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+The Project Gutenberg EBook of Little Miss Joy, by Emma Marshall
+
+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: Little Miss Joy
+
+Author: Emma Marshall
+
+Release Date: August 19, 2010 [EBook #33465]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ASCII
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK LITTLE MISS JOY ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by Al Haines
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+[Frontispiece: "Joy, darling Joy," Patience said, "you have often said
+you had wished you had known your mother." _Page_. 167.
+
+
+
+
+
+_Little Miss Joy._
+
+
+
+BY
+
+EMMA MARSHALL,
+
+
+AUTHOR OF
+
+"LITTLE QUEENIE;" "BLUE BELL;" "ROBERT'S RACE;" "HURLY-BURLY;" ETC.
+
+
+
+NEW EDITION.
+
+
+
+JOHN F. SHAW (1928) & CO., LTD.
+
+_Publishers,_
+
+3, PILGRIM STREET, LONDON, E.C.4.
+
+
+1892
+
+
+
+
+PRINTED IN GREAT BRITAIN
+
+AT THE ANCHOR PRESS, TIPTREE, ESSEX
+
+
+
+
+CONTENTS.
+
+
+_CHAPTER I._
+
+WAITING AND WATCHING
+
+
+_CHAPTER II._
+
+LITTLE MISS JOY
+
+
+_CHAPTER III._
+
+"AN HONEST BOY"
+
+
+_CHAPTER IV._
+
+HIS OWN WAY
+
+
+_CHAPTER V._
+
+A TEA-PARTY IN THE ROW
+
+
+_CHAPTER  VI._
+
+A VISIT TO THE SKINNERS
+
+
+_CHAPTER VII._
+
+DARK DOINGS
+
+
+_CHAPTER VIII._
+
+IN PERIL OF THE SEA
+
+
+_CHAPTER IX._
+
+ON THE WIDE, WIDE SEA
+
+
+_CHAPTER X._
+
+"ONLY A LITTLE BOX"
+
+
+_CHAPTER XI._
+
+MR. SKINNER IN COMMAND
+
+
+_CHAPTER XII._
+
+THE SPIRIT OF PEACE
+
+
+_CHAPTER XIII._
+
+A TOKEN AT LAST
+
+
+_CHAPTER XIV._
+
+THE WAITING IS OVER
+
+
+_CHAPTER XV._
+
+THE HERITAGE OF PEACE
+
+
+
+
+LITTLE MISS JOY.
+
+
+CHAPTER I.
+
+_WAITING AND WATCHING._
+
+The sea lay calm and still under a cloudless sky.  The tide was out,
+and there was only a faint murmur like the whisper of gentle voices, as
+the little waves told to the sands that they were coming back soon, for
+the tide had turned.
+
+It was yet early morning, and the old town of Great Yarmouth was
+asleep.  The fishing boats had been out all night, and were lying like
+so many black birds with folded wings, waiting for the flow of the
+water to bring them to the beach.  All the blinds were down in the
+houses facing the level strand.  There was no one moving yet, for the
+resonant clock of Saint Nicholas Church had only just struck four.
+
+The children of visitors to Yarmouth, tired with their exertions on the
+sand the evening before, were all wrapt in profound slumber.
+
+Happy seaside children, who had paddled and delved on the beach to
+their hearts' content, who had braved all the reproaches of mothers and
+nurses, and had gone home with their buckets full of seaweed, pebbles,
+and shells, looking like the veriest little ragged waifs and strays,
+who were known as "the beach children," and who were an ever-moving
+population gathered from the depths of the town, pattering with naked
+feet round the boats as they came to shore, to pick up odd fish which
+fell from the nets as they were spread out to dry.
+
+A great expanse of sand stretches out from Yarmouth, and over this the
+wind whistles through the long parched grass which grows in patches,
+interspersed with the little pink mallow and stunted thistles, which
+are not discouraged by their surroundings, and flourish in spite of
+difficulties.  This wide expanse of sand and sand-mounds is called the
+Denes; and as little weary feet plod over it, it seems in its vastness
+a very desert of Sahara.  Yet there is a charm about the Denes which
+the children feel.  A sense of freedom, and a power to deal with the
+sand after their own will, were checked by repeated exhortations from
+governess or nurse to take care of their clothes.  Yet the soft silvery
+sand can do no harm, and a prick from a blade of the pointed grass, or
+a scratch from a thistle, are the only dangers that beset it.
+
+The town of Yarmouth lies at some distance from the sea, and possesses
+one feature of rather unusual interest.  There is a fine quay, shaded
+by trees, alongside which many large ships from all countries lie.
+There is a wide market-place and several good streets.  But the heart
+and core of the old town is to be found in the "rows," narrow
+thoroughfares with tall houses on either side, where many a competency,
+if not a fortune, has been made in days past.
+
+Very little sunshine or light penetrates the rows, and some of the
+inhabitants have a faded, washed-out look, like that of a plant shut in
+a dark place, which shows but a faint colour of either leaves or
+blossom.
+
+Perhaps the pale woman standing by the door of a small shop, the
+shutters of which were not yet taken down, was a fair specimen of her
+neighbours.  She was tall, but drooped so much that her real height was
+lost.  She had a sad face, where lines of care and anxiety had made a
+network perhaps earlier in life than wrinkles had any right to appear,
+if they should be traced by time rather than by sorrow.  For Patience
+Harrison was not an old woman, and had scarcely entered her
+thirty-sixth year.
+
+As she stood at the narrow entry of the shop, her hands folded, her
+head bent forward, she might well attract any passer-by, while she
+looked right and left, as if in hopes of seeing a well-known figure
+come into the row, from either end.
+
+Up and down, up and down, that eager, hungry glance, with an infinite
+pathos in the dark eyes, scanned the narrow passage; and grew more
+pathetic and more hungry every moment.
+
+At last footsteps were heard on the pavement.  Patience started, and
+took a step forward, only to draw back again disappointed.
+
+"The top of the morning to you, Mrs. Harrison.  You are about early.
+It is as fine a summer morning as I ever was out in."
+
+The speaker was a tall, well-knit young man of two or three and thirty,
+with a fine open countenance, and a broad square brow, round which
+thick light curls clustered.  No contrast could be greater than between
+Patience Harrison and George Paterson: the man so full of life, and the
+enjoyment of life; the woman so languid and weary-looking.  He seemed
+as if the world were a pleasant place to him, she as if it were a waste
+and a wilderness.
+
+"You are up and about early," George repeated.  "Indeed, you look as if
+you hadn't been to bed.  I hope you haven't been up all night.  Have
+you, now?"
+
+"Yes.  How could I sleep?  How could I rest?  There was a worse storm
+than ever last night at supper-time, and--and--Jack ran away out of the
+house, and has never come back."
+
+"The young rascal!" George exclaimed.  "I'd like to thrash him!"
+
+"Oh, don't say so!  Don't say so!  If ever a boy is scourged by a
+tongue, Jack is.  I mean to leave this house; I can't--I can't bear it
+any longer."
+
+"Well," George said, his eyes shining with a bright light--the light of
+hope--"well, there's a home ready for you, you know that.  The sooner
+you come, the better."
+
+"You know I can't do it.  Why do you ask me?  I wonder you should ask
+me."
+
+"I see no wonder in it," was the answer.  "You've watched and waited
+for eleven years; sure that's long enough!  He will never come back."
+
+"Yes," she said sadly; "yes.  I have waited and watched, as you say.
+It is the business of my life.  I shall watch and wait to the end."
+
+George Paterson gave an impatient gesture, and settled the workman's
+basket on his broad shoulders, as if he were going to walk on.  But
+after a pace or two he seemed to change his mind, and stopping, he
+said--
+
+"But what about Jack?  How did it happen?"
+
+"He offended her yesterday.  He brought dirty boots into the parlour;
+and he blew a tune on the little cornet you gave him, when she told him
+to be quiet.  He upset a jug of water on the table, and he made a face
+at her, and he called her 'an old cat.'  He had no business to call her
+names."
+
+George laughed.
+
+"A very fitting name, I think; he has felt her claws often enough.
+Well, what then?"
+
+"Then she boxed his ears--it was at supper--and he flew into a rage,
+and he would not listen to me, but tore out of the room, out of the
+house, and has never come back.  Oh, George, what if there should be
+two to wait and watch for, instead of one!  Jack!  Jack!  How could he
+leave me?"
+
+"He can't have gone far; and, as to being out all night, why, that
+won't hurt him.  The young rascal, to give you all this trouble!  Yes,
+I'll go and hunt for him; and if I catch him, won't I give it to him!"
+
+"No, George; no.  Remember his provocation.  Remember he has had no
+father, only a mother like me to control him."
