her father's men, who were yoking the horses +in the waggons and tying ropes round the different loads, to prevent +anything falling off. + +As soon as she was gone, her mother laid her hand on her husband's arm, and +said-- + +'Augustus, there are two things I want to ask you before I die.' + +'What are they?' said the man shortly, crossing his legs and leaning back +on his chair. + +'The first is, Augustus, that you will find a home for Rosalie when I'm +dead. Don't take her about from fair to fair; she will have no mother to +take care of her, and I can't bear to think of her being left here all +alone.' + +'All alone?' said Augustus angrily; 'she will have me, she will be all +right if I'm here; and I'm not going to let the child go, just when she's +beginning to be useful. Besides, where would you have her go?' + +Rosalie's mother did not tell the secret hope which was in her heart. + +'I thought,' she said, 'you might find some motherly body in the country +somewhere, who would take care of her for very little money, and would send +her to school regularly, and see she was brought up properly.' + +'Oh, nonsense!' said Augustus; 'she will be all right with me; and I'm not +going to lose a pretty child like that from the stage! Why, half the people +come to see the lovely little actress, as they call her; I know better than +to spoil her for acting by putting her down in some slow country place. +Well, the five minutes are up,' said Augustus, looking at his watch; 'I +must be off.' + +'There was something else I wanted to ask you, Augustus.' + +'Well, what is it? Be quick!' + +'I wanted to tell you that the last fortnight I have been feeling that when +one comes to die, there is nothing in this world worth having, except to +know that your soul is safe. I've led a wicked life, Augustus; I've often +been disagreeable and bad to you; but all my desire now is that the Good +Shepherd should seek me and find me, before it is too late.' + +'Is that all?' said her husband, putting on his coat. + +'No, Augustus; I wanted to ask you something. Are _you_ ready to die?' + +'There's time enough to think of that,' said her husband, with a laugh. + +Yet there was an uneasy expression in his face as he said it, which showed +that the answer to the question was not a satisfactory one. + +'Oh, Augustus! you don't know how long there may be,' said his poor wife +sorrowfully. + +'Well,' said he, 'if life's so short, we must get all the play we can out +of it.' + +'But what of the other life, Augustus--the long life that's coming?' + +'Oh, that may take care of itself!' said her husband scornfully, as he +lighted his pipe at the stove; and, wishing his wife a pleasant journey, he +went down the steps of the caravan and closed the door. + +The poor wife turned over on her pillow and wept. She had made a very great +effort in speaking to her husband, and it had been of no avail. She was so +spent and exhausted that, had it not been for Mother Manikin's beef-tea, +which Rosalie gave her as soon as she came in, she must have fainted from +very weariness. + +A few minutes afterwards the waggons rumbled past, the theatre party set +off on their journey, and Rosalie and her mother were left alone. + + + + +CHAPTER X + +BRITANNIA + +All day long the packing up went on, and one by one the shows moved off, +and the market-place became more empty. + +In the afternoon Toby came to the caravan to inform Rosalie that the 'Royal +Show of Dwarfs' was just going to start, and Mother Manikin wanted to say +good-bye to her. + +'Mind you thank her, Rosalie,' said the sick woman, 'and give her my love.' + +'Yes, mammie dear,' said the child; 'I won't forget.' + +She found the four little dwarfs sitting in a tiny covered waggon, in which +they were to take their journey. Rosalie was cautiously admitted, and the +door closed carefully after her. Mother Manikin took leave of her with +tears in her eyes; they were not going to the same fair as Rosalie's +father, and she did not know when they would meet again. She gave Rosalie +very particular directions about the beef-tea, and slipped in her pocket a +tiny parcel, which she told her to give to her mother. And then she +whispered in Rosalie's ear-- + +'I haven't forgotten to ask the Good Shepherd to find me, child; and don't +you leave me out, my dear, when you say your prayers at night.' + +'Come, Mother Manikin,' said Master Puck, 'we must be off!' + +Mother Manikin shook her fist at him, saying-- + +'Old age must have its liberties, and young things should not be so +impatient.' + +Then she put her little arms round Rosalie's neck and kissed and hugged +her; and the three other dwarfs insisted on kissing her too. And as soon as +Rosalie had gone, the signal was given for their departure, and the 'Royal +Show of Dwarfs' left the market-place. + +Rosalie ran home to her mother and gave her Mother Manikin's parcel. There +were several paper wrappings, which the child took off one by one, and then +came an envelope, inside which was a piece of money. She took it out and +held it up to her mother; it was a half-sovereign! + +Good little Mother Manikin! she had taken that half-sovereign from her +small bag of savings, and she had put it in that envelope with even a +gladder heart than Rosalie's mother had when she received it. + +'Oh, Rosalie,' said the sick woman, 'I can have some more beef-tea now!' + +'Yes,' said the child; 'I'll get the meat at once.' + +And it was not only at her evening prayer that Rosalie mentioned Mother +Manikin's name that day; it was not only then that she knelt down to ask +the Good Shepherd to seek and to save little Mother Manikin. + +All day long Rosalie sat by her mother's side, watching her tenderly and +carefully, and trying to imitate Mother Manikin in the way she arranged her +pillows and waited upon her. And when evening came, the large square was +quite deserted, except by the scavengers, who were going from one end to +another sweeping up the rubbish which had been left behind by the showmen. + +Rosalie felt very lonely the next day. Toby had slept at an inn in the +town, and was out all day at a village some miles off, to which his master +had sent him to procure something he wanted at a sale there. The +market-place was quite empty, and no one came near the one solitary +caravan--no one except an officer of the Board of Health, to inquire what +was the cause of the delay, and whether the sick woman was suffering from +any infectious complaint. People passed down the market-place and went to +the various shops, but no one came near Rosalie and her mother. + +The sick woman slept the greater part of the day, and spoke very little; +but every now and then the child heard her repeat to herself the last verse +of her little hymn-- + + 'Lord, I come without delaying, + To Thine arms at once I flee, + Lest no more I hear Thee saying, + "Come, come to Me."' + +And then night came, and Rosalie sat by her mother's side, for she did not +like to go to sleep lest she should awake and want something. And oh, what +a long night it seemed! The Town Hall clock struck the quarters, but that +was the only sound that broke the stillness. Rosalie kept a light burning, +and every now and then mended the little fire, that the beef-tea might be +ready whenever her mother wanted it. And many times she gazed at her +picture, and wished she were the little lamb safe in the Good Shepherd's +arms. For she felt weary and tired, and longed for rest. + +The next morning the child heard Toby's voice as soon as it was light. + +'Miss Rosie,' he said, 'can I come in for a minute?' + +Rosalie opened the door, and Toby was much distressed to see how ill and +tired she looked. + +'You mustn't make yourself ill, Miss Rosie, you really mustn't!' he said +reproachfully. + +'I'll try not, Toby,' said the child; 'perhaps the country air will do me +good.' + +'Yes, missie, maybe it will. I think we'd better start at once, because I +don't want to go fast; the slower we go the better it will be for missis; +and then we will stop somewhere for the night; if we come to a village, we +can stop there, and I'll get a hole in some barn to creep into, or if +there's no village convenient, there's sure to be a haystack. I've slept on +a haystack before this, Miss Rosie.' + +In about half an hour Toby had made all ready, and they left the +market-place. Very slowly and carefully he drove, yet the shaking tried +Rosalie's mother much. Her cough was exceedingly troublesome, and her +breathing was very bad. She was obliged to be propped up with pillows, and +even then she could hardly breathe. The child opened the caravan door, and +every now and then spoke to Toby, who was sitting just underneath it. He +did not whistle to day, nor call out to his horse, but seemed very +thoughtful and quiet. + +Towards evening Rosalie's mother fell asleep,--such a sweet, peaceful sleep +it was, that the child could but wish it to continue. It made her so glad +to hear the coughing cease and the breathing become more regular, and she +dreaded lest any jolting of the cart should awake her and make her start up +again. + +'What do you think of stopping here for the night, Miss Rosie?' said Toby. + +They had come to a very quiet and solitary place on the borders of a large +moor. A great pine-forest stretched on one side of them, and the trees +looked dark and solemn in the fading light. At the edge of this wood was a +stone wall, against which Toby drew up the caravan, that it might be +sheltered from the wind. + +On the other side of the road was the moor, stretching on for miles and +miles. And on this moor, in a little sheltered corner surrounded by +furze-bushes, Toby had determined to sleep. + +'I shall be close by, Miss Rosie,' he said. 'I sleep pretty sound, but if +only you call out "Toby," I shall be at your side in a twinkling; I always +wake in a trice when I hear my name called. You won't be frightened, Miss +Rosie, will you?' + +'No,' said Rosalie; 'I think not.' + +But she gazed rather fearfully down the road at the corner of which they +had drawn up. The trees were throwing dark shadows across the path, and +their branches were waving gloomily in the evening breeze. Rosalie shivered +a little as she looked at them and at the dark pine-forest behind her. + +'I'll tell you what, Miss Rosie,' said Toby, as he finished eating his +supper, 'I'll sit on the steps of the caravan, if you are frightened at +all. No, no; never you mind me; I shall be all right. One night's sitting +up won't hurt me.' + +But Rosalie would not allow it; she insisted on Toby's going to sleep on +the heather, and made him take her mother's warm shawl, that he might wrap +himself in it, for [Illustration: ON THE MOOR.] + +[Blank Page] it was a very cold night. Then she carefully bolted the +caravan door, closed the windows, and crept to her sleeping mother's side. +She sat on the bed, put her head on the pillow, and tried to sleep also. +But the intense stillness was oppressive, and made her head ache, for she +kept sitting up in the bed to listen, and to strain her ears,--longing for +any sound to break the silence. + +Yet when a sound _did_ come--when the wind swept over the fir-trees, +and made the branches which hung over the caravan creak and sway to and +fro--Rosalie trembled with fear. Poor child! the want of sleep the last few +nights was telling on her, and had made her nervous and sensitive. At last +she found the matches and lighted a candle, that she might not feel quite +so lonely. + +Then she took her Testament from the box and began to read. As she read, +little Rosalie felt no longer alone. She had a strange realisation of the +Good Shepherd's presence, and a wonderful feeling that her prayer was +heard, and that He was indeed carrying her in His bosom. + +If it had not been for this, she would have screamed with horror when, +about an hour afterwards, there came a tap at the caravan door. Rosalie +jumped from her seat, and peeped out between the muslin curtains. She could +just see a dark figure crouching on the caravan steps. + +'Is it you, Toby?' she said, opening the window cautiously. + +'No, it's me,' said a girl's voice. 'Have you got a fire in there?' + +'Who are you?' said Rosalie fearfully. + +'I'll tell you when I get in,' said the girl. 'Let me come and warm myself +by your fire!' + +Rosalie did not know what to do. She did not much like opening the door, +for how could she tell who this stranger might be? She had almost +determined to call Toby, when the sound of sobbing made her change her +mind. + +'What's the matter?' she said, addressing the girl. + +'I'm cold and hungry and miserable!' she said with a sob; 'and I saw your +light, and I thought you would let me in.' + +Rosalie hesitated no longer. She unbolted the door, and the dark figure on +the steps came in. She threw off a long cloak with which she was covered; +and Rosalie could see that she was quite a young girl, about seventeen +years old, and that she had been crying until her eyes were swollen and +red. She was as cold as ice; there seemed to be no feeling in her hands, +and her teeth chattered as she sat down on the bench by the side of the +stove. + +Rosalie put some cold tea into a little pan and made it hot. And when the +girl had drunk this, she seemed better, and more inclined to talk. + +'Is that your mother?' she said, glancing at the bed where Rosalie's mother +was still sleeping peacefully. + +'Yes,' said Rosalie in a whisper; 'we mustn't wake her, she is very, very +ill. That's why we didn't start with the rest of the company; and the +doctor has given her some medicine to make her sleep whilst we're +travelling.' + +'I have a mother,' said the girl. + +'Have you?' said Rosalie; 'where is she?' + +But the girl did not answer this question; she buried her face in her hands +and began to cry again. + +Rosalie looked at her very sorrowfully; 'I wish you would tell me what's +the matter,' she said, 'and who you are.' + +'I'm Britannia,' said the girl, without looking up. + +'Britannia!' repeated Rosalie, in a puzzled voice; 'what do you mean?' + +'You were at Lesborough, weren't you?' said the girl. + +'Yes; we've just come from Lesborough.' + +'Then didn't you see the circus there?' + +'Oh yes,' said Rosalie; 'the procession passed us on the road as we were +going into the town.' + +'Well, I'm Britannia,' said the girl; 'didn't you see me on the top of the +last car? I had a white dress on and a scarlet scarf.' + +'Yes,' said Rosalie, 'I remember; and a great fork in your hand.' + +'Yes; they called it a trident, and they called me Britannia.' + +'But what are you doing here?' asked the child. + +'I've run away; I couldn't stand it any longer. I'm going home.' + +'Where is your home?' said Rosalie. + +'Oh, a long way off.' she said. 'I don't suppose I shall ever get there. I +haven't a penny in my pocket, and I'm tired out already. I've been walking +all night, and all day.' + +Then she began to cry again, and sobbed so loudly that Rosalie was afraid +she would awake and alarm her mother. + +'Oh, Britannia,' she said, 'don't cry! Tell me what's the matter?' + +'Call me by my own name,' said the girl, with another sob. 'I'm not +Britannia now, I'm Jessie; "Little Jess," my mother always calls me.' + +And at the mention of her mother she cried again as if her heart would +break. + +'Jessie,' said Rosalie, laying her hand on her arm, 'won't you tell me +about it?' + +The girl stopped crying, and as soon as she was calmer, she told Rosalie +her story. + +'I've got such a good mother; it's that which made me cry,' she said. + +'Your mother isn't in the circus, then, is she?' said Rosalie. + +'Oh no,' said the girl; and she almost smiled through her tears--such a +sad, sorrowful attempt at a smile it was; 'you don't know my mother or you +wouldn't ask that! No; she lives in a village a long way from here. I'm +going to her; at least I think I am; I don't know if I dare.' + +'Why not?' said Rosalie. 'Are you frightened of your mother?' + +'No, I'm not frightened of her,' said the girl; 'but I've been so bad to +her, I'm almost ashamed to go back. She doesn't know where I am now. I +expect she has had no sleep since I ran away.' + +'When did you run away?' asked the child. + +'It will be three weeks ago now,' said Jessie mournfully; 'but it seems +more like three months. I never was so wretched in all my life before; I've +cried myself to sleep every night.' + +'Whatever made you leave your mother?' said Rosalie. + +'It was that circus; it came to the next town to where we lived. All the +girls in the village were going to it, and I wanted to go with them, and my +mother wouldn't let me.' + +'Why not?' + +'She said I should get no good there--that there were a great many bad +people went to such places, and I was better away.' + +'Then how did you see it?' said Rosalie. + +'I didn't see it that day; and at night the girls came home, and told me +all about it, and what a fine procession it was, and how the ladies were +dressed in silver and gold, and the gentlemen in shining armour. And then I +almost cried with disappointment because I had not seen it too. The girls +said it would be in the town one more day, and then it was going away. And +when I got into bed that night, I made up my mind that I would go and have +a look at it the next day.' + +'But did your mother let you?' said Rosalie. + +'No; I knew it was no use asking her. I meant to slip out of the house +before she knew anything about it; but it so happened that that day she was +called away to the next village to see my aunt, who was ill.' + +'And did you go when she was out?' + +'Yes, I did,' said Jessie; 'and I told her a lie about it.' + +This was said with a great sob, and the poor girl's tears began to flow +again. + +'What did you say?' asked little Rosalie. + +'She said to me before she went, "Little Jess, you'll take care of Maggie +and baby, won't you, dear? You'll not let any harm come to them?" And I +said, "No, mother, I won't." But as I said it my cheeks turned hot, and I +felt as if my mother must see how they were burning. But she did not seem +to notice it; she turned back and kissed me, and kissed little Maggie and +the baby, and then she went to my aunt's. I watched her out of sight, and +then I put on my best clothes and set off for the town.' + +'And what did you do with Maggie and baby?' said Rosalie; 'did you take +them with you?' + +'No; that's the worst of it,' said the girl; 'I left them. I put the baby +in its crib upstairs, and I told Maggie to look after it, and then I put +the table in front of the fire, and locked them in, and put the key in the +window. I thought I should only be away a short time.' + +'How long were you?' + +'When I got to the town the procession was just passing, and I stopped to +look at it. And when I saw the men and women sitting upon the cars, I +thought they were kings and queens. Well, I went to the circus and saw all +that there was to be seen; and then I looked at the church clock, and found +it was five o'clock, for the exhibition had not been till the afternoon. I +knew my mother would be home, and I did not like to go back; I wondered +what she would say to me about leaving the children. So I walked round the +circus for some time, looking at the gilded cars, which were drawn up in +the field. And as I was looking at them, an old man came up to me and began +talking to me. He asked me what I thought of the circus; and I told him I +thought it splendid. Then he asked me what I liked best, and I said those +ladies in gold and silver who were sitting on the gilt cars. + +'"Would you like to be dressed like that?" he said. + +'"Yes, that I should," I said, as I looked down at my dress--my best Sunday +dress, which I had once thought so smart. + +'"Well," he said mysteriously, "I don't know, but perhaps I may get you +that chance; just wait here a minute, and I'll see." + +'I stood there trembling, hardly knowing what to wish. At last he came +back, and told me to follow him. He took me into a room, and there I found +a very grand lady--at least she looked like one then. She asked me if I +would like to come and be Britannia in the circus and ride on the gilt +car.' + +'And what did you say?' asked Rosalie. + +'I thought it was a great chance for me, and I told her I would stay. I was +so excited about it that I hardly knew where I was; it seemed just as if +some one was asking me to be a queen. And it was not till I got into bed +that I let myself think of my mother.' + +'Did you think of her then?' said Rosalie. + +'Yes; I couldn't help thinking of her then; but there were six or seven +other girls in the room, and I was afraid of them hearing me cry, so I hid +my face under the bedclothes. The next day we moved from that town; and I +felt very miserable all the time we were travelling. Then the circus was +set up again, and we went in the procession.' + +'Did you like that?' asked the child. + +'No; it was not as nice as I expected. It was a cold day, and the white +dress was very thin, and oh, I was so dizzy on that car! it was such a +height up; and I felt every moment as if I should fall. And then they were +so unkind to me. I was very miserable because I kept thinking of my mother; +and when they were talking and laughing I used to cry, and they didn't like +that. They said I was very different to the last girl they had. She had +left them to be married, and they were looking out for a fresh girl when +they met with me. They thought I had a pretty face, and would do very well. +But they were angry with me for looking so miserable, and found more and +more fault with me. They were always quarrelling; long after we went to bed +they were shouting at each other. Oh, I got so tired of it! I did wish I +had never left home. And then we came to Lesborough, and at last I could +bear it no longer. I kept dreaming about my mother, and when I woke in the +night I thought I heard my mother's voice. At last I determined to run +away. I knew they would be very angry; but no money could make me put up +with that sort of life; I was thoroughly sick of it. I felt ill and weary, +and longed for my mother. And now I'm going home. I ran away the night they +left Lesborough. I got out of the caravan when they were all asleep. I've +been walking ever since; I brought a little food with me, but it's all gone +now, and how I shall get home I don't know.' + +'Poor Jessie!' said little Rosalie. + +'I don't know what my mother will say when I get there. I know she won't +scold mo; I shouldn't mind that half so much, but I can't bear to see my +mother cry.' + +'She will be glad to get you back,' said Rosalie. 'I don't know what my +mammie would do if I ran away.' + +'Oh dear!' said Jessie; 'I hope nothing came to those children; I do hope +they got no harm when I was out! I've thought about that so often.' + +Then the poor girl seemed very tired, and, leaning against the wall she +fell asleep, whilst Rosalie rested once more against her mother's pillow. +And again there was no sound to be heard but the wind sweeping among the +dark fir-trees. Rosalie was glad to have Jessie there; it did not seem +quite so solitary. + +And at last rest was given to the tired little woman; her eyes closed, and +she forgot her troubles in a sweet, refreshing sleep. + + + +CHAPTER XI + +THE MOTHER'S DREAM + +When Rosalie awoke, her mother's eyes were fixed upon her, and she was +sitting up in bed. Her breathing was very painful, and she was holding her +hand to her side, as if she were in much pain. + +The candle had burnt low in the socket, and the early morning light was +stealing into the caravan. Jessie was still asleep in the corner, with her +head leaning against the wall. + +'Rosalie,' said her mother, under her breath, 'where are we, and who is +that girl?' + +'We're half-way to the town, mammie--out on a moor; and that's Britannia!' + +'What do you mean?' asked her mother. + +'It's the girl we saw riding on that gilt car in Lesborough, and she has +run away, she was so miserable there.' + +And then Rosalie told her mother the sad story she had just heard. + +'Poor thing! poor young thing!' said the sick woman. 'I'm glad you took her +in; mind you give her a good breakfast She does well to go back to her +mother; it's the best thing she can do. Is she asleep, Rosalie?' + +'Yes, mammie dear, she went to sleep before I did.' + +'Do you think it would wake her if you were to sing to me?' + +'No, mammie dear, I shouldn't think so, if I didn't sing very loud.' + +'Then could you sing me your hymn once more? I've had the tune in my ears +all night, and I should so much like to hear it.' + +So little Rosalie sang her hymn. She had a sweet low voice, and she sang +very correctly; if she had heard a tune once she never forgot it. + +When she had finished singing, Jessie moved, and opened her eyes, and +looked up with a smile, as if she were in the midst of a pleasant dream. +Then, as she saw the inside of the caravan, the sick woman, and Rosalie, +she remembered where she was, and burst into tears. + +'What's the matter?' said the child, running up to her, and putting her +arms round her neck; 'were you thinking of your mother?' + +'No, dear,' she said; 'I was dreaming.' + +'Ask her what she was dreaming,' said Rosalie's mother. + +'I was dreaming I was at home, and it was Sunday, and we were at the +Bible-class, and singing the hymn we always begin with, I was singing it +when I woke, and it made me cry to think it wasn't true.' + +'Perhaps it was my singing that made you dream it,' said Rosalie; 'I've +been singing to my mammie.' + +'Oh, I should think that was it,' said the girl. 'What did you sing? will +you sing it to me?' + +Rosalie sang over again the first verse of the hymn. To her surprise, +Jessie started from her seat and seized her by the hand. + +'Where did you get that?' she asked hurriedly; 'that's the very hymn I was +singing in my dream. We always sing it on Sunday afternoons at our +Bible-class.' + +'I have it on a card,' said Rosalie, bringing her favourite card down from +the wall. + +'Why, who gave you that?' said the girl; 'it's just like mine; mine has a +ribbon in it just that colour! Where _did_ you get it?' + +'We were passing through a village,' said Rosalie, 'and a kind woman gave +it to me. We stopped there about an hour and she was singing it outside her +cottage door.' + +'Why it must have been our village, surely!' said Jessie; 'I don't think +they have those cards anywhere else. What was the woman like?' + +'She was a young woman with a very nice face; she had one little boy about +two years old, and he was playing with his ball in front of the house. His +mother was so good to us--she gave us some bread and milk.' + +'Why, it must have been Mrs Barker!' said the girl. + +'She lives close to us; our cottage is just a little farther up the road. +She often sings when she's at work. To think that you've been to our +village! Oh, I wish you'd seen my mother!' + +'Do you know Mrs. Leslie?' asked the sick woman, raising herself in bed. + +'Yes, that I do,' said the girl. 'She's our clergyman's wife--such a kind +lady--oh, she is good to us! I'm in her Bible-class; we go to the vicarage +every Sunday afternoon. Do _you_ know her?' she asked, turning to +Rosalie's mother. + +'I used to know her many years ago,' said the sick woman; 'but it's a long, +long time since I saw her.' + +Rosalie crept up to her mother's side, and put her little hand in hers; for +she knew that the mention of her sister would bring back all the sorrowful +memories of the past. But the sick woman was very calm to day; she did not +seem at all ruffled or disturbed, but she lay looking at Jessie with her +eyes half-closed. It seemed as if she were pleased even to look at some one +who had seen her sister Lucy. + +About six o'clock Toby came to the caravan door, and asked how his mistress +was, and if they were ready to start. He was very surprised when he saw +Jessie sitting inside the caravan. But Rosalie told him in a few words how +the poor girl came there, and asked him in what direction she ought to walk +to get to her own home. Toby was very clever in knowing the way to nearly +every place in the country, and he said that for ten miles farther their +roads would be the same, and Jessie could ride with them in the caravan. + +The poor girl was very grateful to them for all their kindness. She sat +beside Rosalie's mother all the morning, and did everything she could for +her. The effect of the doctor's medicine had passed off, and the sick woman +was very restless and wakeful. She was burnt with fever, and tossed about +from side to side of her bed. Every now and then her mind seemed to wander, +and she talked of her mother and her sister Lucy, and of other things which +Rosalie did not understand. Then she became quite sensible, and would +repeat over and over again the words of the hymn, or would ask Rosalie to +read to her once more about the lost sheep and the Good Shepherd. + +When the child had read the parable, the mother turned to Jessie, and said +to her, very earnestly-- + +'Oh, do ask the Good Shepherd to find you now, Jessie; you'll be so glad of +it afterwards.' + +'I've been so bad!' said Jessie, crying. 