+
+"Only a mother like you!  I should like to know where a better could be
+found!  I am sorry for the boy that he has had to live with a
+cross-grained old maid, but for your sake he ought to have put up with
+it."
+
+"She means well.  She took us in for my father's sake, and she has kept
+me and the boy from starving."
+
+"You have earned your living; you have worked well for her, and she
+knows it.  But I will go and hunt for Master Jack.  See!  I will leave
+my basket of tools here as an assurance that I am coming back.  You go
+and lie down, and I'll have the young master back before an hour is
+over.  Come, go indoors; you look ready to drop."
+
+But Patience shook her head.
+
+"I am used to waiting and watching," she said again; "it's nothing new."
+
+Then her eyes began their search up and down the row, with the same
+wistful, eager gaze.
+
+George Paterson had put the basket of tools just within the doorway,
+and turning to her said--
+
+"Look up at that strip of blue sky, Patience; look up, not downward so
+much."
+
+As he spoke he raised his head, and pointed to the narrow bit of sky
+which made a deeply blue line above the tops of the tall houses.
+
+"That tells of love," he said--"God's love which is over us.  Take
+heart, and lift it up to Him in your trouble."
+
+George spoke out of the fulness of his own heart: not in any way as if
+he set himself up to lecture his listener, but just simply to try to
+raise her thoughts from the gnawing anxiety which had laid hold on her.
+
+"Yes," she said, "the bit of sky is beautiful, but it is so far off;
+and--don't be angry with me, George, but I wish you would go and find
+him.  Let me come with you!" she exclaimed.
+
+"No, no; I shall be quicker than you are.  I can get over the ground in
+half the time."
+
+Neither asked the other where George would look for the truant.  Both
+had one thought--Jack had been to the quay, and was perhaps on board
+one of the ships lying there.  He had threatened before that he would
+go to sea, and leave Miss Pinckney and her scoldings and fault-findings
+behind him.
+
+"If it had not been for his mother he would have done so long ago," he
+said.  "He loved the sea, and he wished to be a sailor, as his father
+had been before him."
+
+As George's quick, firm steps were heard dying away in the distance,
+Mrs. Harrison pulled a stool towards her out of the shop, and seated
+herself just within the doorway.
+
+She was scarcely conscious of anything but the fear, growing greater
+every moment, that Jack--the sunshine of her life, the light of her
+eyes--had gone from her.  She leaned her head against the door, and
+looked up at the sky half unconsciously.  As she looked, a blind in one
+of the windows of the opposite house was lifted, and the window
+cautiously opened, while a head with a tangle of golden hair was thrust
+out, and a little voice--clear, like the sound of a thrush in a
+tree--sang in sweet dulcet tones some verses of a childish morning
+hymn:--
+
+  "Now the eastern sky is red,
+  I, too, lift my little head;
+  Now the lark sings loud and gay,
+  I, too, rise to praise and pray.
+
+  "Saviour, to Thy cottage home
+  Once the daylight used to come:
+  Thou hast often seen it break
+  Brightly o'er the Eastern lake.
+
+  "Blessed Jesus!  Thou dost know
+  What of danger, joy, or woe,
+  Shall to-day my portion he--
+  Let me meet it all in Thee."
+
+
+Here the sweet, clear voice broke off suddenly, for the child saw that
+her opposite neighbour on the doorstep was looking up at her.
+
+"Mrs. Harrison," she said, nodding and kissing her hand.  "_I_ see you!
+I'm coming down when I'm dressed.  Uncle Bobo isn't awake yet."
+
+Then the head disappeared, and there was silence for a few minutes.
+
+Presently the bolts of the opposite door were gently drawn, and out
+came the daintiest little figure, in a fresh blue cotton frock and
+white pinafore, her rosy lips parted with a smile, and her eyes dancing
+with the light of the morning of life.  Dear unclouded child-eyes!  How
+soon they lose that first sweet innocent gaze!  How soon the cares and
+sins of this weary world shadow their depths, and the frank gaze which
+tells of faith in all that is lovely and beautiful is changed into one
+of distrust, and sometimes of sorrow.
+
+"Well, little Miss Joy!" Patience Harrison said, as the child tripped
+across the row, and flung her arms round the waiting mother's neck.
+
+"Well, dear Goody Patience.  Why are you sitting here all alone, and
+looking so sad?  Why, Goody, _dear_ Goody, you are crying!"
+
+For the child's loving caress had touched the fountain of tears, and,
+sobbing, the poor mother said--
+
+"Oh, little Miss Joy!  Jack has run away.  I couldn't sleep, so I came
+down here."
+
+"Run away, Jack!  Oh, how naughty of him to grieve you!  But he will
+come back--of course he will.  Don't cry, my dear Goody Patience; don't
+cry.  Of course he'll come back.  What was it all about?"
+
+"A fuss with his poor Aunt Amelia, as usual; and Jack was rude, I know,
+and he did not behave well; but----"
+
+"I am afraid," Joy said thoughtfully, "Jack is not a good boy to Miss
+Pinckney.  He is no end good to _me_, and I love him dearly, and so
+does Uncle Bobo.  He says he is like a fine ship--all sails set and
+flags flying and no compass--which gets on rocks and quicksands,
+because there is no guide.  That is what Uncle Bobo says."
+
+"It is quite true--quite true," Patience said.  "I do not excuse him,
+though I know he has had a great deal to try his temper in his Aunt
+Amelia's house."
+
+"I dare say he will come back, and be a good boy.  I'll talk to him,"
+Joy said, with a wise nod of her golden head.  "I'll talk to him, and
+he will never run away again."
+
+"But, Joy, he is gone; and though Mr. Paterson thinks he knows where to
+find him, I don't believe he _will_ find him."
+
+"I must go indoors now; for here is Peter coming to take down our
+shutters, and Uncle Bobo will be wanting his breakfast, and I always
+help Susan to get it ready.  I shall be on the watch, and the minute
+Jack comes back I will run over."
+
+Then, with showers of kisses on the pale, woe-struck face, little Miss
+Joy was gone.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER II.
+
+_LITTLE MISS JOY._
+
+Little Miss Joy was the pride of the row, and always seemed to bring a
+ray of sunshine with her.
+
+She lived with an old man she called "Uncle Bobo," who kept a curiously
+mixed assortment of wares, in the little dark shop where he had lived,
+man and boy, for fifty years.
+
+He was professedly a dealer in nautical instruments, the manufacture of
+which was carried on in Birmingham or Sheffield.  Every now and then a
+large packing-case would excite the inhabitants of the row, as it was
+borne on one of the Yarmouth carts constructed on purpose for the
+convenience of passing through the rows, and dropped down with a
+tremendous thud on the pavement opposite Mr. Boyd's door.
+
+No wheels but the wheels of these carts were ever heard in the row,
+unless it were a wheelbarrow or a truck.  And none of these were
+welcome, as it was difficult for foot-passengers to pass if one of
+these vehicles stopped the way.
+
+The nautical instruments by no means represented all Mr. Boyd's
+stock-in-trade.  Compasses and aneroids and ship's lamps were the
+superior articles to be sold.  But there were endless odds and
+ends--"curiosities"--bits of carving, two or three old figure-heads of
+ships, little ship-lanthorns, and knives of all shapes and sizes, balls
+of twine, rolls of cable, and all packed into the narrow limits of the
+tiny shop.
+
+"Uncle Bobo" was coming home one night--a Christmas night--a few years
+before the time my story opens, when he heard a wailing cry as he
+fitted the latch-key into his own door.
+
+The cry attracted him, and looking down on the threshold of his home he
+saw--a bundle, as it seemed to him, tightly tied up in a handkerchief.
+Stooping to pick it up, the faint wailing cry was repeated, and Uncle
+Bobo nearly let the bundle fall.
+
+"It's a child--it's an infant!" he exclaimed.  "Where's it dropped
+from?  Here, Susan!" he called to his faithful old servant, "here's a
+Christmas-box for you; look alive!"
+
+Susan, who had appeared with a light, groped through the various
+articles in the shop, and received the bundle from her master's hand.
+
+"Dear life, Mr. Boyd, what are you going to do with it then?"
+
+"Can't say," was the answer, as Mr. Boyd rolled into the parlour, where
+a bright fire was burning and the kettle singing on the hob.  "Unpack
+the parcel, Sue, and let's have a look."
+
+Susan untied many knots and unrolled fold after fold of the long
+scarf-shawl of black and white check in which the child was wrapped:
+and then out came, like a butterfly out of a chrysalis, a little dainty
+girl of about two years old, who, looking up at Mr. Boyd, said,
+"Dad-da!"
+
+There was no sign of ill-usage about the child.  She was neatly
+dressed, and round her waist a purse was tied.  Mr. Boyd fitted his
+large black-rimmed spectacles on his nose, and while Susan sat with the
+child on her knee, warming her pink toes in the ruddy blaze, he untied
+the ribbon with which the purse was fastened to the child's waist, and
+opened it.