'My mother has often talked to me, +and Mrs. Leslie has too; and yet, after all, I've gone and done this. I +daren't ever ask Him to find me now.' + +'Why not, Jessie?' said Rosalie's mother; 'why not ask Him?' + +'Oh, He would have nothing to say to me now,' said the girl, sobbing, and +hiding her face in her hands. 'If I'd only gone to Him that Sunday!' + +'What Sunday?' asked Rosalie. + +'It was the Sunday before I left home. Mrs. Leslie talked to us so +beautifully; it was about coming to Jesus. She asked us if we had come to +Him to have our sins forgiven; and she said, "If you haven't come to Him +already, do come to Him to-day." And then she begged those of us who hadn't +come to Him before, to go home when the class was over, and kneel down in +our own rooms and ask Jesus to forgive us that very Sunday afternoon. I +knew _I_ had never come to Jesus, and I made up my mind that I would +do as our teacher asked us. But, as soon as we were outside the vicarage, +the girls began talking and laughing, and made fun of somebody's bonnet +that they had seen at church that morning. And when I got home I thought no +more of coming to Jesus, and I never went to Him;--and oh, I wish that I +had!' + +'Go now,' said Rosalie's mother. + +'It wouldn't be any good,' said the girl sorrowfully; 'if I thought it +would--if I only thought He would forgive me, I would do anything--I would +walk twice the distance home!' + +'"He goeth after that which is lost until He find it,"' said the sick +woman. 'Are _you_ lost, Jessie?' + +'Yes,' said the girl; 'that's just what I am!' + +'Then He is going after you,' said Rosalie's mother again. + +Jessie walked to the door of the caravan, and sat looking out without +speaking. The sunlight was streaming on the purple heather, which was +spread like a carpet on both sides of the road. Quiet little roadside +springs trickled through the moss and ran across the path. The travellers +had left the pine-forest behind, and there was not a single tree in +sight;--nothing but large grey rocks and occasional patches of bright +yellow furze amongst the miles and miles of heath-covered moor. + +At last they came to a large sign-post, at a corner where four roads met; +and here Toby said Jessie must leave them. But before she went there was a +little whispered conversation between Rosalie and her mother, which ended +in Jessie's carrying away in her pocket no less than half of Mother +Manikin's present. + +'You'll need it before you get home, dear,' said the sick woman; 'and mind +you go straight to your mother. Don't stop till you run right into her +arms! And when you see Mrs. Leslie, just tell her you met with a poor woman +in a caravan, called Norah, who knew her many years ago.' + +'Yes,' said Jessie; 'I'll tell her.' + +'And say that I sent my respects--my love to her; and tell her I have not +very long to live, but the Good Shepherd has sought me and found me, and +I'm not afraid to die. Don't forget to tell her that.' + +'No,' said Jessie; 'I'll be sure to remember.' + +The poor girl was very sorry to leave them; she kissed Rosalie and her +mother many times; and as she went down the road, she kept turning round to +wave her handkerchief, till the caravan was quite out of sight. + +'So those girls knew nothing about it, Rosalie darling,' said her mother, +when Jessie was gone. + +'Nothing about what, mammie dear?' + +'Don't you remember the girls that stood by our show when the procession +went past? They wished they were Britannia, and thought she must be so +happy and glad.' + +'Oh yes!' said Rosalie; 'they knew nothing about it. All the time poor +Jessie was so miserable she did not know what to do with herself.' + +'It's just the mistake I made, Rosalie darling, till I came behind the +scenes, and knew how different everything looks when one is there. And so +it is, dear, with everything in this world; it is all disappointing and +vain when one gets to know it well.' + +As evening drew on, they left the moor behind, and turned into a very dark +and shady road with trees on both sides of the way. Rosalie's mother was +sleeping, for the first time since early morning, and Rosalie sat and +looked out at the door of the caravan. The wood was very thick, and the +long shadows of the trees fell across the road. Every now and then they +disturbed four or five rabbits that were enjoying themselves by the side of +the path, and ran headlong into their snug little holes as soon as they +heard the creaking of the caravan wheels. Then an owl startled Rosalie by +hooting in a tree overhead, and then several wood-pigeons cooed mournfully +their sad good-nights. + +The road was full of turnings, and wound in and out amongst the wood. Toby +whistled a tune as he went along, and Rosalie sat and listened to him, +quite glad that he broke the silence. She was not sorry when they left the +wood behind and came into the open country. And at last there glimmered in +the distance the lights of a village, where Toby said they would spend the +night. He pulled up the caravan by the wayside, and begged a bed for +himself in a barn belonging to one of the small village farms. + +The next day was Sunday. Such a calm, quiet day, the very air seemed full +of Sabbath rest. The country children were just going to the Sunday school +as the caravan started. + +Their mothers had carefully dressed them in their best clothes, and were +watching them down the village street. + +The sick woman had had a restless and tiring night. Little Rosalie had +watched beside her, and was weary and sad. Her poor mother had tossed from +side to side of her bed and could find no position in which she was +comfortable. Again and again the child altered her mother's pillow, and +tried to make her more easy; but though the poor woman thanked her very +gently, not many minutes had passed before she wanted to be moved again. + +But the Sunday stillness seemed to have a soothing effect on the sick +woman; and as they left the village she fell asleep. + +For hours that sleep lasted, and when she awoke she seemed refreshed and +rested. + +'Rosalie darling,' she said, calling her little girl to her side, 'I've had +such a beautiful dream!' + +'What was it, mammie dear?' asked Rosalie. + +'I thought I was looking into heaven, Rosalie dear, in between the bars of +the golden gates; and I saw all the people dressed in white walking up and +down the streets of the city. And then somebody seemed to call them +together, and they all went in one direction, and there was a beautiful +sound of singing and joy, as if they had heard some good news. One of them +passed close to the gate where I was standing, Rosalie, and he looked so +happy and glad, as he was hastening on to join the others. So I called him, +darling, and asked him what was going on.' + +'And what did he say, mammie dear?' + +'He said, "It's the Good Shepherd who has called us; He wants us to rejoice +with Him; He has just found one of the lost sheep, which He has been +seeking so long. Did not you hear His voice just now, when He called us all +together? didn't you hear Him saying, 'Rejoice with Me for I have found My +sheep which was lost'?" + +'And then they all began to sing again, and somehow I knew they were +singing for me, and that I was the sheep that was found. And then I was so +glad that I awoke with joy! And oh, Rosalie darling, I know my dream was +true, for I've been asking Him to find me again and again, and I'm quite +sure that He wanted to do it, long before I asked Him.' + +'Oh, mammie dear,' said Rosalie, putting her hand in her mother's, 'I +_am_ so glad!' + +Rosalie's mother did not talk any more then; but she lay very quietly, +holding Rosalie's hand, and every now and then she smiled, as if the music +of the heavenly song were still in her ears, and as if she still heard the +Good Shepherd saying, 'Rejoice with Me, for I have found My sheep which was +lost.' + +Then they passed through another village, where the bells were ringing for +afternoon service, and the sick woman listened to them very sorrowfully. + +'I shall never go to church again, Rosalie darling,' she said. + +'Oh, mammie,' said little Rosalie, 'don't talk like that! When you get +better, we'll go together. We could easily slip into the back seats, where +nobody would see us.' + +'No, Rosalie,' said her mother; 'you may go, my darling, but _I_ never +shall.' + +'Why not, mammie dear?' + +'Rosalie,' said her mother, raising herself in bed and putting her arm +round her child, 'don't you know that I am going to leave you? don't you +know that in about a week's time you will have no mother?' + +Rosalie hid her face in her mother's pillow and sobbed aloud. + +'Oh, mammie, mammie dear!--mammie, don't say that! please don't say that!' + +'But it's true, little Rosalie,' said her mother; 'and I want you to know +it. I don't want it to take you by surprise. And now stop crying, darling, +for I want to talk to you a bit; I want to tell you some things whilst I +can speak. + +'My poor, poor darling!' said the mother, as the child continued sobbing. + +She stroked her little girl's head very gently; and after a long, long time +the sobbing ceased, and Rosalie only cried quietly. + +'Little woman,' said her mother, 'can you listen to me now?' + +Rosalie pressed her mother's hand, but she could not answer her. + +'Rosalie, darling, you won't be sorry for your mother; will you, dear? The +Good Shepherd has found me, and I'm going to see Him. I'm going to see Him, +and thank Him, darling; you mustn't cry for me. And I want to tell you what +to do when I'm dead. I've asked your father to let you leave the caravan, +and live in some country village; but he won't give his consent, darling; +he says he can't spare you. So, dear, you must keep very quiet. Sit in the +caravan and read your little Testament by yourself; don't go wandering +about the fair, darling. I've been asking the Good Shepherd to take care of +you; I told Him you would soon be a little motherless lamb, with nobody to +look after you, and I asked Him to put you in His bosom and carry you +along. And I believe He will, Rosalie dear; I don't think He'll let you get +wrong. But you must ask Him yourself, my darling; you must never let a day +pass without asking Him: promise your mother, Rosalie-let her hear you say +the words.' + +'Yes, mammie dear,' said Rosalie, 'I promise you.' + +'And if ever you can go to your Aunt Lucy, you must go to her and give her +that letter; you remember where it is; and tell her, dear, that I shall see +her some day in that city I dreamt about. I should never have seen her if +it had not been for the Shepherd's love; but He took such pains to find me, +and He wouldn't give it up, and at last He put me on His shoulders and +carried me home. I am very tired, Rosalie darling, but there is more that I +wanted to say. I wanted to tell you that it will not do for you to ask your +father about going to your Aunt Lucy, because he would never let you, and +he would only be writing to her for money if he knew where she lived. But +if you go through that village again, you might just run up to the house +and give her the letter. I don't know if that would do either,' said the +poor woman sadly; 'but God will find you a way. I believe you will get +there someday. I can't talk any more now, darling, I am so tired! Kiss me, +my own little woman.' + +Rosalie lifted up a very white and sorrowful face, and kissed her mother +passionately. + +'You couldn't sing your little hymn, could you, darling?' said the sick +woman. + +Rosalie tried her very best to sing it, but her voice trembled so that she +could not manage it. She struggled through the first verse, but in the +second she quite broke down, and burst into a fresh flood of tears. Her +poor mother tried to soothe her, but was too weak and weary to do more than +stroke the child's face with her thin, wasted hand, and whisper in her ear +a few words of love. + +Very sorrowful were poor Rosalie's thoughts as she sat by her mother's bed. +She had known before that her mother was very ill, and sometimes she had +been afraid as she thought of the future; but she had never before heard +that dreadful fear put into words; she had never before known that it was +not merely a fear, but a terrible reality. 'In about a week's time you will +have no mother;' that was what her mother had told her. + +And her mother was everything to Rosalie. She had never known a father's +love or care; Augustus had never acted as a father to her. But her +mother--her mother had been everything to her, from the day she was born +until now. Rosalie could not imagine what the world would be like without +her mother. She could hardly fancy herself living when her mother was dead. +She would have no one to speak to her, no one to care for her, no one to +love her. + + 'Words of love Thy voice is speaking, + 'Come, come to Me."' + +What was it made her think of that just now? Was it not the Good Shepherd's +voice, as He held the poor lonely lamb closer to His bosom? + + 'Come, come to Me.' + +'Good Shepherd, I do come,' said little weary Rosalie; 'I come to Thee +now!' + + + +CHAPTER XII + +A LONE LAMB + +It was Sunday evening when the caravan reached the town where the fair was +to be held. The travellers passed numbers of people in their Sunday +clothes, and saw many churches and chapels open for evening service as they +drove through the town. The gaily painted caravan looked strangely out of +keeping with everything around it on that holy day. + +Augustus met them as they came upon the common which was apportioned to the +show-people. It was a large waste piece of ground on a cliff overlooking +the sea; for this great fair was held at a large watering-place on the +sea-coast. The piece of ground which Augustus had selected was close to the +beach, so that Rosalie could hear the rolling and dashing of the waves on +the rocks below as she sat beside her mother that night. In the morning, as +her mother was sleeping quietly, she stole out on the shore and wandered +about amongst the rocks before the rest of the show-people were awake. + +A long ridge of rocks stretched out into the sea, and Rosalie walked along +this, and watched the restless waves, as they dashed against it and broke +into thick white foam. In some parts the rocky way was covered with small +limpets, whose shells crackled under Rosalie's feet; then came some deep +pools filled with green and red seaweed, in which Rosalie discovered pink +sea-anemones and restless little crabs. She examined one or two of these, +but her heart was too sad and weary to be interested by them long, so she +wandered on until she reached the extremity of the ridge of rocks. Here she +sat for some time, gazing at the breakers, and watching the sunshine +spreading over the silvery grey waters. + +Several fishing-boats were already entering the port, laden with the spoils +of the previous night, and Rosalie watched them coming in one by one and +running quickly ashore. One of them passed close by the spot where the +child was sitting. An old man and two boys were in it, and they were +singing as they went by, in clear, ringing voices. Rosalie could hear the +words of the song well, as she sat on the ridge of rocks-- + + 'Last night, my lads, we toiled away, + Oh! so drearily, drearily; + But we weighed our anchor at break of day, + Oh! so cheerily, cheerily; + So keep up heart and courage, friends! + For home is just in sight; + And who will heed, when safely there, + The perils of the night? + + Just so we toil through earth's dark night, + Oh! so wearily, wearily; + Yet we trust to sail at dawn of light, + Oh! so cheerily, cheerily; + So keep up heart and courage, friends! + For home is just in sight; + And who will heed, when safely there, + The perils of the night?' + +There was something in the wild tune, and something in the homely words, +which soothed Rosalie's heart. As she walked back to the caravan, she kept +saying to herself-- + + 'So keep up heart and courage, friends! + For home is just in sight.' + +'Just in sight; that must be for my mammie,' thought the child, 'and not +for me; she is getting very near home!' + +Her mother was awake when Rosalie opened the caravan door, but she seemed +very weak and tired, and all that long day scarcely spoke. The child sat +beside her, and tried to tempt her to eat, but she hardly opened her eyes, +and would take nothing but a little water. + +In the afternoon the noise of the fair began, the rattling of the shooting +galleries, the bells of the three large whirligigs, and two noisy bands +playing different tunes, and making a strange, discordant sound, an odd +mixture of the 'Mabel Waltz,' and 'Poor Mary Ann.' Then, as the crowds in +the fair became denser, the shouts and noise increased on all sides, and +the sick woman moaned to herself from time to time. + +Augustus was far too busy preparing for the evening's entertainment to +spend much time in the caravan. He did not know or he would not see, that a +change was passing over his wife's face, that she was even then standing on +the margin of the river of death. And thus, about half an hour before the +theatre opened, he called to Rosalie to dress herself for the play, and +would listen to none of her entreaties to stay with her dying mother. + +Her dying mother! Yes, Rosalie knew that it had come to that now. Child as +she was, she could tell that there was something in her mother's face which +had never been there before. Her eyes were opened to the truth at last, and +she felt that death was not very far away. + +How could she leave her? Her mother's hand was holding hers so tightly, her +mother's eyes, whenever they were opened, were fixed on her so lovingly. +How could she leave her mother, even for an hour, when the hours which she +might still have with her were becoming so few? + +Yet Rosalie dared not stay. Was not this the great fair her father had been +counting on all the year, and from which he hoped to reap the greatest +profit? And had he not told her that very night, that if she broke down in +her part in this town, he would never forgive her as long as he lived? + +No, there was no help for it; Rosalie must go. But not until the last +moment--not until the very last moment--would she leave her dying mother. +She dressed very quickly, and sat down in her little white dress beside her +mother's bed. Once more she held her mother's cold hand, and gently stroked +her pale face. + +'Little Rosalie,' said her mother, 'my darling, are you going?--must you +leave me?' + +'Oh, mammie, mammie! it is so hard! so very, very hard!' + +'Don't cry, my darling!--my little lamb, don't cry! It's all right. Lift me +up a little, Rosalie.' + +The child altered her mother's pillows very gently, and then the sick woman +whispered-- + +'I'm close to the deep waters; I can hear the sound of them now. It's the +river of death, Rosalie, and I've got to cross it, but I'm not afraid: the +Good Shepherd has laid me on His shoulder, and, as I'm so very weak, I +think He'll carry me through.' + +This was said with great difficulty, and, when she had done speaking, the +dying woman's head fell back on the pillow. + +Rosalie could not speak; she could only kiss her mother's hand, and cry +quietly as she watched. And then came her father's call to her to make +haste and come into the theatre; and she had to disengage herself from her +mother's hand, and, giving one last long look, to shut the door and leave +her--leave her alone. + +What happened in the theatre that night Rosalie never exactly knew; it all +seemed as a horrible dream to her. She said the words and acted her part, +but she saw not the stage nor the spectators; her eyes all the time were on +her mother's face, her hand all the time felt her mother's dying grasp. And +yet, as she danced and sang, there were many there who thought her happy, +many who envied her, and who would have gladly changed places with her. Oh, +if they had only known! if they had only had the faintest idea of the +anguish of that little heart, of the keen, cruel, cutting sorrow with which +it was filled! + +Troubles some of these people undoubtedly had, cares and vexations and +worries not a few, yet none of them had known anything of the heart-misery +of that little actress; not one of them had ever been torn from the side of +a dying mother, and been compelled to laugh and sing when their very hearts +were bleeding. From such soul-rending agony they had been saved and +shielded; and yet they would have chosen the very lot which would have +exposed them to it. + +Oh, how very little they knew of what was going on behind the scenes! how +little they guessed what a tumult of passionate sorrow was in little +Rosalie's heart! So wild was her grief, that she hardly knew what she was +doing, and, after the play was over, she could not have told how she +managed to get through it. Instead of going out on the platform, she darted +swiftly out of the theatre and into her mother's caravan, almost knocking +over several people who were passing by, and who stared at her in +astonishment. + +Her mother was not dead; oh, how glad Rosalie was for that! but she did not +seem to hear her speak, and her breathing was very painful. Rosalie bent +over her and cave her one long, long kiss, and then hurried back into the +theatre just as her father had missed her. + +And when she next came into the caravan, all was still; her mother seemed +to be sleeping more quietly, the painful breathing had ceased, and the +child hoped she was easier. She certainly seemed more restful, and her +hands were still warm, so she could not be dead, little Rosalie reasoned to +herself. + +Poor child, she did not know that even then she had no mother. + +Weary and aching in every limb, little Rosalie fell asleep on the chair by +her mother's side; and when she awoke with a shiver in the dead of night, +and once more felt her mother's hand, it was as cold as ice. And Rosalie +knew then that she was dead. + +Trembling in every limb, and almost too startled to realise her sorrow, she +unfastened the caravan door, and crept out into the darkness to tell her +father. But he and the men were sleeping soundly on the floor of the little +theatre, and, though Rosalie hammered against the gilded boards in front, +she could make no one hear her. Again and again she knocked, but no answer +came from within; for the theatre people were tired with their night's +work, and could not hear the tiny little hands on the outside of the show. +So the poor child had to return to the desolate caravan. + +With one bitter cry of anguish, one long, passionate wail of grief, she +threw herself on her mother's bed. Her sorrow could not disturb that mother +now; she was gone to that land which is very far off, where even the sound +of weeping is never heard. The Good Shepherd had carried her safely over +the river, and, as Rosalie wept in the dark caravan. He was even then +welcoming her mother to the home above; He was even then saying, in tones +of joy, yet more glad than before, 'Rejoice with Me, for I have found My +sheep which was lost.' + +But Rosalie--poor little desolate, motherless Rosalie!--had the Good +Shepherd quite forgotten her? Was she left in her sorrow alone and +forsaken? Was there no comfort for the orphaned lamb in her bitter +distress? Did He pass her by untended and unblessed? Or did He not rather +draw doubly near in that night of darkness? Did He not care for the lonely +lamb? Did He not whisper words of sweetest comfort and love to the weary, +sorrowful Rosalie? + +If not, what was it that made her feel, as she lay on her mother's bed, +that she was not altogether deserted, that there was One who loved her +still? What was it that gave her that strange, happy feeling that she was +lying in the Good Shepherd's arms, and that He was folding her to His bosom +even more tenderly than her mother had done? What was it, but the Good +Shepherd fulfilling those gracious loving words of His-- + +'He shall gather the lambs with His arm, and carry them in His bosom'? + +It was the next morning. The sun had risen some time, and the show-people +were beginning to stir; the fishing-boats were once more coming home, and +the breakers were rolling on the shore. Augustus Joyce awoke with a strange +feeling of uneasiness, for which he could not account. Nothing had gone +wrong the night before; Rosalie had made no mistake in her part, and his +profits had been larger than usual. And yet Augustus Joyce was not happy. +He had had a dream the night before; perhaps that was the reason. He had +dreamt of his wife; and it was not often that he dreamt of her now. He had +dreamt of her, not as she was then, thin and worn and wasted, but as she +had been on his wedding-day, when she had been his bride, and he had +promised to take her 'for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in +sickness and in health, to love and to cherish her, till death should them +part.' + +Somehow or other, when Augustus woke, those words were ringing in his ears. +What had he been to her in poverty? How had he treated her in sickness? Had +he soothed her and cared for her, and done all he could to make their +burden press lightly on her? Had he loved her and cherished her? Loved +her?--What did those cruel words, those bitter taunts, those unsympathising +speeches, tell of the love of Augustus Joyce for his wife? Cherished her? + +What kind of cherishing had he bestowed upon her during her illness? What +kind of cherishing had he shown her when he had compelled her, almost +fainting, to take her part in the play? + +'Till death us do part.' That time was very near now,--Augustus Joyce knew +that. For once the voice of conscience was heard by him. He could not +forget the lovely face he had seen in his dream, nor the sad, reproachful +gaze of those beautiful dark eyes. He jumped from his bed and dressed +hastily. He would give his wife some kind words, at least that morning. +Conscience should not taunt him with his bitter neglect again. + +He hurried to the other caravan, opened the door, and entered. What was the +scene which met his gaze? + +The sunbeams were streaming in through the small window, and falling on the +bed. And there lay his wife, so pale, so ghastly, so still, that Augustus +Joyce drew back in horror. And there, with her arms round her mother's +neck, and the wreath of roses fallen from her hair on her mother's pillow, +lay little Rosalie, fast asleep, with the traces of tears still on her +cheeks. Intense sleep and weariness had taken possession of her, and she +had fallen asleep on her mother's bed, in her white dress, just as she had +been acting at the play. + +Augustus drew nearer to his wife, and sat down beside her. Yes, she was +dead; there was no doubt of that. The kind words could never be spoken, she +would never hear him again, he could never show his love to her now,--never +cherish her more. 'Till death us do part.' It _had_ parted them now, +parted them for ever. It was too late for Augustus Joyce to make any +amends; too late for him to do anything to appease his conscience. + +When Rosalie awoke, she found herself being lifted from the bed by her +father, and carried into the other caravan. There he laid her on his own +bed and went out, shutting the door behind him. + +And the next few days seemed like one long dreary night to Rosalie. Of the +inquest and the preparations for the funeral she knew nothing. She seemed +like one in a dream. The fair went on all around her, and the noise and +racket made her more and more miserable. What she liked best was to hear +the dull roaring of the sea, after the naphtha lights were out and all in +the fair was still. + +For, somehow, with the roaring of the waves the fishermen's song came back +to her-- + + 'So keep up heart and courage, friends! + For home is just in sight; + And who will heed, when safely there, + The perils of the night?' + +And, somehow--Rosalie hardly knew why--that song comforted and soothed her. + + + +CHAPTER XIII + +VANITY FAIR + +'Miss Rosie dear, can I speak to you?' said Toby's voice, the day before +the funeral. + +'Yes; come in, Toby,' said the child mournfully. + +'I should like to see you, Miss Rosie,' said Toby mysteriously. 'You won't +be offended, will you? but I brought you this.' + +Then followed a great fumbling in Toby's pockets, and from the depths of +one of them was produced a large red pocket-handkerchief, from which, when +he had undone the various knots, he took out most carefully a little +parcel, which he laid on Rosalie's knee. + +'It's only a bit of black, Miss Rosie dear,' he said. 