+
+It was an ordinary purse, with pockets, and within the centre one,
+fastened by a little spring, was one sovereign and a bit of paper, on
+which was written:
+
+"It is the last money I have in the world Take care of the bearer till
+you hear more.  Keep her for me."
+
+Eight years had gone by since that Christmas night, and nothing more
+had ever been heard about this "Christmas-box;" but Uncle Bobo never
+repented that he had kept the child.  She had been the interest and
+delight of his old age, and he had fondly called her "My little Joy."
+
+The neighbours wondered a little, and some looked severely on this deed
+of kindness of Mr. Boyd's.
+
+The person who looked most severely at it was Miss Amelia Pinckney, who
+kept a small haberdasher's and milliner's shop opposite Mr. Boyd's.
+Now neighbours in the Yarmouth rows, especially opposite neighbours,
+are very near neighbours indeed; and if it was almost possible to shake
+hands over the heads of the passers-by from the upper windows, it was
+quite possible to hear what was said, especially in summer, when the
+narrow casements were thrown open to admit what air was stirring.
+
+Thus Miss Pinckney's voice, which was neither soft nor low, reached
+many ears in the near vicinity, and Mr. Boyd was well aware that she
+had called him "a foolish old fellow," adding that "the workhouse was
+the place for the child, and that she had no patience with his folly."
+
+Truth to tell, Miss Pinckney had but little patience with any one.  She
+had, as she conceived, done a noble deed by allowing her stepsister and
+her boy to take up their abode with her.  But for this deed she took
+out very heavy interest; and poor Mrs. Harrison, who was, as her sister
+continually reminded her, "worse than a widow"--a deserted wife--had to
+pay dearly for the kindness which had been done her.  Many a time she
+had determined to leave the uncongenial roof, and go forth to face the
+world alone; but then she was penniless, and although she worked, and
+worked hard too, to keep herself and her boy, by executing all Miss
+Pinckney's millinery orders, and acting also as general servant as well
+as shopwoman of the establishment, still she was never allowed to
+forget that she was under an obligation to her sister, and that she
+ought to be "thankful for all her mercies!"
+
+"It is not as if it was only yourself, Patience.  Think what it is to
+have a boy like yours!  Enough to drive one mad, with his monkey tricks
+and his impudence.  I don't say that I regret taking you in.  Blood is
+thicker than water, and you are my poor father's child, though he had
+cause to rue the day he married your silly mother--he never had a day's
+peace after that."
+
+Such sentiments, expressed with freedom and without intermission, were
+a trial in themselves; but lately things had assumed a far more serious
+aspect.
+
+Jack had been a mere baby when first he and his mother had been taken
+in by Miss Pinckney.  But eleven years had changed the baby of two
+years old into a strong, self-willed boy of thirteen, impatient of
+control, setting all his aunt's rules at defiance, and coming in from
+school every day, more antagonistic, and more determined, as he said,
+to "pay the old auntie back in her own coin."
+
+In vain Mrs. Harrison had remonstrated; in vain she had striven to keep
+the peace.  For ever before her eyes was the dread that Jack would
+carry his oft-repeated threat into execution, and go to sea.  Then,
+indeed, the light of her stricken life would finally go from her, and
+she would have nothing left to live for!
+
+Jack was a boy likely, in spite of all his faults, to fill a mother's
+heart with pride.  He was the picture of merry, happy boyhood, with a
+high spirit, which was like a horse without a bridle, and carried him
+away beyond all bounds of tongue and temper.  But to his mother he
+could be gentle and penitent, acknowledging his faults, and showing
+real sorrow at having grieved her by warfare with his aunt.  There was
+an excellent boys' school in Yarmouth, where he made good progress with
+his lessons, and was a favourite with his school-fellows; and the
+master, though often irritated by his tricks and carelessness, found it
+hard to be angry with him, or to inflict the punishment he deserved.
+
+It is possible that Jack would have been able to get on more peaceably
+at home, had there not been another person frequently at his aunt's
+home with whom he waged a perpetual warfare.  This person was a tall,
+meagre-looking young man, a clerk in an Excise office, who made great
+profession of being better than his neighbours.
+
+He was always coming into Miss Pinckney's to tea or supper, and
+invariably, when listening to the aunt's stories of Jack's
+misdemeanours, talked of the bad end to which naughty boys were
+brought, and of the sins of disobedience bringing their sure reward.
+
+Mr. Skinner had the disagreeable habit of uttering truths in the most
+unpleasant manner.  A great deal that he said was correct; but somehow
+his words seemed to have no effect on those whom he addressed.  There
+was a dash of unreality about Mr. Skinner, and a certain want of
+candour, which Jack's eyes were quick to detect.
+
+He suspected that Mr. Skinner came to Miss Pinckney's "for what he
+could get," that he liked a chair by her fire in the back parlour, and
+that the glass of hot gin and water, sweetened to his taste, with a bit
+of lemon floating on the top, was his grand attraction.
+
+The smell of this glass of spirit and water was odious to Jack; and he
+naturally felt aggrieved, when on one occasion Mr. Skinner, coming in
+to tea, devoured the whole plate of hot buttered toast or muffins, and
+talked of the duty of thankfulness, and how much more any of us had
+than we deserved--Jack meantime having slices of very stale bread
+scraped with a little salt butter.  The contrast between his own share
+of the fare and Mr. Skinner's was sufficiently provoking.  Then too of
+late Jack had been conscious that both Mr. Skinner and his aunt had
+been doing their best to bring his mother round to their view--that he
+was "the worse-behaved and most ill-conditioned boy that ever lived."
+
+That last great outbreak of temper, when he had rushed off, and left
+his mother to pass a sleepless and tearful night, had been caused not
+so much by the shower of reproaches heaped on him, as by his aunt's
+bitter words: "If you go on like this, you'll break your mother's
+heart.  Even she is getting sick of you, and you would be a good
+riddance!"
+
+He knew well enough it was not true.  He knew that if all the world
+were against him, his mother would never give him up.  But, stung to
+the quick, he had poured out a torrent of angry words; and addressing
+his aunt as "an old cat, who shouldn't have the chance of setting her
+claws into him again!" he had rushed off and left his mother miserable.
+
+As soon as the house was quiet and Miss Pinckney's long tirade against
+"spoilt wicked boys" had ceased, Patience Harrison had crept downstairs
+again, and, slipping the bolt off the door, had taken up her position
+there.  And there George Paterson had found her, pale and worn with
+sleepless sorrow, and with an aching sense of loss which was well-nigh
+hopeless.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER III.
+
+"_AN HONEST BOY._"
+
+When little Miss Joy had tripped across the row to her own door, Mrs.
+Harrison had gone into the house.
+
+The shutters were being taken down from several of the windows, blinds
+were drawn up, doors opened, and the row was waking to life and the
+business of life.
+
+Mrs. Harrison went about her usual work of clearing up and dusting and
+sweeping, and about half-past six she called a boy from one of the
+opposite houses to take down the shutters of the little shop front.
+
+The boy looked wistfully at her sad face, and asked, "Is Jack ill,
+please, ma'am?"
+
+"No, not ill," she answered, unwilling to spread the news that he had
+run away; "not ill; but I am up early."
+
+The boy asked no further question, but said to himself, "Something is
+up; and here comes Mr. Paterson!"
+
+"Have you found him?" Patience asked, under her breath.  "Any news?
+Any news?"
+
+George passed into the house, for he did not wish to excite observation.
+
+"No--no direct news; but I hear some ships got under weigh about three
+o'clock.  The tide served, and it is just likely that the boy is aboard
+one.  Don't you think me unfeeling now if I say, it is just as well he
+should go; he may learn a lesson you couldn't teach him."
+
+"The same story, the same trial over again!  Oh, how can I bear it?"
+Patience said, in a voice that filled the honest heart of George
+Paterson with deep pity and almost deeper pain.
+
+"Well," he said, "this wrangling here was bad for all parties.  The boy
+was always in hot water."
+
+"Because she was so cross-grained--because she hated him.  Oh, I
+cannot, cannot bear to think of it!"
+
+"Pray," said a sharp, shrill voice from the bottom step of the very
+narrow staircase which led into the still narrower passage, "pray, what
+is all this about?"
+
+"Jack never came home last night," Patience said in a voice of
+repressed emotion.  "He never came home.  He is gone, and I shall never
+see him again."
+
+"Oh, fiddlesticks!" was the reply.  "Bad pennies always turn up.  I
+never knew one in my life that was lost.  Mark my words, you have not
+seen the last of him--worse luck."
+
+"That's not a very pleasant way to talk, Miss Pinckney: you'll excuse
+me for saying so," said Mr. Paterson.  "The boy was a good boy on the
+whole."