'I thought you could +put it on to-morrow; and you mustn't mind my seeing after it; there was no +one to do it but me.' + +And before Rosalie could thank him, he was gone. + +When she opened the parcel, she found in it a piece of broad black ribbon, +and a little black silk handkerchief--the best poor Toby could obtain. +Rosalie's tears fell afresh as she fastened the ribbon on her hat, to be +ready for the sorrowful service on the morrow. + +The fair was nearly over, yet some of the shows lingered and there were +still crowds of children round the whirligigs and shooting-galleries when +the mournful procession went by. The children at first drew back in +astonishment; it was an unexpected sight, a coffin on the fair-ground. But +astonishment soon gave way to curiosity, and they crowded round the little +band of mourners, and followed them nearly to the cemetery. + +Augustus went through the service with an unmoved face. Conscience had been +making its final appeal the last few days, and had made one last and mighty +effort to arouse Augustus Joyce to repentance. But he had stifled +conscience, suppressed it, trampled on it, extinguished it. God's Holy +Spirit had been resisted and quenched already, and the conscience of the +impenitent sinner was 'seared as with a hot iron!' + +All the company of the theatre followed Augustus Joyce's wife to the grave, +and more than one of them felt unusually moved as they looked at little +sorrowful Rosalie walking by her father's side. She was quite calm and +quiet, and never shed a tear until the service was over, and she was +walking through the quiet cemetery a little behind the rest of the party. +Then her eyes fell upon Toby, who was walking near her with an air of real +heartfelt sorrow on his honest face. He had tied a piece of crape round his +hat and a black handkerchief round his neck, out of respect for his late +mistress and for his mistress's little daughter. + +Something in the curious way in which the crape was fastened on, something +in the thought of the kindly heart which had planned this token of +sympathy, touched Rosalie, and brought tears to her eyes for the first time +on that sorrowful day. + +For sometimes, when a groat sorrow is so strong as to shut up with a firm +hand those tears which would bring relief to the aching heart, a little +thing, a very little thing,--perhaps only a flower which our lost one +loved, or something she touched for the last time or spoke of on the last +day; or, it may be, as with Rosalie, only a spark of kindly sympathy where +we have scarcely looked for it, and an expression of feeling which was +almost unexpected,--such a little thing as this will open in a moment the +flood-gates of sorrow, and give us that relief for which we have been +longing and yearning in vain. + +So Rosalie found it; the moment her eyes rested on Toby's face and on +Toby's bit of crape, she burst into a flood of tears, and was able to weep +out the intenseness of her sorrow. And after that came a calm in her heart; +for somehow she felt as if the angels' song was not yet over, as if they +were still singing for joy over her mother's soul, and as if the Lord, the +Good Shepherd, were still saying, 'Rejoice with Me, for I have found My +sheep which was lost.' + +Then they left the seaport town, and set off for a distant fair. And little +Rosalie was very solitary in her caravan; everywhere and in everything she +felt a sense of loss. Her father came occasionally to see her; but his +visits were anything but agreeable, and she always felt relieved when he +went away again to the other caravan. Thus the hours by day seemed long and +monotonous, with no one inside the caravan to speak to, no one to care for +or to nurse. She often climbed beside Toby and watched him driving, and +spoke to him of the things which they passed by the way. But the hours by +night were the longest of all, when the caravan was drawn up on a lonely +moor, or in a thickly-wooded valley; when Rosalie was left alone through +those long desolate hours, and there was no sound to be heard but the +hooting of the owls and the soughing of the wind amongst the trees. Then +indeed little Rosalie felt desolate; and she would kneel upon one of the +boxes, and look out towards the other caravans, to be sure that they were +near enough to hear her call to them if anything happened. Then she would +kneel down and repeat her evening prayer again and again, and entreat the +Good Shepherd to carry her in His arms, now that she was so lonely and had +no mother. + +But they soon arrived at the fair for which they were bound, the acting +went on as usual, and Rosalie had once more to take her place on the stage. + +Very dreary and dismal and tawdry everything seemed to her. Her little +white dress, the dress in which she had lain by her mother's side, was +soiled and tumbled, and the wreath of roses looked crushed and faded, as +Rosalie took it from the box There was no mother to fasten it on her hair, +no mother to cheer and comfort her as she went slowly up the theatre steps. +Her father was looking for her, and told her they were all waiting, and +then the play commenced. + +Rosalie's eyes wandered up and down the theatre, and she wondered how it +was that when she was a very little girl she had thought it so beautiful. +It was just the same now as it had been then. The gilding was just as +bright, the lamps were just as sparkling, the scenery had been repainted, +and was even more showy and striking. Yet it all looked different to +Rosalie. It seemed to her very poor and disappointing and paltry, as she +looked at it from her place on the stage. + +And then she thought of her mother, and of the different place in which she +was spending that very evening. Rosalie had been reading about it that +afternoon before she dressed herself for the play. She thought of the +streets of gold on which her mother was walking--pure gold, not like the +tinsel and gilt of the theatre; she thought of the white robe, clean and +fair, in which her mother was dressed, so unlike her little tumbled, soiled +frock; she thought of the new song her mother was singing, so different +from the coarse, low songs that were being sung in the theatre; she thought +of the music to which her mother was listening, the voice of harpers +harping with their harps, and she thought how different it was from the +noisy band close to her, and from the clanging music which her father's +company was making. She thought, too, of the words which her mother was +saying to the Good Shepherd, perhaps even then: 'Thou art worthy; for Thou +wast slain, and hast redeemed me to God by Thy blood:' how different were +these words from the silly, foolish, profane words she herself was +repeating! + +Oh, did her mother think of her? How little Rosalie wondered if she did! +And oh, how often she longed to be with her mother in the Golden City, +instead of in the hot, wearying theatre! + +And so the weeks went on; fair after fair was visited; her father's new +play was repeated again and again, till it seemed very old to Rosalie; the +theatre was set up and taken down, and all went on much as usual. + +There was no change in the child's life, except that she had found a new +occupation and pleasure. And this was teaching Toby to read. + +'Miss Rosie,' he had said one day, 'I wish I could read the Testament!' + +'Can't you read, Toby?' + +'Not a word, missie; I only wish I could. I've not been what I ought to be, +Miss Rosie; and I do want to do different. Will you teach me?' + +And so it came to pass that Rosalie began to teach poor Toby to read. And +after that she might often be seen perched on the seat beside Toby, with +her Testament in her hand, pointing out one word after another to him as +they drove slowly along. And when Toby was tired of reading, Rosalie would +read to him some story out of the Bible. But the one they both loved best, +and the one they read more often than any other, was the parable of the +Lost Sheep. Rosalie was never tired of reading that, nor Toby of hearing +it. + +There was one thing for which Rosalie was very anxious, and that was to +meet little Mother Manikin again. At every fair they visited she looked +with eager eyes for the 'Royal Show of Dwarfs'; but they seemed to have +taken a different circuit from that of the theatre party, for fair after +fair went by without Rosalie's wish being gratified. But at length one +afternoon, the last afternoon of the fair, Toby came running to the caravan +with an eager face. + +'Miss Rosie,' he said, 'I've just found the "Royal Show of Dwarfs." They're +here, Miss Rosie; and as soon as I caught sight of the picture over the +door, thinks I to myself, "Miss Rosie will be glad." So I went up to the +door and spoke to the conductor (they've got a new one, Miss Rosie), and he +said they were going to-night, so I ran off at once to tell you--I knew you +would like to see little Mother Manikin again.' + +'Oh dear!' said the child, 'I am glad.' + +'You'll have to go at once, Miss Rosie; they're to start to-night the +moment the performance is over; they're due at another fair to-morrow.' + +'How was it that you didn't see the show before, Toby?' + +'I don't know how it was, Miss Rosie, unless that it's at the very far end +of the fair, and I haven't happened to be down that way before. Now, Miss +Rosie dear, if you like I'll take you.' + +'But I daren't leave the caravan, Toby, and father has the key; it wouldn't +be safe, would it, with all these people about?' + +'No' said Toby, as he looked down on the surging mass of people, 'I don't +suppose it would; you'd have all your things stolen, Miss Rosie.' + +'What shall I do?' said the child. + +'Well, if you wouldn't mind going by yourself, Miss Rosie, I'll keep guard +here.' + +Rosalie looked rather fearfully at the dense crowd beneath her; she had +never wandered about the fair, but had kept quietly in the caravan, as her +mother had wished her to do so; she knew very little of what was going on +in other parts of the ground. + +'Where is it, Toby?' she asked. + +'Right away at the other end of the field, Miss Rosie. Do you hear that +clanging noise?' + +'Yes,' said Rosalie, 'very well; it sounds as if all the tin trays in the +town were being thrown one upon another!' + +'That's the Giant's Cave, Miss Rosie, where that noise is, and the Dwarf +Show is close by. Keep that noise in your ears, and you will be sure to +find it.' + +So Rosalie left Toby in the caravan, and went down into the pushing crowd. +It was in the middle of the afternoon, and the fair was full of people. +They were going in different directions, and it was hard work for Rosalie +to get through them. It was only by very slow degrees that she could make +her way through the fair. + +It was a curious scene. A long row of bright gilded shows was on one side +of her, and at the door of each stood a man addressing the crowd, and +setting forth the special merits and attractions of his show. First, there +were the Waxworks, with a row of specimen figures outside, and their +champion proclaiming-- + +'Ladies and gentlemen, here is the most select show in the fair! Here is +amusement and instruction combined! Here is nothing to offend the moral and +artistic taste! You may see here Abraham offering up Aaron, and Henry IV. +in prison; Cain and Abel in the Garden of Eden, and William the Conqueror +driving out the ancient Britons!' + +Then, as Rosalie pressed on through the crowd, she was jostled in front of +the show of the Giant Boy and Girl. Here there was a great concourse of +people, gazing at the huge picture of an enormously fat Highlander, which +was hung over the door. There was a curious band in front of this show, +consisting of a man beating a drum with his right hand and turning a barrel +organ with his left, and another man blowing vociferously through a +trumpet. In spite of all this noise, a third man was standing on a raised +platform, addressing the crowds beneath. + +'I say, I say! now exhibiting, the great Scotch brother and sister, the +greatest man and woman ever exhibited! All for twopence; all for twopence! +children half-price! You're _just_ in time, you're in capital time; +I'm so glad to see you in such good time. Come now, take your seats, take +your seats!' + +Rosalie struggled on, but another enormous crowd stopped her way. This time +it was in front of the show of marionettes, or dancing dolls. On the +platform outside the show was a man, shaking a doll dressed as an iron-clad +soldier. + +'These are not living actors, ladies and gentlemen,' cried the man outside; +'yet if you come inside you will see wonderfully artistic feats! None of +the figures are alive, which makes the performance so much more interesting +and pleasing. Now's your chance, ladies and gentlemen! now's your chance! +There's plenty of room. It isn't often I can tell you so; it is the rarest +occurrence, but now there is nice room! Now's your chance!' + +Past all these shows Rosalie pushed, longing to get on yet unable to hurry. + +Then she came to a corner of the fair where a Cheap Jack was crying his +wares. + +'Here's a watch,' said the man, holding it up, 'cost two pounds ten! I +couldn't let you have it for a penny less! I'll give any one five pounds +that will get me a watch like this for two pounds ten in any shop in the +town. Come now, any one say two pounds ten?' giving a great slap on his +knee. 'Two pounds ten; two pounds ten! Well, I'll tell you what, I'll take +off the two pounds--I'll say ten shillings! Come, ten shillings! Ten +shillings! Ten shillings! Well, I'll be generous, I'll say five shillings; +I'll take off a crown. Come now, five shillings!' This was said with +another tremendous slap on his knee. Then, without stopping a moment, he +went from five shillings to four-and-sixpence, four shillings, +three-and-sixpence. 'Well, I don't mind telling my dearest relation and +friend, that I'll let you have it for two-and-six. Come now, two-and-six, +two shillings, one-and-six, one shilling, sixpence. Come now, sixpence! +Only sixpence!' + +On this a boy held out his hand, and became for sixpence the possessor of +the watch, which the man had declared only two minutes before he would not +part with for two pounds ten shillings! + +Rosalie pressed on and turned the corner. Here there was another row of +shows: the Fat Boy, whose huge clothes were being paraded outside as an +earnest of what was to be seen within; the Lady Without Arms, whose +wonderful feats of knitting, sewing, writing, and tea-making were being +rehearsed to the crowd; the Entertaining Theatre, outside which was a +stuffed performing cat playing on a drum, and two tiny children, of about +three years old, dressed up in the most extraordinary costumes, and +dancing, with tambourines in their hands; the Picture Gallery, in which you +could see Adam and Eve, Queen Elizabeth, and other distinguished persons: +all these were on Rosalie's right hand, and on her left was a long +succession of stalls, on which were sold gingerbread, brandysnap, nuts, +biscuits, cocoa-nuts, boiled peas, hot potatoes, and sweets of all kinds. +Here was a man selling cheap walking-sticks, and there another offering the +boys a moustache and a pair of spectacles for a penny each, and assuring +them that if they would only lay down the small sum of twopence, they might +become the greatest swells in the town. + +How glad Rosalie was to get past them all, and to hear the clanging sound +from the Giant's Cave growing nearer and nearer. And at last, to her joy, +she arrived before the 'Royal Show of Dwarfs.' 'Now,' she thought, 'I shall +see Mother Manikin.' + +The performance was just about to begin, and the conductor was standing at +the door inviting people to enter. + +'Now, miss,' he said, turning to Rosalie, 'now's your time; only a penny, +and none of them more than three feet high! Showing now! Showing now!' + +Rosalie paid the money, and pressed eagerly into the show. The little +people had just appeared, and were bowing and paying compliments to the +company. But Mother Manikin was not there. Rosalie's eyes wandered up and +down the show, and peered behind the curtain at the end, but Mother Manikin +was nowhere to be seen. Rosalie could not watch the performance, so anxious +was she to know if her dear little friend were within. At last the +entertainment was over, and the giant and dwarfs shook hands with the +company before ushering them out. Rosalie was the last to leave, and when +the tall thin giant came up to her, she looked up timidly into his face and +said-- + +'Please, sir, may I see Mother Manikin?' + +'Who are you, my child?' said the giant majestically. + +'I'm Rosalie, sir,--little Rosalie Joyce; don't you remember that Mother +Manikin sat up with my mother when she was ill?' + +The child's lips quivered as she mentioned her mother. + +'Oh dear me! yes, I remember it; of course I do,' said the giant. + +'Of course, of course,' echoed the three little dwarfs. + +'Then please will you take me to Mother Manikin?' + +'With the greatest of pleasure, if she were here,' said the giant, with a +bow; 'but the unfortunate part of the business is that she is not here!' + +'No, she's not here,' said the dwarfs. + +'Oh dear! oh dear!' said the child, with a little cry of disappointment. + +'Very sorry, indeed, my dear,' said the giant. 'I'm afraid _I_ sha'n't +do as well?' + +'No,' said Rosalie mournfully. 'It was Mother Manikin I wanted; she knew +all about my mother.' + +'Very sorry indeed, my dear,' repeated the giant 'Very sorry, very sorry!' +re-echoed the dwarfs. + +'Where is Mother Manikin?' asked the child. + +Why, the fact is, my dear, she has retired from the concern. Made her +fortune, you see. At least, having saved a nice sum of money, she +determined to leave the show. Somehow, she grew tired of entertaining +company, and told us "old age must have its liberties."' + +'Then where is she?' asked Rosalie. + +'She has taken two little rooms in a town in the south of the county; very +comfortable, my dear. You must call and see her some day.' + +'Oh dear!' said little Rosalie; 'I'm so very, very sorry she is not here!' + +'Poor child!' said the giant kindly. + +'Poor child! poor child!' said the dwarfs as kindly. + +Rosalie turned to go, but the giant waved her back. + +'A glass of wine, Susannah!' he said. + +'Yes, a glass of wine,' said Master Puck and Miss Mab. + +'Oh no,' said the child; 'no, thank you, not for me!' + +'A cup of tea, Susannah!' called the giant. + +'Oh no,' said Rosalie; 'I must go. Toby is keeping guard for me; I mustn't +stay a minute.' + +'Won't you?' said the giant reproachfully; 'then goodbye, my dear. I wish I +could escort you home, but we mustn't make ourselves too cheap, you know. +Good-bye, good-bye!' + +'Good-bye, my dear, good-bye!' said Master Puck and Miss Mab. + +So Rosalie sorrowfully turned homewards, and struggled out through the +surging mass of people. The conductor at the door pointed out to her a +shorter way to the theatre caravan. She was glad to get out of the clanging +sound of the Giant's Cave, from the platform of which a man was assuring +the crowd that if only they would come to this show, they would be sure to +come again that very evening, and would bring all their dearest friends +with them. + +Then the child went through a long covered bazaar, in which was a multitude +of toys, wax dolls, wooden dolls, china dolls, composition dolls, rag +dolls, and dolls of all descriptions; together with wooden horses, donkeys, +elephants, and every kind of toy in which children delight. After this she +came out upon a more open space, where a Happy Family was being displayed +to an admiring throng. + +It consisted of a large cage fastened to a cart, which was drawn by a +comfortable-looking donkey. Inside the cage were various animals, living on +the most friendly terms with each other--a little dog, in a smart coat, +playing with several small white rats, a monkey hugging a little white +kitten, a white cat, which had been dyed a brilliant yellow, superintending +the sports of a number of mice and dormice; and a duck, a hen, and a +guinea-pig, which were conversing together in one corner of the cage. Over +this motley assembly was a board which announced that this Happy Family was +supported entirely by voluntary contributions; and a woman was going about +amongst the crowd shaking a tin plate at them, and crying out against their +stinginess if they refused to contribute. + +Rosalie passed the Happy Family with difficulty, and made her way down +another street in the fair. On one side of her were shooting-galleries +making a deafening noise, and on the other were all manner of contrivances +for making money. First came machines for the trial of strength, consisting +of a flat pasteboard figure of the Shah, or some other distinguished +person, holding on his chest a dial-plate, the hand of which indicated the +amount of strength possessed by any one who hit a certain part of the +machine with all his might. + +'Come now! have you seen the Shah?' cried the owner of one of these +machines. 'Come now, try your strength! I believe you're the strongest +fellow that has passed by to-day! Come now, let's see what you can do!' + +The required penny was paid, and there followed a tremendous blow, a +tinkling of bells on the pasteboard figure, and an announcement from the +owner of the show of the number of stones which the man had moved. + +Then there were the weighing-machines, arm-chairs covered with red velvet, +in which you were invited to sit and be weighed; there was the +sponge-dealer, a Turk in a turban, who confided to the crowd, in broken +English, not only the price of his sponges, but also many touching and +interesting details of his personal history. There was also the usual +gathering of professional beggars, some without arms and legs, others deaf, +or dumb, or blind, or all three; cripples and imbeciles and idiots, who go +from fair to fair and town to town, and get so much money that they make +five or six shillings a day, and live in luxury all the year round. + +The child went quickly past them all, and came upon the region of +whirligigs, four or five of which were at work, and were whirling in +different directions, and made her feel so dizzy that she hardly knew where +she was going. + +Oh, how glad she was to see her own caravan again!--to get safely out of +the restless, noisy multitude, out of the sound of the shouting of the +show-people and the swearing of the drunken men and women, and out of the +pushing and jostling of the crowd. She thought to herself, as she went up +the caravan steps, that if she had her own way she would never go near a +fair again; and oh, how she wondered that the people who had their own way +came to it in such numbers! + +Toby was looking anxiously for her from the caravan window. + +'Miss Rosie dear,' he said, 'I thought you were never coming; I got quite +frightened about you; you're such a little mite of a thing to go fighting +your own way in that great big crowd.' + +'Oh, Toby,' said Rosalie, 'I haven't seen Mother Manikin!' and she told him +what she had heard from the giant of Mother Manikin's prospects. + +'I am sorry,' said Toby. 'Then you have had all your walk for nothing?' + +'Yes,' said the child; 'and I never mean to go through the fair again if I +can possibly help it--never again!' + + + + +CHAPTER XIV + +BETSEY ANN + +There was still some time before Rosalie need dress herself for the play. +She sat still after Toby had left her, thinking over all she had seen in +the fair; and it made her very sad indeed. There were such a number of lies +being told--she knew there were; such a number of things were being passed +off for what they really were not. And then, after all, even if the shows +were what they pretended to be, what a poor miserable way it seemed of +trying to be happy! The child wondered how many in that moving multitude +were really happy. + +Rosalie was thinking about this when she heard a sound close to her, a very +different sound from the shouting of the cheap-jacks or the noisy +proclamations of the showmen. It was the sound of singing. She went to the +door of the caravan and looked out. The little theatre was set up at the +edge of the fair. Close to the street, and very near the caravan,--so near +that Rosalie could hear all they said,--was standing a group of men. One of +them had just given out a hymn, and he and all the rest were singing it. +The child could hear every word of it distinctly. There was a chorus at the +end of each verse, which came so often, that before the hymn was finished +she knew it quite perfectly-- + + 'Whosoever will, whosoever will; + Sound the proclamation over vale and hill; + 'Tis a loving Father calls His children home: + Whosoever will may come!' + +By the time that they had finished the first verse of the hymn, a great +crowd had collected round the men, attracted perhaps by the contrast +between that sweet, solemn hymn, and the din and tumult in every other part +of the fair. + +Then one of the men began to speak. + +'Friends,' he said--and as he spoke a great stillness fell on the listening +crowd--'Friends, I have an invitation for you to-night; will you listen to +my invitation? You are being invited in all directions to-night. Each man +invites you to his own show, and tells you that it is the best one in the +fair. Each time you pass him, he calls out to you, "Come! come! Come now! +Now's your time!" + +'My friends, I too have an invitation for you to-night. I too would say to +you, "Come! come! Come now! Now's your time!" Jesus Christ, my friends, has +sent me with this invitation to you. He wants you to _come_. He says, +"Come unto Me, all ye that labour and are heavy laden." He wants you to +come now. He says, "Come _now_, let us reason together; though your +sins be as scarlet, they shall be as white as snow; though they be red like +crimson, they shall be as wool." He says to you, "Now is your time." +"Behold," He says, "now is the accepted time, now is the day of salvation." + +'My friends, this is the invitation; but it is a very different one from +the one that man is giving at that show over there. What does he say to +those people who are listening to him just now? Does he say, "Here's my +show; the door is open, any one who likes may walk in; there's nothing to +pay"? Does he say that, my friends? Does he ever give his invitation in +that way? No, my friends; he always follows up his "Come, come now! now's +your time!" with some such words as these, "Only twopence; only twopence; +only twopence to pay! Come now!" And, if you do not produce your twopence, +will he let you in?--if you are so poor that you have not twopence in the +world, will he say to you, "Come, come now! now's your time"? No, my +friends, that he will not. + +'Now, the Lord Jesus Christ invites you quite differently. He cries out, +"Ho! every one that thirsteth, Come. Come without money! Come without +price! Whosoever will may come!" Yes, my friends, the words "Whosoever +will" are written over the door which the Lord Jesus Christ wants you to +enter. This is one way in which His invitation is quite different from that +which that man is giving from the door of the show. + +'We will sing another verse of the hymn, and then I will tell you the other +great difference between the two invitations.' + +So again they sang-- + + 'Whosoever will, whosoever will; + Sound the proclamation over vale and hill; + 'Tis a loving Father calls His children home; + Whosoever will may come!' + +My friends,' said the speaker, when the verse was finished, 'there was once +in Russia a very curious palace. + +It was built of nothing but ice. The walls were ice, and the roof was ice, +and all the furniture was ice. There were ice sofas, ice chairs, ice +fireplaces, ice ornaments. The water was made different colours, and then +frozen, so that everything looked real and solid. At night the palace was +lighted up, and it shone and sparkled as if it were set with diamonds. +Every one said, "What a beautiful palace!" + +'But it did not last, my friends, it did not last. The thaw came, and the +ice palace faded away; there was soon nothing left of it but a pool of +dirty water. It was all gone; it was very fine for a time; but there was +nothing solid in it, and it melted away like a dream. + +'My friends, yonder in that fair is the world's ice-palace! It sparkles, it +glitters, it looks very fine; but it isn't solid, it won't last. To-morrow +it will all be over; it will have melted away like a dream. Nothing will be +left but dust, and dirt, and misery. There will be many aching heads and +aching hearts this time to-morrow. + +'My friends, the world's grandest display is a very disappointing thing +after all. And this is the second way in which the Lord Jesus Christ's +invitation is so different from that of the man at that show-door. When the +Lord Jesus Christ says "Come," He has always something good to give, +something that is solid, something that will last, something that will not +disappoint you. He has pardon to give you, He has peace to give you, He has +heaven to give you. All these are good gifts, all these are solid, all +these will last, not one of them will disappoint you. + +'Oh, will you come to Him, my friends? He calls to you "Come! come now!" +Now's your time! There's room now, there's plenty of room now! Yet there is +room; to-morrow it may be too late! + +'Will you not come to Him to-night? + + '"Whosoever cometh need not delay; + Now the door is open: enter while you may; + Jesus is the true, the only living way; + Whosoever will may come. + + '"Whosoever will, whosoever will; + Sound the proclamation over vale and hill; + 'Tis a loving Father calls His children home; + Whosoever will may come!"' + +'Rosalie' said her father's voice, 'be quick and get ready' and Rosalie had +to close the caravan door and dress for the play. But the hymn and the +sermon were treasured up in the child's heart, and were never forgotten by +her. + +That was the last fair which Augustus Joyce visited that year. The cold +weather was coming on; already there had been one or two severe frosts, and +the snow had come beating down the caravan chimney, almost extinguishing +the little fire. + +Augustus thought it was high time that he sought for winter quarters; and, +having made an engagement in a low town theatre for the winter months, he +determined to go to the town at once, and dismiss his company until the +spring. + +On the road to the town they passed many other caravans, all bound on the +same errand, coming like swallows to a warmer clime. + +Rosalie's father went first to an open space or stable-yard, where the +caravans were stowed away for the winter. Here he left Rosalie for some +time, whilst he went to look for lodgings in the town. Then he and the men +removed from the caravans the things which they would need, and carried +them to their new quarters. When all was arranged, Augustus told the child +to follow him, and led the way through the town. + +How Rosalie wondered to what kind of a place she was going! They went down +several streets, wound in and out of different squares and courts, and the +child had to run every now and then to keep up with her father's long +strides. At last they came to a winding street full of tall, gloomy houses, +before one of which her father stopped and knocked at the door. Some ragged +children, without shoes or stockings, were sitting on the steps, and moved +off as Rosalie and her father came up. + +The door was opened by a girl about fifteen years old, with a miserable, +careworn face, and dressed in an untidy, torn frock, which had lost all its +hooks, and was fastened with large white pins. + +'Where's your mistress?' said Augustus Joyce. + +The girl led the way to the back of the house, and opened the door of a +dismal parlour, smelling strongly of tobacco. + +Rosalie gazed round her at the dirty paper on the walls, and the greasy +chair-covers and the ragged carpet, and was not favourably impressed with +her new abode. There were some vulgar prints in equally vulgar frames +hanging on the walls; a bunch of paper flowers, a strange mixture of pink +and red, blue and green and orange, was standing on the table, and several +penny numbers and low periodicals were lying on the chairs, as if some one +had just been reading them. + +Then the door opened, and the mistress of the house entered. She was an +actress, Rosalie felt sure of that the first moment she saw her; she was +dressed in a faded, greasy silk dress which swept up the dust of the floor +as she walked in, and she greeted her new lodgers with an overpowering bow. + +She took Rosalie upstairs, past several landings, where doors opened and +people peered out to catch a glimpse of the new lodger, up to a little +attic in the roof, which was to be Rosalie's sleeping-place. It was full of +boxes and lumber, which the lady of the house had stowed there to be out of +the way; but in one corner the boxes were pushed on one side, and a little +bed was put up for the child to sleep on, and a basin was set on one of the +boxes for her to wash in. Rosalie's own box was already there; her father +had brought it up for her before she arrived, and she was pleased to find +that it was still uncorded. There were treasures in that box which no one +in that house must see! + +The lady of the house told Rosalie that in a few minutes her supper would +be ready, and that she must make haste and come downstairs. So the child +hastily took off her hat and jacket, and went down the numerous stairs to a +room in the front of the house, where tea was provided for those lodgers +who boarded with the lady of the house. + +The child was most thankful when the meal was over. The rude, coarse jests +and noisy laughter of the company grated on her ears, and she longed to +make her escape. As soon as she could, she slipped from her father's side, +and crept upstairs to her little attic. Here at least she could be alone +and quiet. It was very cold, but she unfastened the box and took out her +mother's shawl, which she wrapped tightly round her. Then she opened out +her treasures and stowed them away as best she could. She opened the +locket, and looked at the sweet, girlish face inside and oh, how she wished +she were with her Aunt Lucy. How would she ever be able to keep that locket +safely? that was her next thought. There was no key to the attic door, nor +was there a key to her box. How could she be sure, when she was out at the +theatre, that the people of the house would not turn over the contents of +her box? + +It was clear that the locket must be hidden somewhere, for Rosalie would +never forgive herself if, after her mother had kept it safely all those +years, she should be the one to lose it. She sat for some time thinking how +she should dispose of it, and then came to the conclusion that the only way +would be to wear it night and day round her neck underneath her dress, and +never on any account to let any one catch sight of it. It was some time +before she could carry out this plan to her satisfaction. She tied the +locket carefully up in a small parcel, in which she placed the precious +letter which her mother had written to her Aunt Lucy, and she concealed the +packet inside her dress, tying it round her neck. + +After this Rosalie felt more easy, and took out her little articles of +clothing, and hung them on some nails which she found on the attic door. +Then she took from her pocket her own little Testament, and crept up to the +window to read a few verses before it was too dark. The light was fast +fading, and the lamplighter was going down the street lighting the lamps; +there was no time to lose. + +So the child opened her book and began to read: 'Casting all your care upon +Him, for He careth for you'--those were the first words which met her eyes. +She repeated them over and over again to herself, that she might be able to +remember them when the attic was quite dark. And they seemed just the words +she needed; they were the Good Shepherd's words of comfort which He +whispered to the weary lamb on His bosom. + +For, as the shadows grew deeper and the room became darker, Rosalie felt +very lonely and miserable. Once she thought she would go downstairs to look +for her father; but whenever she opened the door, there seemed to be such a +noise and clamour below, that she did not like to venture; she felt as if +her mother would have liked her to stay where she was. She could not read +now, and it was very cold indeed in the attic. The child shivered from head +to foot, and wondered if the long hours would ever pass away. At last she +determined to get into bed, for she thought she should be warmer there, and +hoped she might get to sleep; but it was still early, and sleep seemed far +away. + +And then Rosalie thought of her text, 'Casting all your care upon Him, for +He careth for you.' '"All _your_ care,"--that means _my_ care,' +thought the weary child,--'my own care. "_All_ your care;" +_all_--all the care about losing my mammie, and about having to stay +in this noisy house, and about having to go and act in that wicked theatre, +and about having to take care of my locket and my letter. + +'"Casting all your care upon _Him_"--that means my own Good Shepherd, +who loves me so. I wonder what casting it on Him means,' thought little +weary Rosalie. 'How can I cast it on Him? If my mammie was here, I would +tell her all about it, and ask her to help me. Perhaps that's what I've got +to do to the Good Shepherd; I'll try.' + +So Rosalie knelt up in bed, and said, 'O Good Shepherd, plase, here's a +little lamb come to speak to you. Please I'm very lonely, and my mammie is +dead, and I'm so afraid someone will get my locket; please keep it safe. +And I'm so frightened in the dark in this wicked house; please take care of +me. And don't let me get wicked; I want to love you, dear Good Shepherd, +and I want to meet my mammie in heaven: please let me; and wish my sins in +the blood of Jesus. Amen.' + +Then Rosalie lay down again, and felt much happier; the pain at her heart +seemed to be gone. + +'He careth for you.' How sweet those last words of the text were! She had +not her mother to care for her, but the Good Shepherd cared for her; He +loved her; He would not let her go wrong. + +Rosalie was thinking of this, and repeating her text again and again, when +she felt something moving on the bed, and something very cold touched her +hand. She started back Blank Page [Illustration: "Is it time to get up?"] +at first, but in a moment she found it was nothing but the nose of a little +soft furry kitten, that had crept in through the opening of the door; for +Rosalie had left her door a little ajar, that she might get a ray of light +from the gas-lamp on the lower landing. The poor little kitten was very +cold, and the child felt that it was as lonely and dull as she was. She put +it in a snug place in her arms and stroked it very gently, till the tiny +creature purred softly with delight. + +Rosalie did not feel so lonely after the kitten had come to her. She had +been lying still for some time, when she heard a step on the stairs, and +her father's voice called-- + +'Rosalie, where are you?' + +'I'm in bed,' said little Rosalie. + +'Oh, all light!' said her father. 'I couldn't find you. Good-night.' + +Then he went downstairs, and the child was once more alone; she lay +stroking the kitten, and wondering if she should ever get to sleep. It was +the longest night she ever remembered; it seemed as if it would never be +bed-time--at least, the bed-time of the people downstairs; the talking and +laughing still went on, and Rosalie thought it would never cease. + +But at last the weary hours went by, and the people seemed to be going to +bed. Then the light on the landing was put out, and all was quite still. +The kitten was fast asleep; and Rosalie at length followed its example, and +dropped into a peaceful slumber. + +She had been asleep a long, long time, at least so it seemed to her, when +she woke up suddenly, and, opening her eyes, she saw a girl standing by her +bedside with a candle in her hand, and looking at her curiously. It was the +little servant girl who had opened the door for her and her father. + +'What is it?' said Rosalie, sitting up in bed; 'is it time to get up?' + +'No,' said the girl; 'I'm only just coming to bed.' + +'Why, isn't it very late?' asked the child. + +'Late? I should think it is late,' said the poor little maid; 'it's always +late when I come to bed. I have to wash the pots up after all the others +has gone upstairs; ay! but my back does ache to-night! Bless you! I've been +upstairs and downstairs all day long.' + +'Who are you?' said Rosalie. + +'I'm kitchen-maid here,' said the girl; 'I sleep in the attic next you. +What did you come to bed so soon for?' + +'I wanted to be by myself,' said Rosalie; 'there was such a noise +downstairs.' + +'La! do you call _that_ a noise? said the girl; 'it's nothing to what +there is sometimes; I thought they were pretty peaceable to-night.' + +'Do you like being here?' asked the child. + +'Like it?' said the girl. 'Bless you! did you say like it? I hate it; I +wish I could die. It's nothing but work, work, scold, scold, from morning +till night.' + +'Poor thing!' said Rosalie. 'What is your name?' + +'Betsey Ann,' said the girl, with a laugh; 'it isn't a very pretty name, is +it?' + +'No,' said the child; 'I don't like it very much.' + +'They gave me it in the workhouse; I was born there, and my mother died +when I was born, and I've never had a bit of pleasure all my life; I wish I +was dead!' + +'Shall you go to heaven when, you die?' asked Rosalie. + +'La, bless you! I don't know,' said the girl; 'I suppose so.' + +'Has the Good Shepherd found you yet?' asked the child; 'because if He +hasn't, you won't go to heaven, you know.' + +The girl stared at Rosalie with a bewildered air of amazement and surprise. + +'Don't you know about the Good Shepherd?' asked the child. + +'Bless you! I don't know anything,' said the girl; 'nothing but my A B C.' + +'Shall I read to you about it; are you too tired?' + +'No, not if it's not very long.' + +'Oh, it's short enough; I've got my book under my pillow.' + +So Rosalie read the parable of the Lost Sheep; and the girl put down her +candle on one of the boxes and listened. + +'It's very pretty,' she said, when Rosalie had finished, 'but I don't know +what it means.' + +'Jesus is the Good Shepherd,' said Rosalie; 'you know who He is, don't you, +Betsey Ann?' + +'Yes, He's God, isn't He?' + +'Yes and He loves you so much,' said the child. + +'Loves me?' said Betsey Ann; 'I don't believe He does. There's nobody loves +me, and nobody never did!' + +'Jesus does,' said Rosalie. + +'Well, I never!' said the girl. 'Where is He? what's He like?' + +'He's up in heaven,' said Rosalie, 'and yet He's in this room now, and He +does love you, Betsey Ann; I know He does.' + +'How do you know? did He tell you?' + +'Yes; He says in this book that He loved you, and died that you might go to +heaven; you couldn't have gone to heaven if He hadn't died.' + +'Bless you! I wish I knew as much as you do,' said the girl. + +'Will you come up here sometimes, and I'll read to you?' said Rosalie. + +'La! catch missus letting me. She won't let me wink scarcely! I never get a +minute to myself, week in week out.' + +'I don't know what I can do then,' said Rosalie. 'Could you come on +Sunday?' + +'Bless you! Sunday? busiest day in the week here; lodgers are all in, and +want hot dinners!' + +'Then I can't see a way at all,' said Rosalie. + +'I'll tell you what,' said the girl; 'I'll get up ten minutes earlier, and +go to bed ten minutes later, if you'll read to me out of that little book, +and tell me about somebody loving me. Ten minutes in the morning and ten +minutes at night: come, that will be twenty minutes a day!' + +'That would be very nice!' said Rosalie. + +'But I get up awful soon,' said Betsey Ann, 'afore ever there's a glimmer +of light; would you mind being waked up then?' + +'Oh, not a bit,' said Rosalie, 'if only you'll come.' + +'I'll come safe enough,' said the girl. 'I like you!' + +She took up her candle and was preparing to depart when she caught sight of +the kitten's tail peeping out from Rosalie's pillow. + +'La, bless you! there's that kit!' + +'Yes,' said the child; 'we're keeping each other company, me and the +kitten.' + +'I should think it's glad to have a hit of quiet,' said Betsey Ann; 'it +gets nothing but kicks all day long, and it's got no mother--she was found +dead in the coal-cellar last week; it's been pining for her ever since.' + +'Poor little thing!' said Rosalie; and she held it closer to her bosom; it +was a link of sympathy between her and the kitten; they were both +motherless, and both pining for their mother's love. She would pet and +comfort that little ill-used kitten as much as ever she could. + +Then Betsey Ann wished Rosalie good-night, took up her candle, and went to +her own attic, dragging her shoes after her. + +And Rosalie fell asleep. + + + +CHAPTER XV + +LIFE IN THE LODGING-HOUSE + +True to her promise, Betsey Ann appeared in the attic the next morning at +ten minutes to five. Poor girl, she had only had four hours' sleep, and she +rubbed her eyes vigorously to make herself wide awake, before she attempted +to wake Rosalie. Then she put down her candle on the box and looked at the +sleeping child. She was lying with one arm under her cheek, and the other +round the kitten. It seemed a shame to wake her; but the precious ten +minutes were going fast, and it was Betsey Ann's only chance of hearing +more of what had so roused her curiosity the night before; it was her only +opportunity of hearing of some one who loved her. + +And to be loved was quite a new idea to the workhouse child. She had been +fed, and clothed, and provided for, to a certain extent; but none in the +whole world had ever done anything for Betsey Ann because they loved her; +that was an experience which had never been hers. And yet there had been a +strange fascination to her in those words Rosalie had spoken the night +before: 'He loves you so much'--she must hear some more about it. So she +gave Rosalie's hand, the hand which was holding the kitten, a very gentle +tap. + +'I say,' she said--'I say, the ten minutes are going!' + +The sleepy child turned over, and said dreamily, 'I'll come in a minute, +father; have you begun?' + +'No; it's me,' said the girl; 'it's me; it's Betsey Ann. Don't you know you +said you would read to me? Bless me! I wish I hadn't waked you, you look so +tired!' + +'Oh yes, I remember,' said Rosalie, jumping up. I'm quite awake now. How +many minutes are there?' + +'Oh, seven or eight at most,' said Betsey Ann, with a nod. + +'Then we mustn't lose a minute,' said the child, pulling her Testament from +under her pillow. + +'La! I wish I was a good scholar like you,' said Betsey Ann, as Rosalie +quickly turned over the leaves, and found the verse she had fixed on the +night before for her first lesson to the poor ignorant kitchen-maid. + +'For ye know the grace of our Lord Jesus Christ, that, though He was rich, +yet for your sakes He became poor, that ye through His poverty might be +rich.' + +'Isn't that a beautiful verse?' said little Rosalie; 'I used to read it to +my mammie, and she liked it so much.' + +'Tell me about it,' said Betsey Ann; 'put it plain like for me.' + +'"Ye know,"' said Rosalie,--'that's how it begins. You don't know, Betsey +Ann, but you will do soon, won't you?' + +'La! yes,' said the girl; 'I hope I shall.' + +'"Ye know the grace." I'm not quite sure what grace means; I was thinking +about it the other day. And now my mammie's dead, I've no one to ask about +things; but I think it must mean love; it seems as if it ought to mean love +in this verse; and He does love us, you know, Betsey Ann, so we can't be +far wrong if we say it means love.' + +'"Ye know the love of our Lord Jesus Christ, "--that's the One we talked +about last night, the One who loves you, Betsey Ann. "That though He was +rich, "--that means He lived in heaven, my mammie said, and had ever so +many angels to wait on Him, and everything He wanted, all bright and +shining. "Yet for your sakes, "--that means your sake, Betsey Ann, just as +much as if it had said, "You know the love of the Lord Jesus Christ, that, +though He was rich, yet for Betsey Ann's sake He became poor."' + +'Well, I never!' said Betsey Ann. + +'Poor,' repeated the child; 'so poor, my mammie said, that He hadn't a +house, and had to tramp about from one place to another, and had to work in +a carpenter's shop, and used to be hungry just like we are.' + +'Well, I never!' said Betsey Ann; 'whatever did He do that for?' + +'That's the end of the verse,'said Rosalie. '"That ye through His poverty +might be rich." That is, He came to be poor and die, that you might be rich +and go to live up where He came from,--up in the City of Gold, and have the +angels wait on you, and live with Him always up there.' + +Betsey Ann opened her eyes wider and wider in astonishment. 'Well, now, I +never heard the like! Why didn't nobody never tell me nothink about it +afore?' + +'I don't know,' said Rosalie. 'Is the time up?' + +'Very near,' said Betsey Ann, with a sigh. 'There's lots to do afore missus +is up; there's all the rooms to sweep out, and all the fires to light, and +all the breakfasts to set, and all the boots to clean.' + +'Can you wait one minute more?' asked the child. + +'Yes,' said Betsey Ann; 'bless you! I can wait two or three. I'll take off +my shoes and run quick downstairs; that will save some time.' + +'I wanted you just to speak to the Lord Jesus Christ before you go,' said +Rosalie. + +'Me speak to Him! Why, bless you! I don't know how.' + +'Shall we kneel down?' said the child. 'He's in the room, Betsey Ann, +though you can't see Him, and He'll hear every word we say.' + +'O Lord Jesus, please, we come to you this morning. Thank you very much for +leaving the Gold City for us. Thank you for coming to be poor, and for +loving us, and for dying for us. Please make Betsey Ann love you. Please +save Betsey Ann's soul. Please forgive Betsey Ann's sins. Amen.' + +'I shall think about it all day; I declare I shall!' said Betsey Ann, as +she took off her slipshod shoes and prepared to run downstairs. 'My word! I +wonder nobody never told me afore.' + +When Rosalie went downstairs that morning, she found her father and the +lady of the house in earnest conversation over the fireplace in the best +parlour. They stopped talking when the child came into the room, and her +father welcomed her with a theatrical bow. + +'Good morning, madam,' he said; 'glad to find that you have benefited by +your nocturnal slumbers.' + +Rosalie walked up to the fire with the kitten in her arms, and the lady of +the house gave her a condescending kiss, and then took no further notice of +her. + +It was a strange life for little Rosalie in the dirty lodging-house, with +no mother to care for or to nurse, and with no one to speak kindly to her +all day long but poor Betsey Ann. + +Clatter, clatter, clatter, went those slipshod shoes, upstairs and +downstairs, backwards and forwards, hither and thither. Sweeping, and +dusting, and cleaning, and washing up dishes from morning till night, went +poor Betsey Ann; and whenever she stopped a minute, her mistress's voice +was heard screaming from the dingy parlour-- + +'Betsey Ann, you lazy girl! what are you after now?' + +That afternoon, as Rosalie was sitting reading in her little attic, she +heard the slipshod shoes coming upstairs, and presently Betsey Ann entered +the room. + +'I say,' she said, 'there's a young boy wants to speak to you below; can +you come?' + +Rosalie hastened downstairs, and found Toby standing in the passage, his +hat in his hand. + +'Miss Rosie, I beg pardon,' he said, 'but I've come to say good-bye.' + +'Oh, Toby! are you going away?' + +'Yes,' said Toby; 'master doesn't want us any more this winter; he's got no +work for us, so he has sent us off. I'm right sorry to go, I'm sure I am.' + +'Where are you going, Toby?' + +'I can't tell, Miss Rosie,' said he, with a shrug of his shoulders; 'where +I can get, I suppose.' + +'Oh dear! I _am_ sorry you must go!' said the child. + +'I shall forget all my learning,' said Toby mournfully. 'But I tell you +what, Miss Rosie, I shall be back here in spring; master will take me on +again, if I turn up in good time, and then you'll teach me a bit more, +won't you?' + +'Yes,' said Rosalie, 'to be sure I will; but, Toby, you won't forget +everything, will you?' + +'No, Miss Rosie,' said Toby, 'that I won't! It's always coming in my mind; +I can't curse and swear now as I used to do; somehow the bad words seem as +if they would choke me. The last time I swore (it's a many weeks ago now, +Miss Rosie), I was in a great passion with one of our men, and out came +those awful words, quite quick, before I thought of them. But the next +minute, Miss Rosie, it all came back to me--all about the Good Shepherd, +and how He was looking for me and loving me, and I at that very time doing +just what vexes Him. Well, I ran out of the caravan, and I tried to forget +it; but somehow it seemed as if the Good Shepherd was looking at me quite +sorrowful like; and I couldn't be happy, Miss Rosie, not until I'd asked +Him to forgive me, and to help me never to do so no more.' + +'I'm so glad, Toby!' said little Rosalie. 'If you love the Good Shepherd, +and don't like to grieve Him, I think He must have found you, Toby.' + +'Well, I don't know, Miss Rosie; I hope so, I'm sure. But now I must be +off; only I couldn't go without bidding you good-bye; you've been so good +to me, Miss Rosie, and taught me all I know.' + +After this, Rosalie's life went on much the same from day to day. Every +morning she was waked by Betsey Ann's touch upon her hand, and she read and +explained a fresh verse from the Testament to the poor little maid. Rosalie +used to choose the verses the night before, and put a mark in the place, so +that she might begin to read the moment she awoke, and thus not one of the +ten minutes might be wasted. + +Betsey Ann always listened with open mouth and eyes. And she did not listen +in vain; a little ray of light seemed, after a time, to be breaking in upon +that poor, dark, neglected mind--a little ray of sunshine, which lighted up +her dark, dismal life, and made even poor Betsey Ann have something worth +living for. 'He loves me;' that was the one idea which was firmly fixed in +her mind. 'He loves me so much that He died for me.' And that thought was +enough to make even the dismal lodging-house and the hard life seem less +dark and dreary than they had done before. + +Slowly, very slowly, a change came over the girl, which Rosalie could not +help noticing. She was gentler than she used to be, more quiet and patient. +And she was happier too. She did not wish to die now, but seemed to be +trying to follow the Good Shepherd, who had done so much for her. + +These morning talks with Betsey Ann were the happiest parts of Rosalie's +days. She did not like the company she met in the large lodging-house; they +were very noisy, and the child kept out of their way as much as possible. +Many of them were actors and actresses, and were in bed till nearly +dinner-time. So the morning was the quietest time in the +lodging-house,--even the lady of the house herself was often not up. Then +Rosalie would sit with the kitten on her knee before the fire in the dingy +parlour, thinking of her mother and of her Aunt Lucy, and putting her hand +every now and then inside her dress, that she might be quite sure that her +precious locket and letter were safe. + +The poor little kit had a happy life now. Rosalie always saved something +from her own meals for the motherless little creature; many a nice +saucerful of bread and milk, many a dainty little dinner of gravy and +pieces of meat did the kitten enjoy. And every night when Rosalie went to +bed it was wrapped up in a warm shawl, and went to sleep in the child's +arms. And so it came to pass that wherever Rosalie was to be found, the +kitten was to be found also. It followed her upstairs and downstairs, it +crept to her feet when she sat at meals, it jumped upon her knee when she +sat by the fire, it was her constant companion everywhere. + +There was only one time when the kitten and Rosalie were separated, and +that was when sue went to perform in the theatre. Then it would scamper +downstairs after her, as she went to the cab in her little white frock; it +would watch her drive away, and wander restlessly about the house, crying +until she returned. + +No words can describe how much Rosalie disliked going to the theatre now. +It was a low, dirty place, and filled every evening with very bad-looking +people. Rosalie went there night after night with her father, and the lady +of the house, who was an actress in the same theatre, went with them. She +was not unkind to Rosalie, but simply took no notice of her. But to +Rosalie's father she was very polite; she always gave him the best seat in +the dingy parlour, and the chief place at table, and consulted his comfort +in every possible way. Often when Rosalie came suddenly into the room, she +found her father and the lady of the house in earnest conversation, which +was always stopped the moment that the child entered. And as they drove +together in the cab to the theatre, many whispered words passed between +them, of which Rosalie heard enough to make her feel quite sure that her +father and the lady of the house were on the best of terms. + +And so the weeks and months passed by, and the time drew near when the days +would be long and light again, and her father's engagement at the theatre +would end, and he would set out on his summer rounds to all the fairs in +the country. Rosalie was eagerly looking forward to this time; she was +longing to get out of this dark lodging-house; to have her own caravan to +herself, where she might read and pray undisturbed; to breathe once more +the pure country air; to see the flowers, and the birds, and the trees +again; and to see poor old Toby, and to continue his reading-lessons. To +all this Rosalie looked forward with pleasure. + +But Betsey Ann grew very mournful as the time drew near. + +'La!' she would say, again and again; 'whatever shall I do without you? +Whoever shall I find to read to me then?' + +And the slipshod shoes dragged more heavily at the thought, and the eyes of +poor Betsey Ann filled with tears. + +Yet she knew now that, even when Rosalie went away, the Good Shepherd loved +her, and would be with her still. + + + +CHAPTER XVI + +A DARK TIME + +One morning, when Rosalie was upstairs in her attic reading quietly to +herself, the door opened softly, and Betsey Ann came in with a very +troubled look in her face, and sat down on one of the boxes. + +'What's the matter, Betsey Ann?' asked the child. + +'Deary me, deary me!' said the girl; 'I'm real sorry, that I am!' + +'What is it?' said Rosalie. + +'If it only wasn't her, I shouldn't have minded so much,' explained Betsey +Ann; 'but she is--I can't tell you what she is; she's dreadful sometimes. +Oh dear! I am in a way about it!' + +'About what?' asked Rosalie again. + +'I've guessed as much a long time,' said Betsey Ann; 'but they was very +deep, them two, and I couldn't be quite sure of it. There's no mistake +about it now, more's the pity!' + +'Do tell me, please, Betsey Ann!' pleaded the child. + +'Well, Rosalie,' said the girl, 'I may as well tell you at once. You're +going to have a ma!' + +'A what?' said the child. + +'A ma--a new mother. She's going to be Mrs. Augustus Joyce.' + +'Oh, Betsey Ann,' said Rosalie mournfully,'are you sure?' + +'Sure? yes,' said the girl, 'only too sure. One of the lodgers told me; +and, what's more, them two have gone off in a cab together just now, and +it's my belief that they've gone to church to finish it off. Ay, but I am +sorry!' + +'Oh, Betsey Ann,' sobbed little Rosalie, 'what shall I do?' + +'I never was so cut up about anything,' said the girl. 