+
+"A good boy!"  Miss Pinckney was screaming now.  "Well, George
+Paterson, your ideas of goodness and mine differ.  You may please to
+take yourself off now, for I've no time to spend in gossip;" and Miss
+Pinckney began her operations by flapping with a duster the counter of
+the shop, and taking from the drawers certain boxes of small articles
+in which she dealt.
+
+While she was thus engaged, she suddenly stopped short, and uttered an
+exclamation of horror, turning a white face to her sister, who was
+listening to the few words of comfort George had to bestow.  "Look
+here!" she exclaimed; "look here!  The secret's out.  The little tin
+cash-box is gone, and the thief is out of reach.  What do you say to
+your good boy now, eh, George Paterson?"
+
+George Paterson took one step into the shop, and said--
+
+"How do you know he took it?  He is the last boy I could think of as a
+thief."
+
+"Of course.  Oh, he is a perfect boy--a good boy!  I only wish he had
+never darkened my doors--the young villain!"
+
+"Hush, now Miss Pinckney.  Calm yourself, and let us have a look for
+the box.  Where was it put?"
+
+"Why, in the drawer, to be sure, under the counter.  I keep the key of
+the drawer in my key basket.  I always locked it--always.  He got the
+key and opened it.  There was four pounds and odd money in it--close on
+five pounds."
+
+"I am certain," said Patience, "Jack did not steal your money, sister
+Amelia."  Poor Patience was calm now.  "It is impossible," she
+continued.  "He was--he was as honest as the day, and as true as gold."
+
+"All that's very fine--very fine indeed.  He stole the money, and made
+off.  If he didn't, who did?"
+
+Patience stood wondering for a few moments, going over all that
+day--that last day.  Jack had been at school and out till nearly
+tea-time; then he had sat with his books till supper; and then came the
+uproar with his aunt, and he had rushed away--straight out of the
+house.  He could not have stopped in the shop on the way; besides, a
+plot must have been laid to get the key.  It was impossible Jack could
+be guilty.
+
+She looked at George, and read in his face deep sympathy, and also read
+there a reassuring smile.
+
+"No," he said.  "Whoever is the thief, Jack is innocent.  Circumstances
+may be against him--his running off to sea, and his passion-fit against
+you--but I believe him to be innocent.  You had better leave things as
+you found them, and I'll call in a policeman.  There'll be one on his
+beat at the end of the row by this time.  It is right and just all
+proper inquiries should be made."
+
+The policeman--a stolid, sober individual, who never wasted words--came
+at George Paterson's bidding, and looked with a professional eye at the
+drawer whence the money had been abstracted.
+
+"Box and all gone!  That's queer.  Key of box fastened to it by a
+string.  Humph!  Any servant in the house?"
+
+"No."
+
+"Boy that cleans up and takes down the shutters, eh?"
+
+"_No_--that is--my nephew was in the house, and," said Miss Pinckney
+with emphasis, "he ran off to sea last night."
+
+The policeman gave a prolonged "Ah!"
+
+Then he proceeded to examine the lock of the drawer.
+
+"Where's the key?"
+
+"Here, in my key basket.  I lock the drawer the last thing, and lock
+the shop-door myself.  You know that, Patience.  Speak up."
+
+"Yes, I know it--I know it."
+
+"Well, there seems no certain clue," the policeman said, twisting the
+key of the drawer round and round in the lock.
+
+"There's this clue," Miss Pinckney said; "my nephew who ran off to sea
+stole the box.  He and I had quarrelled a bit, for he was the most
+impudent and trying young vagabond.  If you wish to know my thoughts,
+policeman, they are that he took the cash-box."
+
+"There's no proof.  We must have proof.  But there's suspicion.  We
+must try to track the youngster, find out what ship he sailed in; and
+when she comes into port, why, we'll keep an eye on the little chap."
+
+The policeman had no more to say just then, and departed, saying to
+George, who shouldered his tools and followed him, "I know the boy.  A
+sharp one, isn't he?"
+
+"An honest one, if ever an honest boy lived," was the rejoinder, as
+George Paterson strode away.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IV.
+
+_HIS OWN WAY._
+
+Jack Harrison had no fixed purpose when he rushed out of his aunt's
+house, except to get away from the sound of her angry words, and from
+the sight of his mother's grieved face--that face, which bore the marks
+of so many storms, and which he loved better than any other in the
+world.
+
+"I had better go," he reasoned with himself.  "I may make a fortune.
+Suppose I go aboard a whaling ship, as my father did.  I won't go
+aboard a smack or trawler; I should not care for that life--handling
+fish, and out all weathers, north of the Dogger trawling--no, that
+would not pay, but a good ship would; and I'll take a look round the
+quay as soon as it's light."
+
+Jack had found the convenient shelter of an old boat on the beach, and
+there he curled himself up and fell asleep.
+
+He was awoke by feeling something touching his face, and starting up,
+just distinguished in the dim light the shape of a dog, which began to
+whine piteously, and licked his hands.
+
+"What, are you lost, or run away like me?" he asked.  "Have you been
+treated ill, eh?"
+
+Jack was now thoroughly awake, and crept out of his shelter on to the
+soft sand, which almost gave way under his feet.
+
+The dog continued whining and jumping on him, and seemed to want to
+show him the way to some place.
+
+"What do ye want, eh?  I can't make you out," Jack said; but in the
+light of the strengthening dawn which was breaking over the sea he saw
+a dark mass of something at some distance on the sand, and towards this
+the dog was evidently trying to guide him.
+
+There was not a creature to be seen on the level strand, and no sound
+but the gentle murmur of the tide just turning.  Presently, however,
+another sound made Jack pause and listen.
+
+The dog heard it also, and grew more and more frantic in his efforts to
+lead Jack on.
+
+When he got near the dark mass, Jack found it was the figure of a man,
+and that the sounds came from him, for he was groaning and crying as if
+in great pain.  The dog ran to him, and leaping on his prostrate
+figure, and then back again to Jack, showed that the place to which he
+had to bring him was reached.  As plainly as a dog could speak, he was
+saying, "Help my master."
+
+Jack bent down over the man, and said--
+
+"What's the matter?  Are you hurt?"
+
+"Yes, I've sprained my leg; and if I don't get to the quay by four
+o'clock I am ruined.  I'm mate of the _Galatea_.  Look alive and help
+me to the ship; it's all right when I'm there, for the captain is a
+jolly fellow--but oh, this leg!--all along of my catching my foot in a
+net.  Toby here and I were coming along the beach from my old
+step-mother's, over t'other side of the Monument, and I fell, and must
+have twisted my foot as I fell on that big stone.  Now, I say, will you
+help me to limp to the quay?  Doubt if I can do it, but I'll try all
+the same."
+
+The light was momentarily increasing now, and as Jack bent over the man
+to take his arm and pull him into a sitting posture, he saw a sad,
+pensive face turned up to him.  Evidently the impression that was
+mentally made was a good one, for the man said--
+
+"Where are you off to, young un?"
+
+"To see if I can get aboard any ship, and work my passage."
+
+"Whew!--oh!--here, wait a bit, my boy; I must ask the Lord to help me.
+I have been crying and groaning like a baby; that won't do.  No, Dick
+Colley, you mustn't be a coward.  Pain! well, what's pain!  Toby there
+would bear it better!"
+
+After a moment's silence the man said--
+
+"Now, heave-to, my boy, and I'll put down the right leg, and make you
+answer for the left.  Ahoy! ahoy!"
+
+The "ahoy" was nearly a groan again, and then there was a muttered oath.
+
+"Did ye hear that, boy?  That's the hardest job a man has to do--to
+cure himself of cursing.  It's worse than drinking.  I've been hard at
+it for a twelvemonth now, and I'm blessed if I ain't beaten over and
+over again.  This pain will----  Don't you think, boy, I consider it a
+fine thing to swear, and take the Lord's name in vain.  I think it is a
+shame to do it--and I beg Him to forgive me the next minute.  It's just
+this--that habits, bad or good, stick like a leech.  Now then, ahoy!"
+
+This time Dick Colley was fairly on his feet, and by the support of
+Jack's strong shoulder progress towards the quay was made.
+
+It was slow and difficult, and Toby followed close to his master's side
+with a dejected air, his stubby tail between his legs, giving every now
+and then a little whine of sympathy.
+
+"I am hard put to it, lad, to get along.  I am feeling faintish and
+bad; but I can't afford to lose this voyage; it's a long one, and good
+pay, and I've an old mother and a pack of children to keep."
+
+"Rest a bit," said Jack.  "Here's a post will do."
+
+"Ay; I dare say I'm pretty near breaking your shoulder-blade.  I shan't
+forget you, youngster.  I say, what's up? mischief, eh?"