'She's been just +decent to you till now; but when she's made it fast she'll be another +woman, you'll see. Oh dear, oh dear! But I must be off; I've lots to do +afore she comes back, and I shall catch it if I waste my time. + +'Oh, Rosalie, I wish I hadn't told you!' she added, as she listened to the +child's sobs. + +'Oh, it's better I should know,' said Rosalie; 'thank you, dear Betsey +Ann.' + +'I'm real sorry, I am!' said the girl, as she went downstairs. 'I'm a great +strong thing, but she's such a weakly little darling. I'm real sorry, I +am!' + +When Betsey Ann was gone, Rosalie was left to her own sorrowful +meditations. All her dreams of quiet and peace in the caravan were at an +end. They would either remain in the large lodging-house, or, if they went +on their travels, the lady of the house would be also the lady of the +caravan. And how would she ever be able to keep her dear letter and locket +safe from those inquisitive eyes? + +What a wretched life seemed before the child as she looked on into the +future! She seemed farther from her Aunt Lucy than ever before. And how +would she ever be able to do as her mother had asked her--to read her +Bible, and pray, and learn more and more about the Good Shepherd. + +Life seemed very dark and cheerless to little Rosalie. The sunshine had +faded from her sky, and all was chill and lifeless. She lost hope and she +lost faith for a time. She thought the Good Shepherd must have forgotten +all about her, to let this new trouble come to her. And she was very much +afraid that she would grow up a bad woman, and never, never, never see her +mother again. + +When she had cried for some time, and was becoming more and more miserable +every moment, she stretched out her hand for her little Testament, to see +if she could find anything there to comfort her. She was turning quickly +over the leaves, not knowing exactly where to read, when the word sheep +attracted her attention. + +Ever since the old man had given her the picture, she had always loved +those texts the best which speak of the Lord as the Shepherd and His +children as the sheep. This was the one on which her eyes fell that +sorrowful day-- + +'My sheep hear My voice, and I know them, and they follow Me; and I give +unto them eternal life; and they shall never perish, neither shall any man +pluck them out of My hand.' + +The words seemed to soothe and comfort the troubled child, even before she +had thought much about them. But when she began to think the verses over +word by word, as was her custom, they seemed to Rosalie to be everything +she wanted just then. + +'"My sheep." It's the Good Shepherd speaking,' thought Rosalie, 'speaking +about His sheep. "My sheep," He calls them. Am I one of them? I hope I am. +I have asked the Good Shepherd to find me, and I think He has. + +'"My sheep hear My voice." Oh, please Good Shepherd, said little Rosalie, +'may I hear your voice; may I do all that you tell me, and always try to +please you! + +'"And I know them." I'm glad the Good Shepherd knows me,' said Rosalie; +'because if He knows me, and knows all about me, then He knows just how +worried and troubled I am. He knows all about father getting married, and +the lady of the house coming to live in our caravan; and He knows how hard +it is to do right when I've only bad people round me; yes, He knows all +that. + +'"My sheep hear My voice, and I know them, and they follow Me." "They +follow Me." Where the Good Shepherd goes the sheep go,' said Rosalie to +herself. 'He walks first, and they walk after; they go just where He went. +Oh dear! I'm sure I don't think He ever went to fairs or theatres or shows. +And I _must_ go; can I be a sheep after all? But then I don't want to +go; I don't like going a bit. As soon as ever I can, I won't go any more. +And the Good Shepherd must know that, if He knows His sheep. And I do want +to follow Him, to walk after Him, and only say and do what the Good +Shepherd would have said and done. I do hope I am a little sheep, though I +do live in a caravan.' + +But the second verse seemed to Rosalie even more beautiful than the first: +'I give unto them eternal life.' + +She knew what _eternal_ meant; it meant for ever and for ever; her +mother had taught her that. And this was the Shepherd's present to His +sheep. Eternal life; they were to live for ever and ever. It was a +wonderful thought; Rosalie's little mind could not quite grasp it, but it +did her good to think of it. It made present troubles and worries seem very +small and insignificant. If she was going to live for ever, and ever, and +ever, what a little bit of that long time would be spent in this sorrowful +world! All the troubles would soon be over. She would not have to live in a +caravan in heaven; she would never be afraid there of doing wrong, or +growing up wicked. Oh, that was a very good thought. The sorrow would not +last always; good times were coming, for Rosalie had received the Good +Shepherd's present, even eternal life. + +'And they shall never perish, neither shall any man pluck them out of My +hand.' + +'After all,' thought Rosalie, 'that is the very sweetest bit of all the +text. If I am one of the sheep, and if I am in the Good Shepherd's hand, no +one can pluck me out of it. What a strong hand He must have to hold all His +sheep so fast!' + +'Oh, Good Shepherd,' prayed Rosalie again, 'hold me fast; don't let any one +pluck me out of Thy hand, not father, not the new mother, nor any of the +people here. Please hold me very tight; I am so afraid. I'm only a little +sheep, and I have no one to help me, so please hold me tighter than the +rest. Amen.' + +Oh, how this prayer lightened little Rosalie's heart! She rose from her +knees comforted. Safe in the Good Shepherd's hand, who or what could harm +her? + +It was well she had been thus strengthened and comforted, for a few minutes +afterwards she heard her father's voice calling her, and, going downstairs, +she found him sitting in the parlour with the lady of the house. + +'Rosalie,' said her father, with a theatrical bow, 'allow me to introduce +you to your lady mother!' + +He evidently expected her to be very much astonished, but Rosalie tried to +smile, and gave her hand to the lady of the house. And, as she put her +little trembling hand in that of her new mother, it seemed to Rosalie as if +the Good Shepherd tightened the hold of His hand on His little forlorn +lamb. + +Her father, after a few heartless remarks about Rosalie having a mother +again, dismissed her, and she went up again to her attic. + +But the very next day Rosalie saw clearly that Betsey Ann's predictions +were likely to be fulfilled. + +'Rosalie,' said her stepmother, as soon as she came downstairs, 'I intend +that you shall make yourself useful now. I'm not going to have a daughter +of mine idling away her time as you have been doing lately. Fetch some +water and scour the sitting-room floor. And when you've done that, there's +plenty more for you to do! _I_ know how to make girls work!' + +Rosalie thought she could very easily believe that. + +Her father was standing by, and only laughed at what his wife said. + +'It will do her good,' Rosalie heard him say, as she went out of the room; +'she wants a bit of hard work.' + +And a bit of hard work Rosalie certainly had; it was difficult to say +whether she or Betsey Ann had the more to do. Perhaps Rosalie's life was +the harder, for every night she had to go, weary and footsore as she was, +to the theatre, and take her usual part in the play. And when she came home +at night, she was so worn out that she could hardly drag herself up to the +attic to bed. + +But the hard work was not what Rosalie minded most. There was fault-finding +from morning till night, without one single word of praise and +encouragement; there were unkind, cruel words, and even blows to bear. But +what was worse than all these was that the child had to wait upon many of +the rude and noisy and wicked lodgers, and heard and saw much, very much, +that was so bad and unholy, that the very thought of it made her shudder as +she knelt at night to pray in her little attic. + +Would she ever be kept from harm in this dreadful place? Sometimes little +Rosalie felt as if she would sink under it; but the Good Shepherd's hand +was around her, and she was kept safe; no one could pluck her out of that +hand. No evil thing could touch her; the Good Shepherd's little sheep was +perfectly safe in His almighty grasp. + +Rosalie saw very little of her father at this time. He was out nearly all +the afternoon, only coming home in time to go with them to the theatre at +night; and then, when the performance was over, he often did not go home +with his wife and Rosalie, but sent them off in a cab, and went with one of +his friends in another direction. Where they went Rosalie never knew; she +feared it was to one of the gin-palaces, which stood at the corner of +almost every street in that crowded neighbourhood. + +And Rosalie never knew when her father returned home. He had a latch-key, +and let himself in after all in the house were asleep; and Rosalie saw him +no more until dinner-time the next day, when he would come downstairs in a +very bad temper with every one. + +She was often unhappy about him, and would have done anything she could to +make him think about his soul. But it seemed of no use speaking to him; +ever since his wife's death he had appeared quite hardened, as if he had +buried his last convictions of sin in her grave. Augustus Joyce had +resisted the Spirit of God; and that Spirit seemed to strive with him no +longer. The Good Shepherd had longed and yearned to find him; but the +wayward wanderer had refused to hear His voice, he had preferred the far +country and wilderness of sin to the safe folds and the Shepherd's arms. He +had hardened his heart to all that would have made him better, and for the +last time had turned away from the tender mercies of God! + +One night, when Rosalie had gone to bed, with the kitten beside her on the +pillow, and had fallen asleep from very weariness and exhaustion, she was +startled by a hand laid on her shoulder, and Betsey Ann's voice saying-- + +'Rosalie, Rosalie! what can it be?' + +She started up quickly, and saw Betsey Ann standing beside her, looking +very frightened. + +'Rosalie,' she said, 'didn't you hear it?' + +'Hear what?' asked the child. + +'Why, I was fast asleep,' said Betsey Ann, 'and I woke all of a minute, and +I heard the door-bell ring.' + +'Are you sure?' said Rosalie. 'I heard nothing.' + +'No,' said Betsey Ann; 'and missis doesn't seem to have heard; every one's +been asleep a long time; but then, you see, I have to go so fast to open it +when it rings in the day, I expect the sound of it would make me jump up if +I was ever so fast asleep.' + +'Are you quite sure, Betsey Ann?' said Rosalie once more. + +But she had hardly spoken the words before the bell rang again very loudly, +and left no doubt about it. + +'Do you mind coming with me, Rosalie?' said Betsey Ann, as she prepared to +go downstairs. + +'No not at all,' said the child; 'I'm not afraid.' + +So the two girls hastily put on their clothes and went downstairs. Just as +they arrived at the bottom of the steep staircase, the bell rang again, +louder than before, and the lady of the house came on the landing to see +what it was. + +'Please, ma'am,' said Betsey Ann, 'it's the house bell; me and Rosalie are +just going to open the door.' + +'Oh, it's nothing, I should think,' said she; 'it will be some one who has +arrived by the train, and has come to the wrong door.' + +Whilst they were talking, the bell rang again, more violently than before, +and Betsey Ann opened the door. It was a dark night, but she could see a +man standing on the doorstep. + +'Is this Mrs. Joyce's?' he inquired. + +'Yes,' said the girl; 'she lives here.' + +'Then she's wanted,' said the man; 'tell her to be quick and come.' + +'What's the matter?' asked Rosalie. + +'It's an accident,' said the man. 'He's in the hospital, is her husband; +he's been run over by a van. I'll take her there if she'll be quick; I'm a +mate of Joyce's, and I was passing at the time.' + +Rosalie stood as if she had been stunned, unable to speak or move, whilst +Betsey Ann went upstairs to tell her mistress. + +'It's all along of that drink,' said the man, more as if talking to himself +than to Rosalie. 'It's an awful thing is drink. He never saw the van nor +heard it, but rolled right under the wheels. I was passing by, I was, and I +said to myself, "That's Joyce." So I followed him to the infirmary, and +came to tell his wife. Dear me! it's a bad job, it is.' + +In a few minutes Mrs. Augustus Joyce came downstairs dressed to go out. +Rosalie ran up to her and begged to go with her, but she was ordered to go +back to bed, and her stepmother hastened out with the man. + + + +What a long night that seemed to Rosalie! How she longed for morning to +dawn, and lay awake straining her ears for any sound which might tell her +that her stepmother had returned. + +At length, as the grey morning light was stealing into the room, the +door-bell rang again, and Betsey Ann went to open the door for her +mistress. Rosalie felt as if she did not dare to go downstairs to hear what +had happened. + +Presently the slipshod shoes came slowly upstairs, and Betsey Ann came into +the attic. + +'Tell me,' said the child, 'what is it?' + +'He's dead,' said Betsey Ann solemnly; 'he was dead when she got there; he +never knew nothing after the wheels went over him. Isn't it awful, though?' + +Little Rosalie could not speak and could not cry; she sat quite still and +motionless. + +What of her father's soul? That was the thought uppermost in her mind. Oh, +where was he now? Was his soul safe? Could she have any hope, even the +faintest, that he was with her mother in the bright home above? + +It was a terrible end to Augustus Joyce's ungodly and sinful life. Cut off +in the midst of his sins, with no time for repentance, no time to take his +heavy load of guilt to the Saviour, whose love he had scorned and rejected. +Oh, how often had he been called and invited by the Good Shepherd's voice +of love! but he would not hearken, and now it was too late. + + + +CHAPTER XVII + +ALONE IN THE WORLD + +It was the day after her father's funeral. Rosalie was busily engaged +sweeping the high staircase, when her stepmother came out of the dingy +parlour, and called to the child to come down. + +As soon as Rosalie entered the room, Mrs. Joyce told her to shut the door, +and then asked her in a sharp voice how long she intended to stop in her +house. + +'I don't know, ma'am,' said Rosalie timidly. + +'Then you ought to know,' returned Mrs. Joyce. 'I suppose you don't expect +me to keep you, and do for you? You're nothing to me, you know.' + +'No,' said Rosalie; 'I know I'm not.' + +'So I thought I'd better tell you at once,' she said,'that you might know +what to expect. I'm going to speak to the workhouse about you--that's the +best place for you now; they'll make you like hard work, and get a good +place for you, like Betsey Ann.' + +'Oh no!' said Rosalie quickly; 'no, I don't want to go there.' + +'Don't want?' repeated Mrs. Joyce; 'I daresay you don't want; but beggars +can't be choosers, you know. If you'd been a nice, smart, strong girl, I +might have kept you instead of Betsey Ann; but a little puny thing like you +wouldn't be worth her salt. No, no, miss; your fine days are over; to the +house you'll go, sure as I'm alive.' + +'Please, ma'am,' began Rosalie, 'my mother, I think, had some relations'-- + +'Rubbish, child!' said her stepmother, interrupting her. 'I never heard of +your mother having any relations; I don't believe she had any, or if she +had, they're not likely to have anything to say to you. No, no; the +workhouse is the place for you, and I shall take care you go to it before +you're a day older. Be off now, and finish the stairs.' + +'Betsey Ann,' said Rosalie, as they went upstairs together that night, long +after every one else in that large house was fast asleep--'Betsey Ann, dear +Betsey Ann, I'm going away!' + +'La, bless me!' said Betsey Ann; 'what do you say?' + +'I'm going away to-morrow, dear!' whispered Rosalie; 'so come into my +attic, and I'll tell you all about it.' + +The two girls sat down on the bed, and Rosalie told Betsey Ann what her +stepmother had said to her, and how she could not make up her mind to go +into the workhouse, but had settled to leave the lodging-house before +breakfast the next morning, and never to come back any more. + +'But, Rosalie,' said Betsey Ann, 'whatever will you do? + +You can't live on air, child; you'll die if you go away like that!' + +'Look here,' said Rosalie, in a very low whisper, 'I can trust you, Betsey +Ann, and I'll show you something.' + +She put her hand in her bosom, and brought out a little parcel, and when +she had opened it she handed the locket to Betsey Ann. + +'La, how beautiful!' said the girl; 'I never saw it before.' + +'No,' said Rosalie. 'I promised my mammie I would never lose it; and I've +been so afraid lest some one should see it, and take it from me.' + +'Whoever is this pretty little lady, Rosalie?' + +'She's my mammie's sister. Oh, such a good, kind lady! That is her picture +when she was quite young: she is married now, and has a little girl of her +own. So now I'll tell you all about it,' said Rosalie. 'Just before my +mammie died, she gave me that locket, and she said, if ever I had an +opportunity, I was to go to my Aunt Lucy. She wrote a letter for me to take +with me, to say who I am, and to ask my Aunt Lucy to be kind to me. + +'Here's the letter,' said the child, taking it out of the parcel; 'that's +my mammie's writing. + + "MRS. LESLIE, Melton Parsonage." + +Didn't she write beautifully?' + +'Well, but Rosalie,' said Betsey Ann, 'what do you mean to do?' + +'I mean to go to my Aunt Lucy, dear, and give her the letter.' + +'She'll never let you go, Rosalie; it's no use trying. She said you should +go to the workhouse, and she'll keep her word!' + +'Yes, I know she'll never give me leave,' said Rosalie; 'so I'm going +to-morrow morning before breakfast. She doesn't get up till eleven, and I +shall be far away then.' + +'But, Rosalie, do you know your way?' + +'No,' said the child wearily; 'I shall have to ask, I suppose. How far is +Pendleton from here, Betsey Ann? Do you know?' + +'Yes,' said Betsey Ann; 'there was a woman in the workhouse came from +there. She often told us of how she walked the distance on a cold, snowy +day; it's fourteen or fifteen miles, I think.' + +'Well, that's the town,' said Rosalie, 'where the old man gave me my +picture; and it was the first village we passed through after that where my +Aunt Lucy lived. Melton must be about five miles farther than Pendleton.' + +'Oh, Rosalie,' said Betsey Ann, 'that's near upon twenty miles! You'll +never be able to walk all that way!' + +'Oh yes,' said the child; 'I must try; because if once I get there--oh, +Betsey Ann, just think--if once I get there, to my own dear Aunt Lucy!' + +But Betsey Ann buried her face in her hands and began to sob. + +'La, bless you, it's all right!' she said, as Rosalie tried to comfort her; +'you'll be happy there, and it will be all right. But, oh dear me! to think +I've got to stay here without you!' + +'Poor Betsey Ann!' said the child, as she laid her little hand on the +girl's rough hair; 'what can I do?' + +'Oh, I know it's all right, Rosalie; it's better than seeing you go to the +workhouse; but I didn't think it would come so soon. Can't you tell the +Good Shepherd, Rosalie, and ask Him to look after me a bit, when you're +gone?' + +'Yes, dear,' said the child; 'let us tell Him now.' + +So they knelt down, hand in hand, on the attic floor, and Rosalie prayed-- + +'Oh, Good Shepherd, I am going away; please take care of Betsey Ann, and +comfort her, and help her to do right, and never let her feel lonely or +unhappy. And please take care of me, and bring me safe to my Aunt Lucy. And +if Betsey Ann and I never meet again in this world, please may we meet in +heaven. Amen.' + +Then they rose from their knees comforted, and began to make preparations +for Rosalie's departure. + +She would take very little with her, for she had so far to walk that she +could not carry much. She filled a very small bag with the things that she +needed most; and wrapped her little Testament up, and put it in the centre, +with the small pair of blue shoes which had belonged to her little brother. +Her picture, too, was not forgotten, nor the card with the hymn upon it. +When all was ready, they went to bed, but neither of them could sleep much +that night. + +As soon as it was light, Rosalie prepared to start. She wrapped herself in +her mother's warm shawl, for it was a raw, chilly morning, and took her +little bag in her hand. Then she went into Betsey Ann's attic to say +good-bye. + +'What am I to tell the missis, when she asks where you've gone?' said the +girl. + +'You can say, dear, that I've gone to my mother's relations, and am not +coming back any more. She won't ask any more, if you say that; she'll only +be too glad to get rid of me. But I'd rather she didn't know where my Aunt +Lucy lives; so don't say anything about it, please, Betsey Ann, unless +you're obliged.' + +The girl promised, and then with many tears they took leave of each other. + +Just as Rosalie was starting, and Betsey Ann was opening the door for her, +she caught sight of something very black and soft under the child's large +shawl. + +'La, bless me!' she cried; 'what's that?' + +'It's only the poor little kit,' said Rosalie; 'I couldn't leave her +behind. She took a piece of fish the other day, and the mistress was so +angry, and is going to give her poison. She said last night she would +poison my kit to-day. She called out after me as I went out of the room, +"Two pieces of rubbish got rid of in one day. To-morrow _you_ shall go +to the workhouse, and that wretched little thief of a kitten shall be +poisoned." And then she laughed, Betsey Ann. So I couldn't leave my dear +little kit behind, could I?' and Rosalie stroked its black fur very +lovingly as she spoke. + +'But how will you ever carry it, Rosalie? It won't be good all that way, +rolled up like that.' + +'Oh, I shall manage, dear. It will walk a bit when we get in the country; +it follows me just like a dog.' + +'And what are you going to eat on the way, Rosalie? Let me fetch you a bit +of something out of the pantry.' + +'Oh no, dear!' said Rosalie decidedly; 'I won't take anything, because it +isn't mine. But I have a piece of bread that I saved from breakfast, and I +have twopence which my father gave me once, so I shall manage till I get +there.' + +So Rosalie went out into the great world alone, and Betsey Ann stood at the +door to watch her go down the street. Over and over again did Rosalie come +back to say good-bye, over and over again did she turn round to kiss her +hand to the poor little servant-girl, who was watching her down the street. +And then when she turned the corner, and could no longer see Betsey Ann's +friendly face, Rosalie felt really alone. The streets looked very wide and +dismal then, and Rosalie felt that she was only a little girl, and had no +one to take care of her. And then she looked up to the blue sky, and asked +the Good Shepherd to help her, and to bring her safely to her journey's +end. + +It was about six o'clock when Rosalie started, the men were going to their +work, and were hurrying quickly past her. Rosalie did not like to stop any +of them to ask them the way, they seemed too busy to have time to speak to +her. She ventured timidly to put the question to a boy of fifteen, who was +sauntering along, whistling, with his hands in his pockets; but he only +laughed, and asked her why she wanted to know. So Rosalie walked on, very +much afraid that after all she might be walking in the wrong direction. She +next asked some children on a doorstep; but they were frightened at being +spoken to, and ran indoors. + +Then Rosalie went up to an old woman who was opening her shutters, and +asked her if she would be so very good as to tell her the way to Pendleton. + +'What, my dear?' said the old woman. 'Speak up. I'm deaf.' + +But though Rosalie stood on tiptoe to reach up to her ear, and shouted +again and again, she could not make the old woman hear, and at last had to +give it up, and go on her way. She was feeling very lonely now, poor child, +not knowing which way to turn, or to whom to go for help. True, there wore +many people in the street, but they were walking quickly along, and Rosalie +was discouraged by her unsuccessful attempts, and afraid to stop them. She +had come some way from the street in which she had lived with her +stepmother, and had never been in this part of the town before. She was +feeling very faint and hungry, from having come so far before breakfast; +but she did not like to eat her one piece of bread, for she would need it +so much more later in the day. But she broke off a small piece and gave it +to the poor hungry little kit, which was mewing under her shawl. + +'Oh,' thought Rosalie, 'if I only had some one to help me just now-some one +to show me where to go, and what to do!' + +There was a story which the child had read in her little Testament, which +came suddenly into her mind just then. It was a story of the Good Shepherd +when He was on earth. The story told how He sent two of His disciples into +the city of Jerusalem to find a place for Him and them, where they might +eat the Passover. The two men did not know to which house to go; they did +not know who, in the great city of Jerusalem, would be willing to give a +room. But Jesus told them that as soon as they came inside the city gate +they would see a man walking before them. He told them the man would be +carrying a pitcher of water; and that when they saw this man, they were to +follow him, and go down just the same streets as he did. He told them that +by and by the man would stop in front of a house, and go into the house, +and then, when they saw him go in, they were to know that that was the +right house, the house in which they were to eat the Passover. + +Rosalie remembered this story now, as she stood at the corner of a street, +not knowing which way to turn. How she wished that a man with a pitcher of +water would appear and walk in front of her, that she might know which way +to go! But though she looked up and down the street, she saw no one at all +like the man in the story. There were plenty of men, but none of them had +pitchers, nor did they seem at all likely to guide her into the right way. + +But the Good Shepherd was the same, Rosalie thought, as kind now as He was +then, so she spoke to Him in her heart, in a very earnest little prayer. + +'Oh, Good Shepherd, please send me a man with a pitcher of water to show me +the way, for I am very unhappy, and I don't know what to do. Amen.' + + + +CHAPTER XVIII + +THE LITTLE PITCHER + +Rosalie had shut her eyes as she said her little prayer; and when she +opened them she saw before her a little girl about five years old, in a +very clean print frock and white pinafore, with a pitcher in her hand. +Rosalie almost felt as if she had fallen from heaven. She was not a man, to +be sure, and the pitcher was filled full of milk, and not water; yet it +seemed very strange that she should come up just then. + +The little girl was gazing up into Rosalie's face, and wondering why she +was shutting her eyes. As soon as Rosalie opened them, she said-- + +'Please, will you open our shop-door for me? I'm afraid of spilling the +milk.' + +Rosalie turned round, and behind where she was standing was a very small +shop. In the window were children's slates and slate-pencils, with coloured +paper twisted round them, and a few wooden tops, and balls of string, and +little boxes of ninepins, and a basket full of marbles, and pink and blue +shuttlecocks. It was a very quiet little shop indeed, and it looked as if +very few customers ever entered it. The slate-pencils and battledores and +marbles looked as if they had stood in exactly the same places long before +the little girl was born. + +Rosalie lifted the latch and opened the door of the little shop for the +child to go in. And the little pitcher went in before her. + +Rosalie felt sure she must follow it, and that here she would find some one +to tell her the way. + +'Popsey,' said a voice from the next room--'little Popsey, is that you?' + +'Yes, grannie,' said the child; 'and I've not spilt a drop--not one single +drop, grannie.' + +'What a good, clever little Popsey!' said grannie, coming out of the back +parlour to take the milk from the child's hands. + +'Please, ma'am,' said Rosalie, seizing the opportunity, 'would you be so +very kind as to tell me the way to Pendleton?' + +'Yes, to be sure,' said the old woman. 'You're not far wrong here; take the +first turn to the right, and you'll find yourself on the Pendleton road.' + +'Oh, thank you very much,' said Rosalie. 'Is it a very long way to +Pendleton, please, ma'am?' + +'Ay, my dear,' said the old woman; 'it's a good long step--Popsey, take the +milk in to grandfather, he's waiting breakfast--it's a good long way to +Pendleton, my dear, maybe fourteen or fifteen miles.' + +'Oh dear! that sounds a very long way!' said Rosalie. + +'Who wants to go there, my dear?' asked the old woman. + +'I want to go,' said Rosalie sorrowfully. + +'You want to go, child? Why, who are you going with? and how are you going? +You're surely not going to walk?' + +'Yes, I am,' said Rosalie. 'Thank you, ma'am; I must walk as fast as I +can.' + +'Why, you don't look fit to go, I'm sure!' said the old woman; 'such a poor +little weakly thing as you look! Whatever is your mother about, to let you +go?' + +'I haven't got a mother!' said Rosalie, bursting into tears; 'she's dead, +is my mother. I haven't got a mother any more.' + +'Don't cry, my poor lamb!' said the old woman, wiping her eyes with her +apron. 'Popsey hasn't got a mother neither--her mother's dead; she lives +with us, does Popsey. Maybe your grandmother lives in Pendleton; does she?' + +'No,' said Rosalie; 'I'm going to my mother's sister, who lives in a +village near Pendleton. I was to have gone to the workhouse to-day, but I +think perhaps she'll take care of me, if I only can get there.' + +'Poor lamb!' said the old woman; 'what a way you have to go! Have you had +your breakfast yet? You look fit to faint.' + +'No,' said Rosalie; 'I have a piece of bread in my bag, but I was keeping +it till I got out of the town.' + +'Jonathan,' called out the old woman, 'come here.' + +Rosalie could hear a chair being pushed from the table on the stone floor +in the kitchen, and the next moment a little old man came into the shop, +with spectacles on his nose, a blue handkerchief tied round his neck, and a +black velvet waistcoat. + +'Look ye here, Jonathan,' said his wife, 'did you ever hear the like? +Here's this poor lamb going to walk all the way to Pendleton, and never had +a bite of nothing all this blessed day! What do you say to that, Jonathan?' + +'I say,' said the old man, 'that breakfast's all ready, and the coffee will +be cold.' + +'Yes; so do I, Jonathan,' said the old woman; 'so come along, child, and +have a sup before you start.' + +The next minute found Rosalie seated by the round table in the little back +kitchen, with a cup of steaming coffee and a slice of hot cake before her. +Such a cosy little kitchen it was, with a bright fire burning in the grate, +and another hot cake standing on the top of the oven, to be kept hot until +it was wanted. The fireirons shone like silver, and everything in the room +was as neat and clean and bright as it was possible for them to be. + +Popsey was sitting on a high chair between the old man and woman, and the +pitcher of milk was just in front of her; she had been pouring some of it +into her grandfather's coffee. + +The old man was very attentive to Rosalie, and wanted her to eat of +everything on the table. He had heard what she had told the old woman in +the shop, for the kitchen was so near that every word could be heard +distinctly. + +But before Rosalie would eat a morsel herself, she said, looking up in the +old woman's face, 'Please, ma'am, may my little kit have something to eat? +it's so very, very hungry.' + +'Your little kit?' exclaimed the old woman. 'Why, what do you mean, child? +Where is it?' + +But the kitten answered this question by peeping out from the child's +shawl. They were all very much astonished to see it; but when Rosalie told +its story, and the old woman heard that it was motherless, like Popsey, it +received a warm welcome. The pitcher of milk was emptied for the hungry +kitten, and when its breakfast was over, it sat purring in front of the +bright fire. + +It was a very cosy little party, and they all enjoyed themselves very much. +Rosalie thought she had never tasted such good cakes, nor drunk such +delicious coffee. Popsey was delighted with the kitten, and wanted to give +all her breakfast to it. + +When breakfast was over, Popsey got down from her high chair and went to a +chest of drawers, which stood in a corner near the fireplace. It was a very +old-fashioned chest of drawers, and on the top of it were arranged some +equally old-fashioned books. In the middle of these was a large well-worn +family Bible. + +Popsey put a chair against the chest of drawers, and, standing on tiptoe on +it, brought down the Bible from its place. It was almost as much as she +could lift, but she put both her arms round it, and carried it to her +grandfather. The old man cleared a space for it on the table, and laid it +before him. Then, looking up at the old woman, he said-- + +'Are you ready, grandmother?' + +To which the old woman answered, 'Yes, Jonathan, quite ready;' and pushed +her chair a little way from the table, and folded her arms. Rosalie +followed her example and did the same. Popsey had seated herself on a +wooden stool at her grandfather's feet. + +Then there was a pause, in which the old man took an extra pair of +spectacles from a leathern case, fixed them on his nose, and turned over +the leaves of his Bible. And then, when he had found his place, he began to +read a psalm. The psalm might have been chosen on purpose for Rosalie; she +almost started when the old man began-- + +'The Lord is my shepherd: I shall not want.' + +That was the first verse of the psalm; and it went on to tell how the +Shepherd leads His sheep into green pastures, and makes them to lie down +beside still waters; and how the sheep need fear no evil, for He is with +them; His rod and His staff they comfort them. + +Then, when he had finished reading, the old man offered up a very suitable +little prayer, in which Rosalie and Popsey were both named, and committed +to the Shepherd's care. + +And then, when they rose from their knees, Rosalie felt it was high time +she should go on her journey. But the old woman would not hear of her going +till she had wrapped up all that was left of the cake in a little parcel, +and slipped it into the child's bag. After this, they all three--the old +man, the old woman, and Popsey--went to the door to see Rosalie start. + +Popsey could hardly tear herself from the kitten, and the old woman could +not make up her mind to stop kissing Rosalie. But at length the good-byes +were over, and the child set off once more on her travels, feeling warmed +and comforted and strengthened. + +It was about eight o'clock now, so there was no time to lose. She easily +found the Pendleton road, and the old man had directed her when she found +it to go straight on, turning neither to the right hand nor to the left, +till she reached Pendleton itself. She would pass through several villages, +he said, but she was not to turn aside in any direction. So Rosalie had no +further anxiety about the way she was to go. All she had to do was to walk +along as quickly as possible. + +The first part of the road lay through the outskirts of the town; on either +side of the way were rows of red-brick houses and small shops, and every +now and then a patch of field or garden. + +By degrees the houses and shops became fewer, and the patches of field and +garden became more numerous. + +And then, after a time, the houses disappeared altogether, and there was +nothing on both sides of the road but fields and gardens. + +The sun was shining now, and the hedges were covered with wild roses. Over +Rosalie's head there was a lark singing in mid-air, and by the side of the +path grew the small pink flowers of the wild convolvulus. Rosalie could not +help stopping to gather some sprays of this, and to twist them round her +hat. It was so many months since she had seen any flowers; and they brought +the old days back to her, when Toby used to put her down from the caravan, +that she might gather the flowers for her mother. + +For the first few miles Rosalie enjoyed her walk very much, everything was +so bright and pleasant. Every now and then she put the kitten on the +ground, and it ran by her side. + +Then the child sat on a bank and ate the cake which Popsey's grandmother +had given her. And the little black kit had Benjamin's share of the little +entertainment. + +But as the day went on the poor little kit became tired, and would walk no +more; and Rosalie grew tired also. Her feet went very slowly now, and she +felt afraid that night would come on long before she reached Pendleton. +Then the sun was hidden by clouds, and wind began to sweep through the +trees, and blew against the child, so that she could hardly make any way +against it. + +And then came the rain, only a few drops at first, then quicker and +quicker, till Rosalie's shawl became wet through, and her clothes clung +heavily to her ankles. Still on she walked, very heavily and wearily, and +the rain poured on, and the kitten shivered under the shawl. Rosalie did +her very best to keep it warm, and every now and then she stroked its wet +fur, and spoke a word of comfort to it. + +How wearily the child's little feet pressed on, as she struggled against +the cold and piercing wind! + +How would she ever reach the town? How would she ever hold on till she +arrived at her Aunt Lucy's? + + + +CHAPTER XIX + +SKIRRYWINKS + +Rosalie was almost in despair, almost ready to give up and sit down by the +roadside, when she heard a sound behind her. It was the rumbling sound of +wheels, and in another minute Rosalie saw coming up to her two large +caravans, so [Illustration: A REST BY THE WAYSIDE.] + +[Blank Page] like the caravan in which she used to travel with her mother, +that the child felt as if she were dreaming as she looked at them. + +The caravans were painted a brilliant yellow, just as her father's caravans +used to be; and there were muslin curtains and pink bows in the little +windows, just like those through which she had so often peeped. + +When the caravans came up to Rosalie, she saw a woman standing at the door +of the first one, and talking to the man who was driving. + +The woman caught sight of the child as soon as they overtook her. + +'Halloa!' she called out; 'where are you off to?' + +'Please,' said Rosalie, 'I'm going to Pendleton, if only I can get there.' + +'Give her a lift, John Thomas,' said the woman; 'give the child a lift. +It's an awful day to be struggling along against wind and storm.' + +'All right,' said John Thomas, pulling up; 'I've no objections, if the lass +likes to get in.' + +Rosalie was very grateful indeed for this offer, and climbed at once into +the caravan. + +The woman opened the door for her, and took off her wet shawl as she went +in. + +'Why, you've got a kitten there!' she said as she did so. 'Wherever are you +taking it to? it's half drowned with the rain.' + +'Yes, poor little kit!' said Rosalie; 'I must try to dry it, it is so +cold!' + +'Well, I'll make a place for both of you near the fire,' said the woman, +'if only my children will get out of the way.' + +Rosalie looked in vain for any children in the caravan; but the woman +pointed to a large black dog, a pigeon, and a kitten, which were sitting +together on the floor. + +'Come, Skirrywinks,' said the woman, addressing herself to the kitten; +'come to me.' + +As soon as she said 'Skirrywinks,' the kitten, which had appeared to be +asleep before, lifted up its head and jumped on her knee. The great black +dog was ordered to the other end of the caravan, and the pigeon perched +upon the dog's head. + +Then the woman gave Rosalie a seat near the little stove, and the child +warmed her hands and dried and comforted her poor little kitten. No words +can tell how thankful she was for this help on her way. She felt sure that +John Thomas must be a man with a pitcher of water, sent to help her on her +journey. + +For some time the woman leant out of the caravan, continuing her +conversation with her husband, and Rosalie was able to look about her. The +inside of the caravan was very like that in which she had been born, and +had lived so many years. There was a little cooking-stove, just like that +which her mother had used; and in the corner was a large cupboard, filled +with cups and saucers and plates, just like the one which Rosalie herself +had arranged so often. But what struck her more than anything else was that +on the side of the caravan was nailed up her picture, the picture of the +Good Shepherd and the sheep. + +It was exactly the same picture, and the same text was underneath it-- + +'Rejoice with Me; for I have found My sheep which was lost.' 'There is joy +in the presence of the angels of God over one sinner that repenteth.' + +Rosalie could not help feeling in her bag to be sure that her own picture +was safe, so precisely did the picture on the wall resemble it. + +The picture seemed to have hung there for some time, for it was very smoky +and discoloured, but still it looked very beautiful, Rosalie thought; and +her eyes filled with tears as she gazed at it. Oh, how it brought her +mother's dream to her mind, and carried her thoughts away from the caravan +to the home above, where even now, perhaps, her mother was being called by +the Good Shepherd to rejoice with Him over some sheep which was lost, but +which the Good Shepherd had found again. + +When the woman put her head into the caravan she began to talk to Rosalie, +to ask her where she had come from, and where she was going, and what she +was going to do. She seemed a friendly woman, though she spoke in a rough +voice. All the time she was talking, Skirrywinks was sitting on her +shoulder and the pigeon on her head. Rosalie's kitten seemed afraid of the +large black dog, and crept into the child's arms. + +When they had chatted together for some time, Rosalie ventured to mention +the picture, saying that it seemed so strange to see it here, for that she +had one exactly like it. + +'Oh, have you?' said the woman. 'That's Jinx's picture. An old man gave it +to him just a year ago, it will be; it was at Pendleton fair.' + +'Why, that's where I got mine!' said Rosalie. 'It must be the same old +man.' + +'I should say it was,' said the woman; 'he came to the caravans on a Sunday +afternoon.' + +'Oh yes; it's the same old man,' said Rosalie. 'I have my picture here, in +my bag. I wouldn't ever part with it.' + +'Wouldn't you?' said the woman. 'Well, I don't believe Jinx would. He +nailed it up that very Sunday, and there it's been ever since.' + +'Who's Jinx?' asked Rosalie. + +'He's our boy; at least he lives with us. Me and John Thomas haven't got +any children of our own, so we keeps a few. There's Jinx, he's chief of +them; and then there's Skirrywinks, and Tozer, and Spanco, and then there's +Jeremiah--you haven't seen Jeremiah; he's in bed--you'll see him when Jinx +comes.' + +'Where is Jinx?' asked Rosalie, almost expecting he would turn out to be +some kind of animal which was hidden away in a corner of the caravan. + +'Oh, he's in the next van, with Lord Fatimore,' said the woman; 'he'll be +here soon, when it's time for these young people to be fed and trained. +He's very clever, is Jinx; you never saw any one so clever in all your +life. I'll be bound he can make 'em do anything. We might just as well shut +up, if we hadn't Jinx; it's a deal more popular than Lord Fatimore +is--folks say they never saw such a sight as when Jeremiah and Skirrywinks +dance the polka together; and it's all Jinx that has taught them.' + +In about half an hour the caravans were stopped, and the wonderful Jinx +arrived. He was very short, not taller than Rosalie; he was so humpbacked, +that he seemed to have no neck at all; and he had a very old and wizened +and careworn face. It was hard to tell whether he was a man or a boy, he +was so small in stature, and yet so sunken and shrivelled in appearance. + +'Jinx,' said the woman as he entered, 'here's a young lady come to your +performance.' + +'Most happy, miss,' said Jinx, with a bow. + +The moment that he came into the caravan, Skirrywinks and the dog sat on +their hind legs, and the pigeon alighted on his head. As soon as he spoke, +Rosalie heard a noise in a basket behind her as of something struggling to +get out. + +'I hear you, Jeremiah,' said Jinx; 'you shall come, you shall.' + +He took the basket, and put his hand inside. + +'Now, Jeremiah,' he said--'now, Jeremiah, if I can find you, Jeremiah, come +out, and show the company how you put on your new coat.' + +Out of the basket he brought a hare, which was wonderfully tame, and +allowed itself to be arrayed in a scarlet jacket. + +And then Jinx made all the animals go through their several performances, +after which each received his proper share of the mid-day meal. But +Skirrywinks seemed to be Jinx's favourite; long after the others were +dismissed she sat on his shoulders, watching his every movement. + +'Well, what do you think of them?' he said, turning to Rosalie when he had +finished. + +'They're very clever,' said the child--'very clever indeed!' + +'That kit of yours couldn't do as much,' said Jinx, looking scornfully at +the kitten which lay in Rosalie's lap. + +'No,' said the child; 'but she's a very dear little kit, though she doesn't +jump through rings nor dance polkas.' + +'Well, tastes differ,' said Jinx; 'I prefer Skirrywinks.' + +'You've got a picture like mine,' said Rosalie, after a time, when she saw +that Jinx seemed inclined to talk. + +'Yes,' he said; 'have you one like it? I got it at Pendleton fair.' + +'And so did I,' said Rosalie; the same old man gave one to me. + +'Has He found _you_, Mr. Jinx?' said Rosalie, in a lower voice. + +'Who found me? what do you mean?' said Jinx, with a laugh. + +'Why, haven't you read the story about the picture?' said the child. 'It +says where it is underneath.' + +'No, not I,' said Jinx, laughing again; 'thinks I, when the old man gave it +to me, it's a pretty picture, and I'll stick it on the wall; but I've never +troubled my head any more about it.' + +'Oh, my mother and I--we read it nearly every day,' said Rosalie; 'it's +such a beautiful story!' + +'Is it?' said Jinx. 'I should like to hear it; tell it to me; it will pass +the time as we go along.' + +'I can read it, if you like,' said Rosalie. 'I have it here in a book.' + +'All right! read on,' said Jinx graciously. + +Rosalie took her Testament from her bag; but before she began to read, Jinx +called out to the woman, who was leaning out of the caravan talking to her +husband. + +'Old mother,' he called out, 'come and hear the little 'un read; she's +going to give us the history of that there picture of mine. You know +nothing about it, I'll be bound.' + +But Jinx was wrong, for when Rosalie had finished reading, the woman +said,'That will be the Bible you read out of. I've read that often when I +was a girl. I went to a good Sunday school then.' + +'And don't you ever read it now?' said Rosalie. + +'Oh, I'm not so bad as you think,' said the woman, not answering her +question; 'I think of all those things at times. I'm a decent woman in my +way. I know the Bible well enough, and there's a many a deal worse than I +am!' + +'If you would like,' said Rosalie timidly, 'I'll find it for you in your +Bible, and then you can read it again, as you used to do when you were a +girl.' + +The woman hesitated when Rosalie said this. + +'Well, to tell you the truth, I haven't got my Bible here,' she said. 'My +husband sent all the things we wasn't wanting at the time to his relations +in Scotland; and somehow the Bible got packed up in the hamper. It will be +a year since now. I was very vexed about it at the time.' + +'Has the Good Shepherd found you, ma'am?' asked the child. + +'Oh, I don't know, child; I don't want much finding. I'm not so bad as all +that; I'm a very decent woman, I am. John Thomas will tell you that.' + +'Then, I suppose,' said Rosalie, looking very puzzled, 'you must be one of +the ninety-and-nine.' + +'What do you mean, child?' asked she. + +'I mean, one of the ninety-and-nine sheep which don't need any repentance, +because they were never lost; and the Good Shepherd never found them, nor +carried them home, nor said of them, "Rejoice with Me; for I have found My +sheep which was lost."' + +'Well,'said Jinx, looking at Rosalie with a half-amused face, if the old +mother's one of the ninety-and-nine, what am I?' + +'I don't know,' said Rosalie gravely; 'you must know better than I do, Mr +Jinx.' + +'Well, how is one to know?' he answered. 'If I'm not one of the +ninety-and-nine, what am I, then?' + +'Do you really want to know?' said the child gravely; 'because if not, we +won't talk about it, please.' + +'Yes,' said Jinx, in quite a different tone; 'I really do want to know +about it.' + +'My mother said one day,' said Rosalie, 'that she thought there were only +three kinds of sheep in the parable. There are the ninety-and-nine sheep +who were never lost, and who need no repentance, because they've never done +anything wrong or said anything wrong, but have always been quite good, and +holy, and pure. That's _one_ kind; my mother said she thought the +ninety-and-nine must be the angels; she didn't think there were any in this +world.' + +'Hear that, old mother?' said Jinx; 'you must be an angel, you see. Well, +little 'un, go on.' + +'And then there are the lost sheep,' said Rosalie, 'full of sin, and far +away from the fold; they don't love the Good Shepherd, and sometimes they +don't even know that they _are lost_. They are very far from the right +way--very far from being perfectly good and holy.' + +'Well,' said Jinx, 'and what's the _third_ kind of sheep?' + +'Oh, that's the sheep which was lost, but is found again!' + +'And what are they like?' asked the lad. + +'They love the Good Shepherd; they listen to His voice, and follow Him, and +never, never want to wander from the fold.' + +'Is that _all_ the kinds?' asked Jinx. + +'Yes,' said Rosalie, 'that's all.' + +'Well,' said Jinx thoughtfully, 'I've made up my mind which I am.' + +'Which, Mr. Jinx?' asked the child. + +'Well,' he said, 'you see I can't be one of the ninety-and-nine, because +I've done lots of bad things in my life. I've got into tempers, and I've +sworn, and I've done heaps of bad things: so _that's_ out of the +question. And I can't be a _found_ sheep, because I don't love the +Good Shepherd--I never think about Him at all; so I suppose I'm a +_lost_ sheep. That's a very bad thing to be, isn't it?' + +'Yes, very bad; if you are always a lost sheep,' said the child; 'but if +you are one of the lost sheep, then _Jesus came to seek you_ and to +_save you_.' + +'Didn't He come to seek and save the old mother?' asked Jinx. + +'Not if she's one of the ninety-and-nine,' said Rosalie. 'It says, "The Son +of Man is come to seek and to save that which was _lost_;" so if she +isn't lost, it doesn't mean her.' + +The woman looked very uncomfortable when Rosalie said this; she did not +like to think that Jesus had not come to save her. + +'Well, and suppose a fellow knows he's one of the lost sheep,' said Jinx, +'what has he got to do?' + +'He must cry out to the Good Shepherd, and tell Him he's lost, and ask the +Good Shepherd to find him.' + +'Well, but first of all, I suppose,' said Jinx, 'he must make himself a +_bit ready_ to go to the Good Shepherd--leave off a few of his bad +ways, and make himself decent a bit?' + +'Oh no!' said Rosalie; 'he'd never get back to the fold that way. First of +all, he must tell the Shepherd he's lost; and then the Shepherd, who has +been seeking him a long, long time, will find him at once, and carry him on +His shoulders home; and then the Good Shepherd will help him to do all the +rest.' + +'Well, I'll think about what you've said,' Jinx replied. 'Thank you, little +'un.' + +John Thomas here pulled up, saying it was two o'clock, and time they had +dinner. So the caravans were drawn up by the roadside, and the woman took +the dinner from the oven, and Jinx was sent to the next caravan with Lord +Fatimore's dinner, and Rosalie, offering to help, was sent after him with +the same gentleman's pipe and tobacco. + +She found Lord Fatimore sitting in state in his own caravan. He was an +immensely fat man, or rather an enormously overgrown boy, very swollen, and +imbecile in appearance. He was lounging in an easy chair, looking the +picture of indolence. He brightened up a little as he saw his dinner +arriving--it was the great event of his day. + +When Rosalie returned to the caravan, the woman was alone, stroking +Skirrywinks, who was lying on her knee, but looking as if her thoughts were +far away. + +'Child,' she said to Rosalie, 'I'm not one of the ninety and-nine; I +_do_ need repentance; I'm one of the lost sheep.' + +'I'm so glad,' said Rosalie; 'because then the Good Shepherd is seeking +you: won't you ask Him to find you?' + +But before she could answer John Thomas and Jinx came in for their dinner, +and they all insisted on Rosalie joining them. + +After dinner John Thomas sat in the caravan and smoked, and Jinx drove, and +Rosalie sat still thinking. But she was so tired and worn out, that after a +little time the picture on the wall, John Thomas, the woman, Skirrywinks, +Tozer, and Spanco faded from her sight, and she fell fast asleep. + + + +CHAPTER XX + +MOTHER MANIKIN'S CHAIRS + +When Rosalie awoke it was almost dark. The woman was lighting the little +oil-lamp, and filling the kettle from a large can of water, which stood in +the corner of the caravan. + +'Where are we?' said the child, in a sleepy voice. + +'Close upon Pendleton, little 'un,' answered Jinx. 