+
+"I want to be off to sea just for a bit.  Will you take me?"
+
+"Well, I must go aboard first, before I can promise.  Now then, on we
+go."
+
+The quay was reached at last, and it was now broad daylight.
+
+The stately ships were all getting under weigh, and there was no bustle
+or noise.  The cargoes had been shipped overnight, and there was only a
+silent waiting for the tide.
+
+"Here she is; here's my berth.  You help me aboard, and we'll see what
+can be done."
+
+"Dick Colley, the mate, as sure as I'm alive!" said one of the crew,
+who was turning a loose cable round and round into a coil of many
+circles.  "Why, old chappie, what's amiss with 'ee?"
+
+"Give us a hand aboard.  I've been and sprained my ankle.  This
+youngster helped me along, or I'd never have got here."
+
+"You are just in time, mate; for we are off to the river's mouth in a
+twinkling.  Here, why, look alive! he's awful bad."
+
+With Jack's help they got Dick Colley on board and down below, where
+the ship's surgeon bandaged the swollen ankle, and Jack stood by with
+Toby.
+
+In the general hurry of departure, when the captain gave the word, no
+one noticed Jack, or if they noticed him, concluded that he was aboard
+the _Galatea_ as a passenger, of which there were a few.
+
+It was not till they were well out to sea that the captain, coming down
+into the mate's berth, said--
+
+"Hallo, Colley! who's the youngster aboard with the curly hair?  What's
+he about?"
+
+"He wants to work his way out, captain; set him to it.  I promised I'd
+say a word for him.  He just helped me across the sand, when I was
+pretty near dying of the pain.  You'll let him stay?"
+
+The captain turned on his heel, somewhat sulkily.
+
+"Do you suppose he's to do the work of your lame foot, eh?  Well, he
+hasn't come here to eat the bread of idleness.  I'll soon show him
+that."
+
+And the captain kept his word.
+
+Long before the sun--which had risen in a cloudless sky that
+morning--had set behind a bank of clouds, Jack was put to work.
+
+Washing the decks and performing other like offices fell to his share
+on that first bright day, when to sail over the blue calm sea, with the
+crisp air blowing from the great German Ocean, was a pleasant sensation
+in itself.
+
+But night came on, and the stars looked down from their immeasurable
+depths; and Jack, lying on a bench, with his arms folded, and his face
+resting on them, had time to think.
+
+He had done it now.  Often, when in a storm of passion he had said he
+would leave his aunt's roof for ever, he had relented, and even at his
+mother's instigation and entreaty had expressed sorrow for his burst of
+anger, and asked to be forgiven.
+
+He had done this only a fortnight before, and his aunt had received his
+apology with a short--
+
+"It's all very well to think by saying you are sorry you make it all
+right.  It's deeds not words, for me."
+
+This ungracious manner of receiving an expression of contrition had
+often hardened the boy's heart against his aunt.  Still more so when,
+from the other side of the parlour, Mr. Skinner would say, in a nasal,
+squeaky voice--
+
+"It's a wonder to me how your kind, generous aunt puts up with you for
+a single hour.  Only a good woman like her would give you house room at
+all."
+
+"What business is it of yours, I should like to know?" had been Jack's
+retort; and all the real sorrow he had felt, awakened by his mother's
+gentle words, had vanished.
+
+That Skinner!  How he hated him; how instinctively he turned from him
+with positive dislike and loathing.
+
+Now, as he lay alone and unnoticed beneath the star-strewn sky of the
+summer night, it was not of Skinner that he thought, not of his aunt,
+not of anything he had suffered--but of his mother.
+
+And he had left her without a word--without a kiss!  Many and many a
+time had he felt her kiss upon his forehead as he was sinking off into
+the sound sleep of childhood.  Many a time he had heard her whispered
+prayer as she knelt by his side; and now he had left her desolate!
+
+"Joy will be there," Jack thought--"little Miss Joy, and she will
+comfort her--dear little Joy!"
+
+And somehow, as all these memories of those he had left behind him came
+before him, tears rose all unbidden, and chased each other down his
+cheeks.
+
+Presently a rough kick from a man's boot made him start.
+
+"The mate is singing out for you, youngster," he said; "get along with
+you and go where you are wanted, for you ain't wanted here."
+
+"Where's the mate?"
+
+"Where, stupid?  In his berth, a groaning and sighing.  There ain't
+much the matter with him, that's my belief; only some folks can afford
+to make a fuss."
+
+Jack drew himself together and walked towards the companion ladder.  As
+he was putting his foot on it with the cautious air of the uninitiated,
+a rude push from behind, followed by a derisive laugh, sent him down to
+the bottom with a heavy thud.
+
+"Shame!" cried a voice, "to treat the boy like that."
+
+"Oh, he will be one of Colley's lambs, canting no end, you'll see!  For
+my own part, I'd soon chuck him overboard."
+
+"I know you are spiteful enough for anything," was the reply; "and I
+pity that boy if he's in your clutches."
+
+Another laugh, and Jack, now on his feet, turned round with a defiant
+air, and, half-stunned and bewildered, was climbing up the stairs
+again, to give his adversary a blow with his fist, when a voice called--
+
+"Stop, lad! don't go and give evil for evil."
+
+Colley from his berth had seen Jack fall, and had heard the mocking
+laugh.
+
+"Come here, lad.  I'm a bit easier now, and I want to talk to you.
+There, sit down on my locker, and we'll spin a yarn.  You've run away,
+haven't you?  I was so mad with pain, or I should have talked to you
+before.  Come, you've run away now?"
+
+"Yes," the boy said.
+
+"Then you've been and acted very foolish, let me tell you.  I did the
+same, boy, and I've repented it all my life.  I grieved the best of old
+fathers by my wild career, and then I ran off; and when we put into
+port after the first voyage, I went to the old place to find him dead.
+Now, how do you think I felt?  Why, ready to kill myself with remorse.
+What if you find your mother dead, when we put into port again?  Now
+look here, boy.  You've done me a good turn, and I'll do you one.  I'll
+get the captain to put you ashore, if you choose, and I'll put a few
+shillings in your pocket to get back home.  Do you hear?"
+
+"Yes," Jack said, "I hear; but I am in for it now, and I had better
+stick to it.  I should only make more trouble by going back.  That old
+aunt, who made my life miserable, would only be worse than ever.  No,
+sir, thank you; I'll go on, and I must put up with it."
+
+"Lie on the bed you've made for yourself, lad?  Ah, that's a precious
+uneasy one!  I'd like to tell you how I made mine, and I will some day;
+but now you'd better turn in, there's the watch on deck, telling
+midnight."
+
+"Where am I to turn in?" Jack asked.
+
+"There's an empty hammock close by.  Climb up there, and sleep till I
+call you.  There isn't much sleep for me.  Good-night."
+
+Jack found it no easy matter to climb into the hammock.  Like
+everything else, it requires practice; he took off his boots and made
+attempts to clamber up, but failed each time.
+
+"You young cur, what are you about?" called a gruff voice.  "Can't you
+turn in without waking a fellow from his sleep?  Get along with you;"
+and a leg was thrust out, which gave Jack a very emphatic kick.
+
+At last he gave up the attempt, and taking off his jacket he made a
+pillow of it, and curled himself up on the deck.
+
+The motion of the ship began to be more decided, for just at dawn a
+fresh breeze sprung up, and the _Galatea_ curtesied on the crest of the
+waves, and the water made a splash against her sides.  Jack was rolled
+against a locker, and found sleep impossible.
+
+The sailor who had grumbled at his disturbing him by his unsuccessful
+attempt to get into his berth, turned out at three o'clock, to relieve
+the watch on deck, and stumbling over Jack exclaimed--
+
+"You baby bunting!  So you can't get to your berth!  I'll teach you!"
+And taking Jack roughly by one arm and leg, he tossed him as if he had
+been a feather into the hammock, and said--
+
+"Lie there till you are wanted, and be thankful you've got there!"
+
+
+There is a certain rule which I think has seldom an exception, though I
+know we say that all rules _have_ an exception to prove their truth.
+But it is seldom indeed that we see the rule departed from, that "as a
+man soweth so shall he reap."
+
+We all of us prove its truth at one time or other of our lives.  "He
+that soweth to the flesh shall of the flesh reap corruption"; and many
+a bitter tear of self-reproach is caused by the crop our own hands have
+sown, when we took _our own way_, and turned from His way, "who gave us
+an example that we should follow in His steps."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER V.
+
+_A TEA-PARTY IN THE ROW._
+
+The hot summer days passed by in the Row, and the inhabitants took
+advantage of the long evenings to go down to the beach and pier, and
+listen to the bands playing merry tunes, and watch the gaily-dressed
+people who frequent Yarmouth in the season.