'Get up and see the +lights in the distance.' + +'Oh dear, and it's nearly dark!' said Rosalie. + +'Never mind, my dear; we're just there,' said John Thomas. He did not know +that she had five more miles to walk. + +So the wheels of the caravan rumbled on, and in about a quarter of an hour +they came into the streets of the town. It was quite dark now, and the +lamps were all lighted, and the men were going home from work. + +Then they arrived at the field where the fair was held; the very field +where the old man had given Rosalie the picture. Not many caravans had +arrived, for John Thomas had come in good time. + +And now Rosalie must leave her kind friends, which she did with many +grateful thanks. But before she said goodbye, she whispered a few words in +the woman's ear. + +To which she made answer, 'Yes, child; this very night I will;' and gave +Rosalie a warm, loving kiss on her forehead. + +Then the little girl went down the caravan steps, and turned into the +neighbouring street. The Good Shepherd who had helped her so wonderfully as +far as this would never leave her now. This was her one comfort. Yet she +could not help feeling very lonely as she went down the street, and peeped +in at the windows as she passed by. In nearly every house a bright fire was +burning, and tea was ready on the table; in some, a happy family party was +just sitting down to their evening meal; in all, there was an air of +comfort and rest. + +And Rosalie, little motherless Rosalie, was out in the cold, muddy, damp +street alone, out in the darkness and the rain, and five miles from her +Aunt Lucy's house! How could she ever walk so far, that cold, dark night? +She trembled as she thought of going alone down those lonely country roads, +without a light, without a friend to take care of her. And yet she would be +still more afraid to wander about the streets of this great town, where she +was sure there was so much wickedness and sin. + +Even now there were very few people passing down the street, and Rosalie +began to feel very much afraid of being out alone. She must find some one +at once to show her the way to Melton. + +The child was passing a small neat row of houses built close upon the +street. Most of them were shut up for the night, but through the cracks of +the shutters Rosalie could see the bright light within. + +But the last house in the row was not yet shut up, and as Rosalie came near +to it, she saw a childish figure come out of the door and go up to the +shutters to close them. The fasteners of the shutters had caught in the +hook on the wall, and the little thing was too short to unloose it. She was +standing on tiptoe, trying to undo it, when Rosalie came up. + +'Let me help you,' she said, running up and unfastening the shutter. + +'I'm extremely obliged to you,' said a voice behind her which made Rosalie +start. + +It was no child's voice; it was a voice she knew well, a voice she had +often longed to hear. It was little Mother Manikin's voice! + +With one glad cry of joy, Rosalie flung herself into the little woman's +arms. + +Mother Manikin drew back at first; it was dark, and she could not see +Rosalie's face. + +But when the child said, in a tone of distress, 'Mother Manikin, dear +Mother Manikin, don't you know me? I'm little Rosalie Joyce,' the dear +little old woman was full of love and sympathy in a moment. + +She dragged Rosalie indoors into a warm little kitchen at the back of the +house, where the table was spread for tea, and a kettle was singing +cheerily on the fire; and she sat on a stool beside her, with both her +little hands grasping Rosalie's. + +'And now, child,' she said, 'how ever did you find me out?' + +'I didn't find you out, Mother Manikin,' said Rosalie; 'you found me out.' + +'What do you mean, child?' said the old woman. + +'Why, dear Mother Manikin, I didn't know you were here. I didn't know who +it was till I had finished unfastening the shutter.' + +'Bless me, child! then what makes you out at this time of night? Has your +caravan just arrived at the fair?' + +'No, dear Mother Manikin, I've not come to the fair. I'm quite alone, and I +have five miles farther to walk.' + +'Tell me all about it, child,' said Mother Manikin. + +So Rosalie told her all--told her how and where her mammie had died; told +her about the great lodging-house, and the lady of the house; told her +about her father's marriage and death; told her of her Aunt Lucy, and the +letter and the locket; told her everything, as she would have told her own +mother. For Mother Manikin had a motherly heart, and Rosalie knew it; and +the tired child felt a wonderful sense of comfort and rest in pouring out +her sorrows into those sympathising ears. + +But in the middle of Rosalie's story the little woman jumped up, saying +hurriedly-- + +'Wait a minute, child; here's a strange kitten got in.' + +She was just going to drive out the little black stranger, which was mewing +loudly under the table, when the child stopped her. + +'Please dear Mother Manikin, that's my little kit; she has come with me all +the way, and she's very hungry--that's why she makes such a noise.' + +In another minute a saucer of milk was placed on the rug before the fire, +and the poor little kitten had enough and to spare. + +Rosalie was very grateful to Mother Manikin, and very glad to be with her; +but just as she was finishing her story, the large eight-day clock in the +corner of the kitchen struck seven, and Rosalie started to her feet. + +'Mother Manikin,' she said, 'I must be off. I've five miles farther to +walk.' + +'Stuff and nonsense, child!' said the old woman; 'do you think I'm going to +let you go to-night? Not a bit of it, I can tell you. Old age must have its +liberties, my dear, and I'm not going to allow it.' + +'Oh, Mother Manikin,' said Rosalie, 'what do you mean?' + +'What do I mean, child? Why, that you're to sleep here to-night, and then +go, all rested and refreshed, to your aunt's to-morrow. That's what I mean. +Why, I have ever such a nice little house here, bless you!' said the little +woman. 'Just you come and look.' + +So she took Rosalie upstairs, and showed her the neatest little bedroom in +the front of the house, and another room over the kitchen which Mother +Manikin called her greenhouse, for in it, arranged on boxes near the +window, were all manner of flowerpots, containing all manner of flowers, +ferns, and mosses. + +'It's a nice sunny room, my dear,' said Mother Manikin, 'and it's my hobby, +you see; and old age must have its liberties, and these little bits of +plants are my hobby. I live here all alone, and they're company, you see. +And now, come downstairs and see my little parlour.' + +The parlour was in the front of the house, and it was the shutters of this +room which Mother Manikin was closing as Rosalie came up. A bright lamp +hung from the ceiling of the room, and white muslin curtains adorned the +window; but what struck Rosalie most of all was that the parlour was full +of chairs. There were rows and rows of chairs; indeed, the parlour was so +full of them that Mother Manikin and Rosalie could hardly find a place to +stand. + +'What a number of chairs you have here, Mother Manikin!' said the child in +amazement. + +The old woman laughed at Rosalie's astonished face. + +'Rosalie, child,' she said, 'do you remember how you talked to me that +night--the night when we sat up in the caravan?' + +Rosalie's eyes filled with tears at the thought of it. + +'Yes, dear Mother Manikin,' she answered. + +'Do you remember bow I looked at your picture, and you told me all about +it?' + +'Yes, Mother Manikin,' said the child, 'I remember that.' + +'And do you remember a _question_ that you asked me then, Rosalie, +child! "Mother Manikin," you said, "has _He_, found _you_?" And +I thought about it a long time; and then I told you the truth. I said, "No, +child, He hasn't found me." But if you asked me that question to-night, +Rosalie, child, if you asked little Mother Manikin, "Do you think the Good +Shepherd has found you _now_, Mother Manikin?" I should tell you, +Rosalie child, I should tell you that He went about to seek and save them +which were lost, and that one day, when He was seeking, He found little +Mother Manikin. + +'Yes, my dear,' said the old woman; 'He found me. I cried out to Him that I +was lost, and wanted finding; and He heard me, child. He heard me, and He +carried me on His shoulders rejoicing.' + +Little Rosalie could not help crying when she heard this, but they were +tears of joy. + +'So I gave up the fairs, child; it didn't seem as if I could follow the +Good Shepherd there. There was a lot of foolishness, and nonsense, and +distraction; so I left them. I told them old age must have its liberties; +and I brought away my savings, and a little sum of money I had of my own, +and I took this little house. So that's how it is, child,' said the little +old woman. + +'But about the chairs?' said Rosalie. + +'Yes, about the chairs,' repeated the old woman; 'I'm coming to that now. I +was sitting one night thinking, my dear, over the kitchen fire. I was +thinking about the Good Shepherd, and how He had died for me, just that I +might be found and brought back to the fold. And I thought, child, when He +had been so good to me, it was very bad of me to do nothing for Him in +return; nothing to show Him I'm grateful, you see. I shook my fist, and I +said to myself, You ought to be ashamed of yourself, Mother Manikin! you +little idle, ungrateful old thing! + +'But then, Rosalie, child, I began to think, What can I do? I'm so little, +you see, and folks laugh at me, and run after me when I go out; and so all +things seemed closed upon me. There seemed nothing for little Mother +Manikin to do for the Good Shepherd. So I knelt down, child, and I asked +Him. I said-- + +'"_Oh, Good Shepherd, have you got any work for a woman that's only three +feet high? because I do love you, and want to do it_." + +'Well, Rosalie, child, it came quite quick after that. Mr. Westerdale +called, and, said he-- + +'"Mother Manikin, I want to have a little Bible Meeting for some of the +poor things round here--the mothers who have little babies, and can't get +to any place of worship, and a few more, who are often ill, and can't walk +far. Do you know," he said, "anybody in this row who would let me have a +room for my class?" + +'Well, child, I danced for joy; I really did, child. I danced like I hadn't +danced since I left the Royal Show. So Mr. Westerdale, he says, "What's the +matter, Mother Manikin?" He thought I'd gone clean off my head! + +'"Why, Mr. Westerdale," I cried, "there's something I can do for the Good +Shepherd, though I'm only three feet high!" + +'So then he understood, child; and he finds the parlour very convenient, +and the people come so nicely, and it's a happy night for me. So that's +what the chairs are for. + +'Mr. Westerdale will be here in a minute, child; he always gets a cup of +tea with me before the folks come. That's why I'm so late to-night; I +always wait till he comes.' + +She had no sooner said the words than a rap was heard at the door, and the +little woman ran to open it for Mr. Westerdale. He was an old man, with a +rosy, good-tempered face, and a kind and cheerful voice. + +'Well, Mother Manikin,' he said, as he came into the kitchen, 'a good cup +of tea ready for me as usual! What a good, kind woman you are!' + +'This is a little friend of mine, Mr. Westerdale,' said Mother Manikin, +introducing Rosalie. + +But Rosalie needed no introduction. She shook hands with the old man, and +then darted out of the room, and in another minute returned with her small +bag, which she had left upstairs. Hastily unfastening it, she took from it +her dear picture--the picture which had done so much for her and her mother +and little Mother Manikin--and, holding it up before the old man, she cried +out-- + +'Please, sir, it's quite safe. I've kept it all this time; and, please, I +do love it so!' + +For Mr. Westerdale was Rosalie's old friend, who had come to see her in the +fair, just a year ago. He did not remember her, but he remembered the +picture; and when Rosalie told him where she had seen him, a recollection +of the sick woman and her pretty child came back to his mind. As they sat +over their comfortable little tea, and Rosalie told how that picture had +been the messenger of mercy to her dying mother, the old man's face became +brighter than ever. + +And after tea the people began to arrive. It was a pleasant sight to see +how little Mother Manikin welcomed them, one by one, as they came in. They +all seemed to know her well, and to love her, and trust her. She had so +many questions to ask them, and they had so much to tell her. There was +Freddy's cough to be inquired after, and grandfather's rheumatism, and the +baby's chickenpox. And Mother Manikin must be told how Willie had got that +situation he was trying for, and how old Mrs. Joyce had got a letter from +her daughter at last; and how Mrs. Price's daughter had broken her leg, and +Mrs. Price had told them to say how glad she would be if Mother Manikin +could go in to see her for a few minutes sometimes. + +Little Mother Manikin had 'a heart at leisure from itself, to soothe and +sympathise,' and their troubles were her troubles, their joys her joys. + +At last every one had arrived, and the chairs in the sitting-room were all +filled. Then the clock struck eight, and they were all quite still as Mr. +Westerdale gave out the hymn. And when the hymn and the prayer were ended, +Mr. Westerdale began to speak. Rosalie was sitting close to Mother Manikin, +and she listened very attentively to all that her old friend said. + +'Though your sins be as scarlet, they shall be as white as snow:' that was +the text of the sermon. + +'A long way from here, my friends,' said Mr. Westerdale, 'a long way from +here, in the land of Palestine, is a beautiful mountain, the top of which +is covered with the purest, whitest snow. One day, a very great many years +ago, the Apostle John and two of his friends were lying on the mountain +asleep, and when they awoke, they saw a wonderful sight. They saw the Lord +Jesus in His glory, and His raiment was exceeding white--as white as snow. + +'A few years later, God let this same Apostle John look into heaven; and +there he saw everything the same colour--pure, unstained white. The Lord +Jesus had His head and His hair as white as wool, as white as snow. He was +sitting on a white throne, and all the vast multitude standing round the +throne had white robes on--pure, spotless white; as white as snow. + +'Nothing, my friends, that is not perfect white can enter heaven, for pure, +perfect white is heaven's colour. + +'What does all this mean? It means that nothing can enter that holy heaven +that is not perfectly pure, perfectly holy, perfectly free from sin. + +'For there is another colour mentioned in my text, a colour which is just +the opposite to white--_scarlet_--glaring scarlet. And this colour is +used as a picture of that which is not pure, not holy, that upon which God +cannot look--I mean sin. + +'Your sins are as scarlet, God says; and no scarlet can enter heaven; +nothing is found within the gates of heaven but pure white, as white as +snow. Nothing short of perfect holiness can admit you or me into heaven. +When we stand before the gate, it will be no good our pleading, I'm almost +white, I'm nearly white, I'm whiter than my neighbours; nothing but pure +white, nay, white as snow, will avail us anything. One single scarlet spot +is enough to shut the gates of heaven against us. + +'Oh, dear friends, this is a very solemn thought. For who in this room, +which of you mothers, which of you young girls, can stand up and say, There +is no scarlet spot on me, I am free from sin. Heaven's gate would be opened +to me, for I have never done anything wrong--I am quite white, as white as +snow. + +'Which of you can say that? Which of you would dare to say it, if you stood +before the gate of heaven to-night? + +'There is no hope, then, you say, for me; heaven's gates are for ever +closed against me. I have sinned over and over again. I am covered with +scarlet spots, nay, I am altogether scarlet. + + "Red like crimson, deep as scarlet, + Scarlet of the deepest dye, + Are the manifold transgressions + Which upon my conscience lie! + + "God alone can count their number! + God alone can look within; + Oh, the sinfulness of sinning! + Oh, the guilt of every sin!" + +'So there is no hope, not the least, for me! Only spotless white can enter +heaven, so I must be for ever shut out! + +'Must you? Is there indeed no hope? + +'Listen, oh, listen again to the text--"though your sins be as scarlet, +they shall be as white as snow." + +'Then there is a way of changing the scarlet into white; there is a way of +making the deep, glaring scarlet turn into pure white, as white as snow. + +'Oh, what good news for us! What glad tidings of great joy! + +'But how is it done? How can you or I, who are so covered with scarlet +stains of sin, be made as white as snow? + +'Dear friends, _this_ is the way. There is One, the Lord Jesus Christ, +who has been punished instead of us, who has taken all our sins upon Him, +just as if they were His own sins, and has been punished for them, as if He +had really done them. The great God who loved us so planned all this. And +now He can forgive us our sins, for the punishment is over. He can not only +forgive, but He can forget. He can blot them out. He can make us clean and +white, as white as snow. + +'This then is His offer to you to-night. "Come now," He cries, "only accept +My offer." Only take the Lord Jesus Christ as your Saviour; only ask Him to +wash you in His blood; only see, by faith, that He died in your place, +instead of you; and your sins--your scarlet sins--shall be made as white as +snow. This very night, before you lie down to sleep, you may be made so +white, that heaven's gate will, when you stand before it, be thrown wide +open to you; so white, that you will be fit to stand amongst that great +multitude which no man can number, who have washed their robes, and made +them white in the blood of the Lamb. + +'My dear friends, will you accept God's offer? Will you come to the Lord +Jesus to be made white? Will you plead this promise, the promise in my +text? Will you, before you lie down to sleep, say-- + +'O Lord, my sins are indeed as scarlet, make them, in the blood of Christ, +as white as snow. + +'Will you, I ask you again, accept God's offer? Yes, or No?' + + + +CHAPTER XXI + +IN SIGHT OF HOME + +When the little service was over, the people went away, and Mr. Westerdale, +Mother Manikin, and Rosalie sat together over the fire talking. The old man +was much encouraged by all that he heard from the child. He had sometimes +wondered whether his visits to the fair had done the slightest good to any +one, and now that he heard how God had so largely blessed this one picture, +he felt strengthened and cheered to make further efforts for the benefit of +the poor travellers whose souls so few care for. Next Sunday would be the +Sunday for him to visit the shows, he said, and he should go there this +year with more hope and more faith. + +When Rosalie heard this, she begged him to have a little conversation with +the woman with whom she had travelled. She told him to look out for the +show over the door of which was written, 'Lord Fatimore and other Pleasing +Varieties,' for there, she felt sure, he would find a work to do. And she +did not forget to ask him, when he went there, to remember to inquire for +Jinx, and to speak to him also. + +When Mr. Westerdale had said good-night and was gone away, Mother Manikin +insisted on Rosalie's going at once to bed, for the child was very weary +with her long and tiring day. + +She slept very soundly, and in the morning awoke to find Mother Manikin +standing beside her with a cup of tea in her hands. + +'Come, child,' she said, 'drink this before you get up.' + +'Oh, dear Mother Manikin,' said Rosalie, starting up, how good you are to +me!' + +'Bless you, child!' said the dear little old woman; 'I only wish you could +stay with me altogether. Now mind me, child, if you find, when you get to +Melton, that it isn't convenient for you to stay at your aunt's, just you +come back to me. Dear me! how comfortable you and me might be together! I'm +lonesome at times here, and want a bit of company, and my little bit of +money is enough for both of us. So mind you, child,' repeated Mother +Manikin, shaking her little fist at Rosalie, 'if you don't find all quite +straight at Melton, if you think it puts them out at all to take you in, +you come to me. Now I've said it, and when I've said it I mean it; old age +must have its liberties, and I must be obeyed.' + +'Dear Mother Manikin,' said Rosalie, putting her arms round the little old +woman's neck, 'I can never, never, never say thank you often enough.' + +After breakfast Rosalie started on her journey, with the little black kit +in its usual place in her arms. Mother Manikin insisted on wrapping up a +little parcel, containing lunch, for the child to eat on her way. And as +she stood on the doorstep to see her off, she called out after her-- + +'Now, child, if all isn't quite straight, come back here to-night; I shall +be looking out for you.' + +So Rosalie started on her journey. On her way she passed the field where +the fair was to be held. What recollections it brought to her mind of the +year before, when she had arrived there in the caravan with her sick +mother. + +Not many shows had reached the place, for it was yet three days before the +fair would be held. But in one corner of the field Rosalie discovered the +bright yellow caravans of the show of 'Lord Fatimore and other Pleasing +Varieties.' She could not pass by without going for a moment to the caravan +to thank Old Mother, and John Thomas and Jinx, for their kindness to her +the day before. + +Mother was having a great wash of all John Thomas's clothes, and Lord +Fatimore's and Jinx's and her own. She was standing at the door of the +caravan washing, and Jinx was busily engaged hanging out the clothes on a +line which had been stretched between the two caravans. + +'Halloa, young 'un!' said he, as Rosalie came up; 'and where have you +sprung from?' + +Rosalie told him that she had spent the night with a friend who lived in +the town, and was going to continue her journey. + +'Young 'un,' said Jinx, 'I haven't forgot what you told me about that there +picture. I like my picture a deal more than I did afore.' + +Then Rosalie went up to the woman, who did not see her till she was close +to the caravan steps. The woman was hard at work at her washing, with +Skirrywinks sitting on her shoulder, and Spanco, the pigeon, on her head. +Rosalie could not be quite sure, but she fancied there were tears in her +eyes as she bent over her washing. + +'Oh, it's you!' she said to Rosalie. 'I am glad to see you again; I was +thinking about you just then.' + +'Were you?' said the child; 'what were you thinking?' + +'I was thinking over what we talked about yesterday--about the lost sheep.' + +'Did you remember last night to ask the Good Shepherd to find you,' said +Rosalie. + +'Oh yes,' said the woman, 'I didn't forget; but instead of the Good +Shepherd finding me, I think I'm farther away from the fold than ever; +leastways, I never knew I was so bad before.' + +'Then the Good Shepherd is going to find you,' said Rosalie; 'He only waits +until we know we are lost, and then He is ready to find us at once.' + +'Oh, I do hope so,'said the woman earnestly; 'you'll think of me sometimes, +won't you?' + +'Yes, I'll never forget you,' said the child. + +'Will you come in and rest a bit?' + +'No, thank you, ma'am,' said Rosalie; 'I must go now; I have some way +farther to walk; but I wanted to say good-bye to you, and to thank you for +being so kind to me yesterday.' + +'Bless you!' said the woman heartily; 'it was nothing to speak of. +Good-bye, child, and mind you think of me sometimes.' + +So Rosalie left the fair-field and turned on to the Melton road. What a +strange feeling came over her then! She was within five miles of her Aunt +Lucy, and was really going to her at last! Oh, how she had longed to see +that dear face which she had gazed at so often in the locket! How she had +yearned to deliver her mother's letter, and to see her Aunt Lucy reading +it! How often--how very often, all this had been in her mind by day, and +had mingled with her dreams at night! + +And yet now--now that she was really on the road which led up to her Aunt +Lucy's door--Rosalie's heart failed her. She looked down at her little +frock, and saw how very old and faded it was. She took off her hat, and the +piece of black ribbon which Toby had given her had never before seemed so +rusty and brown. + +What a shabby little girl her Aunt Lucy would see coming in at the +garden-gate! Her thoughts travelled back to the little girl whom she had +seen in that garden a year ago, her Aunt Lucy's own little girl. How +differently she was dressed! How different in every way she was to Rosalie! +What if her Aunt Lucy was vexed with her for coming? She had had much +trouble from Rosalie's father; was it likely she would welcome his child? + +Sometimes Rosalie felt inclined to turn back and go to old Mother Manikin. +But she remembered how her mother had said-- + +'If ever you can, dear, you must go to your Aunt Lucy, and give her that +letter.' + +And now, whatever it cost her, Rosalie determined she would go. But she +grew more and more shy as she drew nearer the village, and walked far more +slowly than she had done when she first left the town. + +At last the village of Melton came in sight. It was a fine spring morning, +and the sunlight was falling softly on the cottages, and farmhouses, and +the beautiful green trees and hedges. + +Rosalie rested a little on a stile before she went farther, and the little +black kit basked in the sunshine. The field close by was full of sheep, and +the child sat and watched them. It was a very pretty field; there were +groups of trees, under the shadow of which the sheep could lie and rest; +and there was a quiet stream trickling through the midst of the field, +where the sheep could drink the cool, refreshing water. + +As Rosalie watched the sheep in their happy, quiet field, a verse of the +psalm which Popsey's old grandfather had read came into her mind-- + +'He maketh me to lie down in green pastures; He leadeth me beside the still +waters.' + +What if the Good Shepherd were about to take her, His poor little +motherless lamb, to a green pasture, a quiet, restful home, where she might +be taught more of the Good Shepherd's love? How Rosalie prayed that it +might indeed be so! And then she summoned courage and went on. + +It was about twelve o'clock when she reached Melton. The country people +were most of them having their dinner, and few people were in the village +street. With a beating heart the child pressed on. + +Soon she came in sight of the little cottage, before which the caravan had +stood when she and her mother were there a year ago. There was the cottage +with its thatched roof, looking just as comfortable as it had done then; +there was the garden just the same as before, with the same kind of flowers +growing in it; there were the cabbage-roses, the southernwood, the +rosemary, the sweetbriar, and the lavender. And the wind was blowing softly +over them, and wafting their sweet fragrance to Rosalie, just as it had +done a year ago. And there was Rosalie, standing peeping through the gate, +just as she had done then. It seemed to Rosalie like a dream which she had +dreamt before. Only a year--only a year ago! + +And yet one was absent; her mother was no more there; she was gone and +little Rosalie was alone by the gate! + +Tears came in her eyes as she looked through the bars, and fell upon her +little dusty frock. But she wiped them away, and went on through the +village street. + +At last she arrived at the large house close to the church which her mother +had longed so much to see. With a trembling hand she opened the iron gate +and walked up the broad gravel path. + +There was a large knocker in the middle of the door, and a bell on one side +of it. Rosalie did not know whether to knock or to ring, so she stood still +for a few minutes without doing either, hoping that some one would see her +from the window and come to ask what she wanted. + +But as the minutes passed by and no one came, Rosalie ventured, very gently +and timidly, to rap with the knocker. But no one inside the house heard the +sound of the child's knocking. So she gathered courage and pulled the bell, +which rang so loudly that it made her tremble more than ever. + +Then she heard a rustling in the hall and the sound of a quick footstep, +and the door was opened. A girl about eighteen years of age stood before +her, dressed in a pretty print dress and very white apron, with a neat +round cap on her head. Rosalie was trembling so much now that she cast her +eyes on the ground and did not speak. + +'What do you want, dear?' said the girl kindly, stooping down to Rosalie as +she spoke. + +'If you please,' said Rosalie, 'is Mrs. Leslie in I I have a letter that I +want very much to give her.' + +'No, dear; she's not in just now,' said the girl; 'will you leave the +letter with me?' + +'Oh, please,' said Rosalie timidly, 'I would very much like to give it to +her myself, if you will be so kind as to let me wait till she comes.' + +'Yes, she won't be very long,' said the girl. 