+
+Little Miss Joy was drooping somewhat with the heat, for the summer was
+one of rather unusual warmth.  But though she was quieter, and her
+voice was not so often heard singing like a bird from her high window
+opposite Mrs. Harrison's, still she did not get dull or cross.  "My
+Sunbeam!" her old friend called her; and there was nothing he liked
+better than to sit at his door, after business hours, while Joy talked
+to him or read him a story.  She went to a little day-school in the
+market-place, and was, in old Mr. Boyd's opinion, a wonderful scholar.
+
+Joy had many things to tell of her school-fellows, and there was one
+who use to excite her tender pity and her love.
+
+Bertha Skinner was a tall, angular girl of fourteen, who was the butt
+of the school, often in tears, always submissive to taunts, and never
+resenting unkindness.  That little Miss Joy should choose this untaking
+girl as her friend was the cause of much discontent and surprise in
+Miss Bayliff's little "seminary for young ladies."  No one could
+understand it, and little Miss Joy was questioned in vain.
+
+"Such an ugly, stupid girl, always dressed like a fright, and she can't
+add two and two together.  I wonder you speak to her, Joy."
+
+But Uncle Bobo, though confessing that he was surprised at Joy's taste,
+had a faint notion of the reason she had for her preference.
+
+"It's like my little Joy," he said; "it's just out of the kindness of
+her heart.  She thinks the girl neglected, and so she takes her up,
+bless her!"
+
+"May I ask poor Bet to spend Thursday afternoon with me, Uncle Bobo?"
+Joy asked one hot August morning as she was ready for school.  "_May_
+I, please?  It's early closing day, and we have a half-holiday.  Dear
+Goody Patience says she will take us to the sands, and perhaps Jim
+Curtis may give us a row.  I _should_ like that."
+
+"Well, I have no objection, my pretty one; the poor thing has no
+treats!"
+
+"Treats!  Oh, Uncle Bobo, she is miserable!  Her grandmother is so
+sharp, and tells her she is a useless fright, and things like that.
+And then there's her Uncle Joe, he is horrid!"
+
+Mr. Boyd laughed.
+
+"Ah, ah!  Miss Pinckney's suitor; he isn't very nice, I must say."
+
+"Suitor, Uncle Bobo; what's a suitor?"
+
+"You'll know time enough, my dear, time enough.  You'll have a score of
+them, I dare say; and I hope not one of them will be like Master
+Skinner, that's all.  He's like one of the lean kine you read to me
+about last Sunday in the Bible.  But leanness is no sin; p'r'aps he'll
+get fatter by-and-by."
+
+Little Miss Joy was mystified, and repeated to herself, and then aloud:
+
+"Does suitor mean the same as 'young man' and 'lover,' I wonder?"
+
+"Bless the child's innocence!  Yes, my dear, you've got it now."
+
+"But, Uncle Bobo, could an old, old lady like Miss Pinckney have a
+suitor?"
+
+"Oh, yes, my dear, yes!  She set her cap at me once.  She is--well--not
+much short of fifty; that's a girl, you know.  All are girls till they
+marry; old girls, we call them!"
+
+"But my dear Goody Patience is ever so much younger, and oh! she said
+last night, 'I don't feel as if I was ever young, or a girl,' and then
+she looked so sad."
+
+"Ah! my dear, she has had a sight of trouble, has poor Mrs. Harrison.
+First, her husband making off, leaving a good business--a very good
+business here, as a master of a lot of herring boats, with a share in
+one of the big curing houses where the bloaters are the best to be had
+in the trade.  But my young man must needs be off whaling, and never
+came back again.  Poor Patience!  It's a sad story.  For my part, I
+wish she would call herself a widow and have done with it.  There's
+some one ready enough to make her a happy wife."
+
+"Really, Mr. Boyd, if I was you I would not put such nonsense into the
+child's head," said the good old servant.  She had lived behind the
+little dark shop for some thirty years, and now came forward into the
+light, blinking as an owl might blink in the bright rays of the August
+sun, which at this time of day at this time of year penetrates the
+narrow row and shines right down into it.
+
+"Yes, I say it's nonsense to put into the child's head.  Run off, my
+dear; run off."
+
+"And I may ask Bet Skinner to come to tea, and dear Goody too; and
+you'll buy a plum-roll and cheese-cakes for a treat.  Will you, Uncle
+Bobo?"
+
+"Yes, my dear; I'll make a feast, see if I don't; and we'll have a good
+time."
+
+"Tea on the leads, tea upstairs, Uncle Bobo."
+
+Uncle Bobo nodded; and Joy ran off gaily with her invitation ready for
+poor Bertha.
+
+Uncle Bobo was as good as his word, and on Thursday morning sallied
+forth early to the confectioner's shop at the end of the row, and
+returned with a variety of paper bags stuffed full of cakes, and
+chucking them across the counter to Susan, said--
+
+"Spread the tea up aloft, as the child wishes it; it's cool up there,
+and plenty of air."
+
+Tea on the leads may not seem to many who read my story a very
+enchanting prospect, but to little Joy it was like tea in Paradise!
+
+The houses of the rows had many of them flat roofs behind the gables,
+which faced those opposite, and here flowers were cultivated by those
+who cared to do so, linen was hung out to dry, and in one or two
+instances pet doves cooed, or poor caged thrushes sang their prison
+song.
+
+Susan grumbled not a little at carrying up the provisions; but the boy
+Peter was pressed into the service, and Uncle Bobo brought up an old
+flag, which Peter tied to a pole, and set up to wave its rather faded
+colours over the feast.
+
+While these preparations were being made, Mrs. Harrison, and little
+Joy, and Bertha Skinner were on their way to the beach to watch the
+pleasure-boats pulling off with the visitors, and the children making
+their sand-castles and houses, and paddling in the pools the sea had
+left.  The tide was ebbing, and wide patches of yellow sand were
+separated from the beach by streams of water; sea-weeds threw out their
+pink feathery fronds, and shells of many varied colours lay beneath.
+
+Mrs. Harrison sat down, leaning her back against a boat, and the
+children ran down to the water's edge.
+
+The wife and mother was sad at heart; not one word from Jack--not one
+word.  She looked across the boundless sea, and thought how it had
+taken from her the husband of her youth, and the boy who was the light
+of her eyes.  Why was she so tried?  Why was her trouble always to be,
+as it were, in one direction, her position always suspense, always
+uncertainty, always waiting and watching, and dreading what news might
+come at last?
+
+George Paterson was a ship's carpenter, and well known along the coast
+and on the quay.  He had made every inquiry, but could not get any
+direct tidings of Jack.
+
+Several ships had sailed early that fine morning--the _Galatea_, for
+Constantinople; the _Siren_, for a Norwegian port; the _Mermaid_, for
+Genoa; but no one had any recollection of noticing a boy go aboard.
+Indeed, there were but few people who could have seen him, for few were
+stirring at that early hour, except those who were obliged to be at
+their post at sea or on shore, and they were probably too much
+engrossed with their own concerns to heed him, even if he had been seen.
+
+Patience had borne up bravely under this last sorrow.  In some ways
+Jack's absence was a relief--she had been always treading, as it were,
+on the edge of a volcano, that might send up fire and smoke at any time.
+
+We all know what a strain it is upon body and mind to be always seeking
+for peace, while those around us make themselves ready for battle; and
+the terror at every meal that there would be a scene between Jack and
+his aunt, with the effort to prevent it, had been a perpetual strain
+upon Mrs. Harrison.  At least that fear and dread were taken from her,
+and her heart said--
+
+"If only I knew he was well and happy I should be glad to know that he
+was gone away from so much that jarred and fretted him; but it is the
+silence and the terrible suspicion they raise that he was a thief that
+overwhelms me sometimes."
+
+As these thoughts were passing through Mrs. Harrison's mind George
+Paterson came up; he had been watching her and the children for some
+minutes, and the sympathy for the poor deserted wife and mother filled
+his honest blue eyes with tears.
+
+All the gay people about her--the singing of a large party which filled
+one of the pleasure-boats, the bustle and activity everywhere--seemed
+to force upon George Paterson the painful contrast between the glad and
+happy and the sad and deeply-tried woman, whom he loved better than
+anything in the wide world.  Oh that she would let him comfort her,
+take her to a pleasant home on the Gorlestone Road, with a garden full
+of flowers, and where peace and plenty reigned!
+
+But George loved Patience too well to weary her with importunity.  He
+would never add a straw's weight to her care by undue persistence in
+urging his suit.
+
+"Well," he said, pointing to Joy and her companion, "they seem happy
+enough.  It's odd that little Miss Joy should choose for her friend
+that untaking niece of Joe Skinner's.  She is very like him--just as
+unwholesome-looking and sly too."
+
+"Poor girl!  She has a melancholy time of it at home, so Joy tells me.
+It is just like her to take pity on one who is not cared for."
+
+"I dare say.  She is a little darling, and no mistake!"
+
+"This is early-closing day, and a half-holiday at Joy's school--that is
+why we are out pleasuring.  We are to have tea on the leads at Mr.
+Boyd's.  Will you come with us? for we ought to be getting back.  I
+promised Amelia I would be in at six o'clock, as she wants to go
+walking with Mr. Skinner."
+
+"Well, she had better stay at home, that's certain.  That fellow is a
+rogue, if ever there was one!"
+
+Mrs. Harrison was silent for a moment; then she said quietly, "I have
+no reason to love him, for he helped to drive my boy out of the house."
+
+"No doubt he did; and--I hardly like to say what I think--but I believe
+he made a plot about that money-box."
+
+"Oh!  I have often thought so, and put away the thought as wrong and
+wicked."
+
+"We'll speak plain English for once," George Paterson said.  "That man
+means to marry your sister, and get hold of all she possesses."
+
+"Oh, George!  Amelia is close on fifty, and Mr. Skinner can't be much
+over thirty."
+
+"That does not matter; the same thing is done every day.  Don't we see
+great folks setting the example, and ladies of any age marrying young
+fellows who want their money?  You may depend upon it, Skinner has this
+in his little sly eye.  Well, I shan't do him any good by abusing him,
+nor myself neither; so I'll have done."
+
+"Not a word from Jack," Mrs. Harrison sighed out--"not a word."
+
+"If he is off on a long voyage, as he may be, I never thought you would
+have a word.  You must wait till Christmas for news."
+
+"Till Christmas!  Ah! those were his father's last words--'I'll be back
+by Christmas;' and how many Christmases have come and gone since that
+day, and never a word--never a sign."
+
+"The dead cannot give either words or signs," George said; and then, as
+he saw Patience cover her face with her hands, he was sorry that he had
+uttered what was an obvious truth, and added gently--
+
+"If your husband had been alive he would come or write, for he loved
+you; and how can any man who loved _you_ forget or change?"
+
+Patience did not reply, and little Miss Joy, having caught sight of
+George Paterson, came springing towards him.
+
+"Oh!  I have got some beautiful shells," she said--"such a big one.
+Put it to your ear, and listen to the sound of the sea.  And Bet has
+got one too.  Come, Bet, and show it."
+
+Bet advanced slowly and awkwardly, her angular shoulders nearly
+touching her ears, her rough sandy hair gathered into a little knot at
+the back of her head, on which a very shabby brown hat was set on one
+side.
+
+Bertha had the cringing, deprecating manner of an ill-used dog.  No one
+liked her, no one cared for her, and she was fully alive to the fact.
+Only sweet little Miss Joy ever said a kind and pleasant word to her,
+and her devotion to this merry child filled her whole soul.  She dare
+not show it; she dare not lavish any of the ordinary endearments upon
+her.  She saw the other girls at Miss Bayliff's kiss and fondle her;
+she heard her praised and admired; she saw little gifts showered upon
+her--but she did none of these things.  Poor Bertha's was a blind and
+dumb worship for one who smiled at her when others frowned, who could
+seek her society when others shunned it, and could encourage her with
+her tasks--so far below her age--when others called her a dunce and an
+idiot.
+
+The tea on the leads was a great success; although, to be sure, a few
+black tokens from a neighbouring chimney peppered the cakes, and one or
+two danced into Mr. Boyd's large breakfast-cup full of tea.  Before tea
+was over, however, the shop-door bell was heard to ring furiously, and
+Susan, who had been invited to her share of the feast, trudged down, to
+trudge back, breathless and indignant, after a few minutes' absence,
+saying--
+
+"Miss Pinckney can't give no one any rest.  She is wanting you, Mrs.
+Harrison, to go and keep the house, as she is off with Mr. Skinner.  I
+shouldn't hurry now if I was you.  Let her wait, Mrs. Harrison."
+
+"No; I promised to go back by six o'clock."
+
+"Saint Nicholas clock has not struck yet," said Uncle Bobo.  "Don't you
+hurry, Mrs. Harrison, for we must have a song before we part--eh,  my
+Joy?"
+
+"If you please, Uncle Bobo, let it be 'Tom Bowling.'"
+
+Whereupon Mr. Boyd began to groan forth in not very dulcet tones the
+familiar song and strain, beginning--
+
+  "Here, a sheer-hulk, lies poor Tom Bowling."
+
+
+Mr. Boyd's voice had not been very musical in youth, and now the sounds
+seemed to come more from his boots than from his lips.  But Joy was a
+delighted listener.  Then she followed with one of Mrs. Alexander's
+"hymns for little children," and as she sang, in her sweet childish
+treble, the words seemed to speak peace.
+
+  "On the dark hill's western side
+  The last purple gleam has died;
+  Twilight to one solemn hue
+  Changes all, both green and blue.
+
+  "In the fold and in the nest,
+  Birds and lambs are gone to rest;
+  Labour's weary task is o'er,
+  Closely shut the cottage door.
+
+  "Saviour, now in sweet repose
+  I my weary eyelids close,
+  While my mother through the gloom
+  Singeth from the outer room."
+
+
+Joy paused, and putting her little hand in Mrs. Harrison's, said--
+
+"I have never any mother but you, dear Goody; and I know she must be
+glad I've got you, as God took her away from me."
+
+It was very seldom that Joy referred to her position in Uncle Bobo's
+house, and indeed very seldom that she thought of it.  She had been
+told that she had been laid at Uncle Bobo's door as a Christmas gift,
+and that had been enough for her.  But since she had been to Miss
+Bayliff's school there had arisen a question in her little mind as to
+why she had never known either father or mother--a question no one
+could answer.
+
+The bell ringing again more violently than before made Mrs. Harrison
+hasten away, and she had just gone when the clock struck six.
+
+"I should like to take Bet home, Uncle Bobo.  That will be such a nice
+end to our feast.  Will you come?"
+
+Uncle Bobo was not fond of walking, but he never liked to refuse Joy
+anything, and very soon he might be seen toddling along the row, with
+his short, stout legs, and rosy apple face, singing out a cheery
+"Good-evening" to such neighbours as were about, and taking Joy's
+little hand in his, while she danced at his side.  Presently she let go
+her hold on Uncle Bobo's hand, and said in a low voice--
+
+"I think I'd better walk with poor Bet, Uncle Bobo.  She looks so sad
+walking behind us."
+
+"So do, my Joy, so do.  You've a kind little heart, and may no one ever
+say a cross word to you, or do an unkind action."
+
+Joy fell back with a radiant smile, and, putting her hand into Bet's
+arm, drew her on in front.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VI.
+
+_A VISIT TO THE SKINNERS._
+
+Mr. Skinner was very like his mother.  No one could mistake that they
+bore this relationship.
+
+Some old age is lovely--radiant with the chastened light of eventide.
+Mrs. Skinner's was certainly unlovely.  Tall and spare, with sharp
+pinched features, and thin pitiless lips, from which very few kindly
+words had ever fallen, and where a smile was almost unknown--she was an
+almost friendless woman.  She who had never rendered a neighbour a
+kindly service neither expected nor received any from others.  She had
+the reputation of being a cross-grained old woman, who had driven her
+only daughter away by her unkindness, and had spent what love she had
+upon her two sons, who suited her in many ways far better than her
+daughter.  The youngest of these--Bertha's father--had married a woman
+much older than himself, and Bertha was his orphan child, her mother
+having died at her birth.  She had been taken to live with her
+grandmother, at the dying wish of her father: what maternal affection
+she possessed responded to this last request of her youngest son, and
+Bertha had known no other home.
+
+It was a home, as far as the shelter of a roof and food and clothing
+went; and the education of Miss Bayliff's school, given somewhat
+grudgingly, was to be granted till Bertha was fifteen.
+
+"_Then_ she must work for her living," Mrs. Skinner had said; "and,"
+she added, "few people would have done what _I_ have done."
+
+"A great deal too much!" Joe would say when his mother indulged in this
+self-congratulation--"a great deal too much; and I, for one, don't
+approve of this girl being nursed in idleness; it was the ruin of
+Maggie."
+
+Mrs. Skinner winced a little at the name; for Maggie had disappeared,
+and no trace could be found of her.
+
+She had been, so those who remembered her said, of a very different
+type to her family, as if she had dropped down from the clouds into it.
+
+That was long ago now, but the people who could look back some years in
+the neighbourhood where Mrs. Skinner lived could remember this bright,
+gay girl disappearing, and the mother's reply to any inquiry--
+
+"I know nothing about her, nor do I wish to know.  She has been and
+made her bed, and she must lie on it."