'Would you like to sit in the +summer-house till she comes I it's very pleasant there.' + +'Oh, thank you,' said the child gratefully; 'I should like it very much +indeed.' + +'I'll show you where it is,' said the girl; 'it's behind these trees.' + +As Rosalie was walking to the summer-house, she ventured for the first time +to look into the girl's face. The voice had seemed familiar to her; but +when she saw the face, the large brown eyes, the dark hair, and the rosy +cheeks, she felt sure that she had met with an old friend. + +'Oh, please,' she said, stopping suddenly short in the path--'please, +aren't you Britannia?' + +'How do you know anything about Britannia?' she inquired hurriedly. + +'I didn't mean to say Britannia,' said Rosalie. 'I know you don't ever want +to be called _that_ again; but, please, you are Jessie, are you not?' + +'Yes, dear,' said the girl, 'my name is Jessie; but how do you know me?' + +'Please,' said Rosalie, 'don't you remember me? And how we talked in the +caravan that windy night, when my mammie was so ill?' + +'Oh, Rosalie,' said Jessie, 'is it you? Why, to think I never knew you! +Why, I shouldn't ever have been here if it hadn't been for you and your +mother! Oh, I am glad to see you again! Where are you going to, dear? Is +your caravan at Pendleton fair?' + +'No, Jessie,' said Rosalie; 'I don't live in a caravan now; and I've walked +here to give a letter from my mother to Mrs. Leslie.' + +'Then your mother got better after all,' said Jessie. 'I am so glad! she +was so very ill that night.' + +'Oh no, no, no!' said Rosalie, with a flood of tears--'no, she didn't get +better; she wrote that letter a long time ago.' + +'Poor little Rosalie!' said Jessie, putting her arms round her, and +shedding tears also. 'I am so very, very sorry!' + +'Please, Jessie,' said Rosalie through her tears, 'did you remember to give +Mrs. Leslie my mammie's message?' + +'Yes, dear, that I did. Do you think I would forget anything she asked me? +Why, I should never have been here if it hadn't been for her.' + +'Can you remember what you said to Mrs. Leslie, Jessie?' + +'Yes, dear. It was the first time she came to our house after I came back. +I told her all about what I had done, and where I had been. And then I told +her how I had met with a woman who used to know her many years ago, but who +hadn't seen her for a long, long time, and that this woman had sent her a +message. So she asked me who this woman was, and what the message was which +she had sent her. I told her that the woman's name was Norah, but I didn't +know her other name, and that Norah sent her respects and her love, and I +was to say that she had not very long to live, but that the Good Shepherd +had sought her and found her, and that she was not afraid to die. And then, +Rosalie, she cried when I told her that, and went away. But she came again +about half an hour after that, and asked me ever so many questions about +your mother, and I told her all I could. I told her how ill she was, and +how she liked the hymn, and all about you, and how good you were to your +mother. And then I told her how beautifully your mother talked to me about +the Good Shepherd, and how she begged me to ask the Good Shepherd to find +me, and how I had done as she begged me, and I hoped that He was carrying +me home on His shoulder. And I told her, dear, how kind you both were to +me, and how you gave me that money, and made me promise to know which road +the caravan was on, and which fair it was going to. She asked a many +questions about that, and wanted to know if I could tell her what town +would be the next you would stop at after the one you were going to when I +met you; but I couldn't. Now I must go in, dear, and get dinner ready; but +I'll tell my mistress as soon as she comes.' + +So Rosalie sat down in the arbour to wait. But she could hardly sit still a +minute, she felt so excited and restless. + +Only now and again she lifted up her heart in prayer to the Good Shepherd, +asking Him to make her aunt love her and help her. + + + +CHAPTER XXII + +THE LOST LAMB FOUND + +The time that Rosalie waited in the arbour seemed very, very long to her. +Every minute was like an hour, and at the least sound she started from her +seat, and looked down the gravel path. But it was only a bird, or a falling +leaf, or some other trifling sound, which Rosalie's anxious ears had +exaggerated. + +But at last, when the sound she had been listening for so long did really +come, when footsteps were heard on the gravel path coming towards the +arbour, Rosalie sat still, until they drew close, for in a moment all the +fears she had had by the way returned upon her. + +They were very quick and eager footsteps which Rosalie heard, and in +another moment, almost before she knew that her Aunt Lucy had entered the +arbour, she found herself locked in her arms. + +'Oh, my little Rosalie,' said she, with a glad cry, 'have I found you at +last?' + +For Jessie had told Mrs. Leslie that it was Norah's child who was waiting +to speak to her in the arbour. + +Rosalie could not speak. For a long time after that she was too full of +feeling for any words. And her Aunt Lucy could only say, over and over +again, 'My little Rosalie, have I found you at last?' It seemed to Rosalie +more like what the Good Shepherd said of His lost sheep than anything she +had ever heard before. + +'Have you been looking for me, dear Aunt Lucy?' she said at last. + +'Yes, darling, indeed I have!' said her aunt. 'Ever since Jessie came back, +I have been trying to find out where you were. I wanted so much to see your +mother; but before I arrived at the place she was dead. I saw her grave, +Rosalie, darling; I heard about her dying in the fair; and my husband found +out where she was buried, and we went and stood by her grave. And ever +since then, dear child, I have been looking for you; but I had lost all +clue to you, and was almost giving it up in despair. But I've found you +now, darling, and I am so very thankful!' + +Then Rosalie opened her bag, and took out the precious letter. How her Aunt +Lucy's hand trembled as she opened it! It was like getting a letter from +another world! And then she began to read, but her eyes were so full of +tears that she could hardly see the words. + +'MY OWN DARLING SISTER, + +'I am writing this letter with the faint hope that Rosalie may one day +give it to you. It ought not to be a faint hope, because I have turned it +so often into a prayer. Oh, how many times have I thought of you, since +last we met, how often in my dreams you have come to me and spoken to me! + +'I am too ill and too weak to write much, but I want to tell you that your +many prayers for me have been answered at last. The lost sheep has been +found, and has been carried back to the fold. I think I am the greatest +sinner that ever lived, and yet I believe my sins are washed away in the +blood of Jesus. + +'I would write more, but am too exhausted. But I want to ask you (if it is +possible for you to do so) to save my sweet Rosalie from her mother's fate. +She is such a dear child. I know you would love her--and I am so very +unhappy about leaving her amongst all these temptations. + +'I know I do not deserve any favour from you, and you cannot think what +pain it gives me to think how often you have been asked for money in my +name. That has been one of the greatest trials of my unhappy life. + +'But if you can save my little Rosalie, oh, dear sister, I think even in +heaven I shall know it, and be more glad. I would ask you to do it, not for +my sake, for I deserve nothing but shame and disgrace, but for the sake of +Him who has said, "Whoso shall receive one such little child in My name +receiveth Me." + +'Your loving sister, +'NORAH.' + +'When did your dear mother write the letter, Rosalie?' Aunt Lucy asked, as +soon as she could speak after she had finished reading it. + +Rosalie told her that it was written only a few days before her mother +died. And then she put her hand inside her dress, and brought out the +locket, which she laid in Mrs. Leslie's hand. + +'Do you remember _that_, Aunt Lucy?' she said. + +'Yes, darling, I do,' said her aunt; 'I gave that to your mother years ago, +before she left home. I remember I saved up my money a very long time that +I might buy it.' + +'My mother did love that locket so much,' said the child. 'She said she had +promised you she would keep it as long as she lived; and I was to tell you +she had kept her promise, and had hidden it away, lest any one should take +it from her. I have tried so hard to keep it safe since she died; but we +have been in a great big lodging-house all the winter, and I was so afraid +it would be found and taken from me.' + +'Where is your father now, Rosalie?' asked her aunt anxiously. + +'He's dead,' said the child; 'he has been dead more than a week.' And she +told of the accident, and the death in the hospital. + +'Then you are my little girl now, Rosalie,' said her Aunt Lucy--'my own +little girl, and no one can take you from me.' + +'Oh, dear Aunt Lucy, may I really stay?' + +'Why, Rosalie darling, I have been looking for you everywhere, and my only +fear was that your father would not want to part with you. But now, before +we talk any more, you must come in and see your uncle; he is very anxious +to see you.' + +Rosalie felt rather afraid again when her aunt said this, but she rose up +to follow her into the house. And then she remembered the little kitten, +which she covered with her shawl, and which was lying fast asleep under it +in a corner of the arbour. + +'Please, Aunt Lucy,' said Rosalie timidly, 'is there a bird?' + +'Where, dear?' said Mrs. Leslie, looking round her. 'I don't see one.' + +'No, not here in the garden,' explained Rosalie; 'I mean in your house.' + +'No, there's no bird, dear child. What made you think there was one?' + +'Oh, I'm so glad, so very, very glad!' said Rosalie, with tears in her +eyes. 'Then, may I bring her?' + +'Bring who, Rosalie dear? I don't understand.' + +'Oh, Aunt Lucy,' said the child, 'don't be angry. I have a little kit here +under my shawl. She's the dearest little kit; and we love each other so +much, and if she had to go away from me I think she would die. She loved me +when no one else in the lodging-house did, except Betsey Ann; and if only +she may come, I'll never let her go in any of the best rooms, and I won't +let her be any trouble.' When she had said this, she lifted up the shawl, +and brought out the black kitten, and looked up beseechingly into her +aunt's face. + +'What a dear little kitten!' said her aunt. 'May will be pleased with it, +she is so fond of kittens; and only the other day I promised her I would +get one. Bring her in, and she shall have some milk.' + +A great load was lifted off little Rosalie's heart when Mrs. Leslie said +this, for it would have been a very great trial to her to part from her +little friend. + +Rosalie's uncle received her very kindly, and said, with a pleasant smile, +that he was glad the little prairie flower had been found at last, and was +to blossom in his garden. Then she went upstairs with her Aunt Lucy to get +ready for dinner. She thought she had never seen such a beautiful room as +Mrs. Leslie's bedroom. The windows looked out over the fields and trees to +the blue hills beyond. + +Then her aunt went to a wardrobe which stood at one end of the room, and +brought out a parcel, which she opened, and inside Rosalie saw a beautiful +little black dress very neatly and prettily made. + +'This is a dress which came home last night for my little May,' said her +aunt, 'but I think it will fit you, dear; will you try it on?' + +'Oh, Aunt Lucy,' said Rosalie, 'what a beautiful frock! but won't May want +it?' + +'No; May is from home,' said Mrs. Leslie. 'She is staying with your Uncle +Gerald. There will be plenty of time to have another made for her before +she returns.' + +Rosalie hardly knew herself in the new dress, and felt very shy at first; +but it fitted her exactly, and her Aunt Lucy was very much pleased indeed. + +Then Mrs. Leslie brought a black ribbon, and tied the precious locket round +the little girl's neck; there was no longer any need to hide it. + +After this they went downstairs, and Rosalie had a place given her at +dinner between her uncle and her aunt. Jessie looked very much astonished +when she was told to put another knife and fork and plate on the table for +Rosalie; but her mistress, seeing her surprised face, called her into +another room, and in a few words told her who the little girl was, at the +same time begging her, for Rosalie's sake, not to mention to any one in the +village where and how she had seen the child before. This Jessie most +willingly promised. 'There was nothing she would not do for Rosalie's +sake,' she said; 'for she would never have been there had it not been for +Rosalie and her mother.' + +That afternoon the child sat on a stool at her Aunt Lucy's feet, and they +had a long talk, which little Rosalie enjoyed more than words can tell. She +gave her aunt a little history of her life, going back as far as she could +remember. Oh, how eagerly Mrs. Leslie listened to anything about her poor +sister! How many questions she asked, and how many tears she shed! + +When Rosalie had finished, her aunt told her once more how glad and +thankful she was to have her there, and more especially as she felt sure +that her little Rosalie loved the Good Shepherd and tried to please Him, +and therefore would never, never do any harm to her own little May, but +would rather help her forward in all that was right. + +The child slipped her hand in that of her Aunt Lucy when she said this, +with a very loving and assuring smile. 'So now, Rosalie dear, you must look +upon me as your mother,' said Mrs. Leslie; 'you must tell me all your +troubles, and ask me for anything you want, just as you would have asked +your own dear mother.' + +'Please, Aunt Lucy,' said Rosalie gratefully, 'I think the pasture is very +green indeed.' + +'What do you mean, my dear child?' + +'I mean, Aunt Lucy, I have been very lonely and often very miserable +lately; but the Good Shepherd has brought me at last to a very green +pasture; don't you think He has?' + +But Mrs. Leslie could only answer the little girl by taking her in her arms +and kissing her. + +That night, when Rosalie went upstairs to bed, Jessie came into her room to +bring her some hot water. + +'Oh, Jessie,' said Rosalie, 'how are Maggie and the baby?' + +'To think you remembered about them!' said Jessie. 'They are quite well. +Oh, you must see them soon.' + +'Then they were all right when you got home?' said the child, 'were they, +Jessie?' + +'Oh yes, God be thanked!' said Jessie; 'I didn't deserve it. Oh, how often +I thought of those children when I lay awake those miserable nights in the +circus! They had cried themselves to sleep, poor little things; when my +mother came back, she found them lying asleep on the floor.' + +'Wasn't she very much frightened?' asked Rosalie. + +'Yes, that she was,' said Jessie, with tears in her eyes; 'she was so ill +when I came home that I thought she would die. I thought she would die, and +that I had killed her. She had hardly slept a wink since I went away; and +she was as thin as a ghost. I hardly should have know her anywhere else.' + +'But what did she say when you came back?' + +'Oh, she wasn't angry a bit,' said Jessie; 'only she cried so, and was so +glad to have me back, that it seemed almost worse to bear than if she had +scolded. And then quite quickly she began to get better; but if I hadn't +come then, I believe she would have died.' + +'Is she quite well now?' asked the child. + +'Yes; quite strong and well again, and as bright as ever. She was so glad +when Mrs. Leslie said I might come here and be her housemaid. My mother +says it's a grand thing to lie down to sleep at night feeling that her +children are all safe, and she can never thank God enough for all He has +done for me. I told her of you and your mother, and she prays for you every +day, my mother does, that God may reward and bless you.' + +The next morning, when Rosalie opened her eyes, she could not at first +remember where she was. She had been dreaming she was in the dismal +lodging-house, and that Betsey Ann was touching her hand, and waking her +for their ten minutes' reading. + +But when she looked up, it was only her little black kitten, which was +feeling strange in its new home, and had crept up to her, and was licking +her arm. + +'Poor little kit!' said Rosalie, as she stroked it gently; 'you don't know +where you are.' The kitten purred contentedly when its little mistress +comforted it, and the child was at leisure to look round the room. + +It was her Cousin May's little room; and her Aunt Lucy had said she might +sleep there until another room just like it was made ready for her. Rosalie +was lying in a small and very pretty iron bedstead with white muslin +hangings. She peeped out of her little nest into the room beyond. + +Through the window she could see the fields and the trees and the blue +hills, just as she had done from her Aunt Lucy's windows. The furniture of +the room was very neat and pretty, and Rosalie looked at it with admiring +eyes. Over the washhand-stand, and over the chest of drawers, and over the +table were hung beautiful illuminated texts, and Rosalie read them one by +one as she lay in bed. There was also a little bookcase full of May's +books, and a little wardrobe for May's clothes. How much Rosalie wondered +what her cousin was like, and how she wished the time would arrive for her +to come home! + +Then the little girl jumped out of bed, and went to the window to look out. +The garden beneath her looked very lovely in the bright morning sunshine; +the roses and geraniums and jessamine were just in their glory, and +underneath the trees she could see patches of lovely ferns and mosses. How +she wished her mother could have been there to see them also! She had +always loved flowers so much. + +Rosalie dressed herself, and went out into the garden. How sweet and +peaceful everything seemed! She went to the gate--that gate which she had +looked through a year before--and gazed out into the blue distance. As she +was doing so, she heard the sound of wheels, and three or four caravans +bound for Pendleton fair went slowly down the road. + +What a rush of feeling came over the child as she looked at them! Oh, how +kind the Good Shepherd had been to her! Here she was, safe and sheltered in +this quiet, happy home; and she would never, never have to go to a fair or +a theatre again. Rosalie looked up at the blue sky above, and said from the +bottom of her heart-- + +'Oh, Good Shepherd, I do thank Thee very much for bringing me to the green +pasture! Oh, help me to love Thee and please Thee more than ever! Amen.' + + + +CHAPTER XXIII + +THE GREEN PASTURE + +That morning, after breakfast, Mrs. Leslie took Rosalie with her in the +pony carriage to Pendleton. She wanted to buy the furniture for the child's +little bedroom. + +Rosalie enjoyed the drive very much indeed, and was charmed and delighted +with all the purchases which her aunt made. + +When they were finished, Rosalie said, 'Aunt Lucy, do you think we should +have time to call for a minute on old Mother Manikin? she will want so much +to hear whether I got safely to Melton.' + +Mrs. Leslie willingly consented; she had felt very grateful to the little +old woman for all her kindness to her poor sister and her little niece, and +she was glad of an opportunity of thanking her for it. + +They found Mother Manikin very poorly, but very pleased indeed to see +Rosalie. She had been taken ill in the night, she said, quite suddenly. It +was something the matter with her heart. In the morning she had asked one +of the neighbours to go for the doctor, and he had said it was not right +for her to be in the house alone. + +'So what am I to do, ma'am?' said Mother Manikin. 'Here's the doctor says I +must have a girl; but I can't bear all these new-fangled creatures, with +their flounces, and their airs, and their manners. Old age must have its +liberties; and I can't put up with them. No, I can't abide them,' she said, +shaking her little fist. 'You couldn't tell me of a girl, could you, ma'am? +I can't give very high wages, but she should have a comfortable home.' + +'Oh, Aunt Lucy,' cried Rosalie, springing from her seat, 'what do you think +of Betsey Ann? would she do?' + +'And who's Betsey Ann, child?' inquired Mother Manikin. + +Rosalie told Betsey Ann's sad story: how she had been born in a workhouse; +how she had never had any one to love her, but how she had been scolded and +found fault with from morning till night. + +Mother Manikin could hardly keep from crying as the story went on. + +'She shall come at once,' said she decidedly, as soon as Rosalie had +finished. 'Tell me where she lives, and I'll get Mr. Westerdale to write to +her at once.' + +'Oh, but she can't read,' said Rosalie, in a very distressed voice; 'and +her mistress would never let her have the letter. What are we to do?' + +But when Mother Manikin heard where Betsey Ann lived, she said there would +be no difficulty at all about it. Mr. Westerdale knew the Scripture Reader +there; she had often heard him speak of him; and he would be able to go to +the house and make it all right. + +So Rosalie felt very comforted about poor Betsey Ann. + +Rosalie's first week in the green pasture passed by very happily. She +walked and read and talked with her Aunt Lucy, and went with her to see the +poor people in the village, and grew to love her more day by day, and was +more and more thankful to the Good Shepherd for the green pasture to which +He had brought her. + +And after a week May came home. Such a bright little creature she was; +Rosalie loved her as soon as she saw her. But it was no strange face to +Rosalie; it was a face she had often gazed at and often studied, for little +May was the image of the girl in the locket; it might have been her own +picture, she was so like what her mother was at her age. + +May and Rosalie were the best friends at once, and from that time had +everything in common. They did their lessons together, they walked +together, and they played together, and were never known to quarrel or to +disagree. + +Some little time after May's return, the two children went together in the +pony carriage to Pendleton. They had two important things to do there. One +was, to buy a present for Popsey, the little girl with the pitcher of milk; +and the other was, to call on Mother Manikin to see if Betsey Ann had +arrived. + +The two children had each had a half-sovereign given them by Mr. Leslie; +and Rosalie wished to spend hers in something very nice for little Popsey. +But the difficulty was to choose what it should be. All the way to +Pendleton, May was proposing different things: a book, a work-box, a +writing-case, etc; but at the mention of all these Rosalie shook her head. +'Popsey was too small for any of these,' she said; 'she could not read, nor +sew, nor write.' So then May proposed a doll, and Rosalie thought that was +a very good idea. + +Palmer, the old coachman, was asked to drive to a toyshop; and then, after +a long consultation, and an immense comparison of wax dolls, composition +dolls, china dolls, rag dolls, and wooden dolls, a beautiful china doll +very splendidly dressed was chosen, and laid aside for Rosalie. + +But as she still had some money left, she also chose a very pretty +spectacle-case for Popsey's grandfather, and a beautiful little milk-jug +for the kind old grandmother. The milk-jug was a white one, and the handle +was formed by a cat which was supposed to be climbing up the side of the +jug and peeping into the milk. Rosalie was delighted with this directly she +saw it, and fixed upon it once. For she had not forgotten the little +pitcher of milk, and the service it had been to her, and she thought that +the cat on the milk-jug would remind Popsey of the little black kitten of +which she had been so fond. + +All these parcels were put carefully under the seat in the pony-carriage, +and then they drove to Mother Manikin's. + +Who should open the door but Betsey Ann, looking the picture of happiness, +and dressed very neatly in a clean calico dress, and white cap and apron. +Betsey Ann's slipshod shoes and her rags and tatters were things of the +past; she looked an entirely different girl. + +'La, bless you!' she cried when she saw Rosalie; 'I'm right glad to see you +again.' And then she suddenly turned shy, as she looked at the two young +ladies, and led the way to the parlour, where Mother Manikin was sitting. + +The old lady was full of the praises of her new maid, and Betsey Ann smiled +from ear to ear with delight. + +'Are you happy, Betsey Ann?' whispered Rosalie, as May was talking to +Mother Manikin. + +'Happy?' exclaimed Betsey Ann; 'I should just think I am! I never saw such +a good little thing as she is. Why, I've been here a whole week, and never +had a cross word, I declare I haven't; did you ever hear the like of that?' + +'Oh, I am so glad you are happy!' said Rosalie. + +'Yes, He--I mean the Good Shepherd--_has_ been good to me,' said +Betsey Ann. 'But wait a minute, Rosalie,' she said, as she saw that Rosalie +was preparing to go. 'I've got a letter for you.' + +'A letter for me?' exclaimed Rosalie. 'Who can it be from?' + +'I don't know,' said Betsey Ann. 'It came the day after you left, and I +kept it, in hope of being able to send it some day or other. I just +happened to be cleaning the doorstep when the postman brought it. Says he, +"Does Miss Rosalie Joyce live here?" So I says, "All right, sir; give it to +me;" and I caught it up quite quick, and I poked it in my pocket. I wasn't +going to let her get it. I'll get it for you if you'll wait a minute.' + +When Betsey Ann came downstairs, she put the letter in Rosalie's hand. It +was very bad and irregular writing, and Rosalie could not in the least +imagine from whom it had come. + +The letter began thus-- + +'My dear Miss, + +'I hope this finds you well, as it leaves me at present; but not so poor +Toby, who once you knew. Leastways, I hope he is well, because he is in a +better place than this; but he has been very badly off a long while, and +last Saturday he died. + +'But he told me where you lived; he said you was his master's daughter, and +it was you as taught him about the Good Shepherd. + +'I told him, as I was one of his mates, I would write, and tell you he died +quite happy, knowing that his sins was forgiven. + +'He was a good lad, was Toby. We was a very bad lot when he came to our +concern; but he read to us, spelling out the words quite slow like, every +evening; and there's a many of us that is like new men since we heard him. + +'There was one piece he read quite beautiful, and never so much as spelt a +word. It was about the Shepherd looking for a sheep, and bringing it home +on His shoulder. + +'And he would talk to us about that as good as a book, and tell of a +picture he had seen in your caravan, and what you used to teach him about +it. + +'And just before he died, says he, "Tom, write and tell Miss Rosie; she'll +be glad like to hear I didn't forget it all." + +'So now I've wrote, and pardon my mistakes, and the liberty. + +'From yours truly, + +'THOMAS CARTER.' + +Rosalie was very thankful to receive this letter; she had often wondered +what had become of poor Toby; and it was a great comfort to her to know +that he had not forgotten the lessons they had learned together in the +caravan. It was very pleasant to be able to think of him, not in the +theatre or a lodging-house, but in the home above, where her own dear +mother was. + + * * * * * + +Rosalie did not grow tired of her green pasture, nor did she wish to wander +into the wide world beyond. As she grew older, and saw from what she had +been saved, she became more and more thankful. + +She was not easily deceived by the world's glitter and glare and vain show; +for Rosalie had been behind the scenes, and knew how empty and hollow and +miserable everything worldly was. + +She had learned lessons behind the scenes that she would not easily forget. +She had learned that we must not trust to outward appearances. She had +learned that aching hearts are often hidden behind the world's smiling +faces. She had learned that there is no real, no true, no lasting joy in +anything of this world. She had learned that whosoever drinketh of such +water--the water of this world's pleasures and amusements--shall thirst +again; but she had also learned that whosoever drinketh of the water which +the Lord Jesus Christ gives, even His Holy Spirit, shall never thirst, but +shall be perfectly happy and satisfied. She had learned that the only way +of safety, the only way of true happiness, was to be found in keeping near +to the Good Shepherd, in hearkening to His voice, and in following His +footsteps very closely. + +All these lessons Rosalie learnt by her PEEP BEHIND THE SCENES. + + + + + + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg's A Peep Behind the Scenes, by Mrs. O. F. 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