+
+Report said that Maggie had married against her mother's wish, and that
+she had literally turned her out of her house.  This was about all that
+was ever heard, and nothing was really known.  Any attempt to question
+Mrs. Skinner was met by a sharp rebuff, and very few people, even the
+boldest, dare approach her even with an attempt to find out what she
+chose to keep secret.
+
+Mrs. Skinner and her son Joe lived in a detached red brick house, built
+long before villas with bay windows and gabled roofs, and little dormer
+windows in them, were thought of.  It was a straight little house, with
+a window on each side of the door, and three above it, a lean-to at the
+back, and a square of garden in front.  The path to the door was of
+pebbles, and they always made a disagreeable crunching sound as the
+feet of any comers to the house walked over them.  That was not often;
+and the little iron gate grated on its hinges, it was so seldom opened,
+as Mr. Boyd pushed it back to admit the two girls.
+
+"No, no," Uncle Bobo had said, in answer to Joy's entreaty.  "I'll just
+walk across to that bench and wait for you, my Joy.  I don't fancy the
+old lady, and she doesn't fancy me.  So ta-ta!"
+
+Mr. Boyd toddled across the bit of sandy road to a bank mound of sand,
+covered with long pointed grass, which hid the view of the sea from the
+lower window of Mrs. Skinner's house, and sitting down on a wooden
+seat, resigned himself to patient waiting.
+
+Bertha crept slowly up to the door, and seemed half afraid to make her
+coming known.
+
+She turned the bright brass handle of the door, but it was locked.
+
+"We must go in by the back door; p'raps grandmother won't mind."
+
+"Are you afraid to go in, Bet?"
+
+"Well, grandmother is very particular; she isn't like Mr. Boyd."
+
+"Do you mean," said Joy, "that you would rather I didn't come in?  Oh,
+then I will run back to Uncle Bobo!  Good-bye, Bertha."
+
+"No, no, I didn't mean that," said Bertha, much distressed.  "I--I----"
+
+As she was hesitating the door was opened, and Mrs. Skinner's tall
+figure filled the narrow entrance.  She stood without saying a word for
+a moment, and then, in a harsh, discordant voice, she asked--"Who is
+_that_?"
+
+"If you please, ma'am, I am Joy.  I go to school with Bertha, and she
+has been home to tea with me and Uncle Bobo, and I have brought her
+back."
+
+"She does not want bringing," was the sharp reply; "she can bring
+herself, I suppose.  Go round to the back door, will you?"
+
+"I think I had better _not_," Joy said with emphasis, "because you do
+not wish me to come into your house."
+
+Mrs. Skinner had been standing motionless at the door while Joy was
+speaking, and there was a strange expression on her sharp thin features.
+
+"Where do you say you live, child?"
+
+"I live with Uncle Bobo, in the row, opposite Miss Pinckney and Mrs.
+Harrison.  Miss Pinckney keeps the milliner's shop, where the widows'
+caps hang up."
+
+"_I_ know," was the reply; "I never bought any article there, and I
+never mean to.  Well, you may run round with Bertha for a few minutes."
+
+"Thank you," Joy said.  "I hope you'll let Bet come to tea again; and
+if you'd like to come too, I am sure Uncle Bobo wouldn't mind."
+
+"I don't spend _my_ time gadding about taking tea with folks.  I leave
+that to drones, who've got nothing better to do.  Did you say, child,
+you lived with Boyd, at the instrument shop?"
+
+"Yes, ma'am; he's my uncle."
+
+Mrs. Skinner turned away, and then the door was shut with a sharp bang,
+and the two girls were left outside.
+
+"I don't think I'll come in, Bet," little Miss Joy said; "for your
+grandmother does not like me--she looks so cross."
+
+"She always looks like that," Bertha said; and then she added, "Every
+one but you is cross to me; you are always kind.  Oh, I do love you!"
+
+Then Bet's cheeks, after making this declaration, were suffused with
+blushes, which made her poor sallow face a dark purplish-red.
+
+"Do come in a moment--_do_," she said.
+
+The two girls went in at the back door, and along a narrow stone
+passage.
+
+The door on the right was open, and Bet said, in a low whisper--
+
+"There's Uncle Joe's room.  There's where he sits at night, and I hear
+people coming in, 'cause my window is one in the lean-to."
+
+Uncle Joe's proceedings had not much interest for Joy, and she just
+looked round the room standing on the threshold, and said--
+
+"What a big table for such a wee little room, covered with green cloth,
+and what funny little boxes!  They are like the big hour-glass in Uncle
+Bobo's glass case.  It's not a pretty room at all," she said decidedly.
+"Come away, Bet."
+
+Bertha then led the way up a very narrow flight of steps, which were
+scarcely to be called a staircase.  They creaked under her feet, and
+even Joy's light tread made them squeak and shake.
+
+"Here's where I sleep;" and Joy found herself in a little room with a
+sloping roof and a beam.  The room was in fact only a loft for storage,
+but it was thought good enough for Bertha.
+
+"I wanted to show you this," Bertha said; "it's the only keepsake I've
+got.  It was once my poor Aunt Maggie's, and she gave it to me.  I can
+just remember her kissing me one night, and saying, 'God bless you--you
+poor orphan.'  I must have been a little thing, perhaps four years old,
+for it's such a long time ago, and I am nearly fifteen."
+
+Bertha had dived into the depths of a trunk covered with spotted lilac
+paper, and which contained most of her worldly goods.
+
+From the very bottom she pulled out a square leather frame, and as she
+rubbed the glass, which was thick with dust, with her sleeve, she said--
+
+"Isn't she pretty?"
+
+It was an old faded photograph of what must have been a pretty girl, in
+a white dress with a band of ribbon, which a photographic artist had
+painted blue, and had touched the eyes with the same colour.
+
+"I think she is beautiful," Bertha said.  "I never saw any one so
+pretty till I saw you, and I think you are like poor Aunt Maggie."
+
+Joy looked doubtfully at the portrait, and said--
+
+"Yes, it's very nice.  She looks so good and so sweet, as if she could
+never have been cross or naughty."
+
+"That's just what _I_ think," Bertha said; "and she _is_ like you, for
+you are good, and I am sure you are never cross."
+
+"Oh!" little Miss Joy said, "that's a mistake.  I am naughty when I
+hate Miss Pinckney, and when I am impudent to Susan.  She _says_ I am
+impudent, and Miss Pinckney has called me a 'saucy little baggage' very
+often.  That's why I don't go into Miss Pinckney's shop to see dear
+Goody Patience and Jack.
+
+"Ah!" Joy added with a sigh, "there is no Jack to see now; he is gone,
+and I do miss him so.  He used to be so good to me;" and her eyes grew
+dim, and the corners of her rosy lips turned down ominously.  "But I
+must go to Uncle Bobo now; he must be tired of waiting, and he'll get
+fidgety."
+
+"Very well," Bet said; "I don't want you to get a scolding."
+
+"A scolding!" Joy said, recovering herself from the momentary
+depression which the thought of Jack's loss had caused.  "Uncle Bobo
+never scolded me in his life."
+
+Then Joy stepped cautiously down the narrow stairs, and turning said--
+
+"Good-bye, Bet; good-bye."
+
+"Good-bye," poor Bet said, as, standing at the back-door, she watched
+her friend skipping off across the road to the seat where Uncle Bobo
+sat, with his round back--very round--and his short legs tucked up, one
+wide-toed boot upon the other, to give support.
+
+"I wish she'd kissed _me_," poor Bet thought, as she saw Joy throw her
+arms round the old man's neck, and kiss all that was visible of his
+rosy cheek beneath his large wide-awake.  "I'd like her to kiss me like
+that;" and poor Bet followed the two figures with lingering, longing
+eyes till they were out of sight.
+
+Other eyes were following them also.  Mrs. Skinner was standing by the
+window of her parlour, peering over the short white muslin blind at
+Uncle Bobo and Joy.  What was she thinking about?  For her thin lips
+were parted as if she were speaking to some one, and her long fingers
+worked convulsively with the strings of her black alpaca apron.
+
+Presently the door opened softly, and Bet came creeping in.  She never
+knew what reception she might get, and she had the miserable cowed
+manner of a beaten dog.
+
+"Grandmother!"
+
+Mrs. Skinner started, and said sharply--
+
+"Well, what do you want?"
+
+"Isn't she pretty?  Isn't she a darling?"
+
+"Stuff and nonsense!  I don't care about beauty; it's only skin deep;
+and I dare say she's a pert little hussy.  Don't go and bring her here
+again, I don't want her."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VII.
+
+_DARK DOINGS._
+
+When Mr. Skinner had escorted Miss Pinckney home after their walk, he
+seated himself at supper with the air of one who was thoroughly at home
+and at his ease.
+
+"He knows on which side his bread is buttered," Uncle Bobo's Susan
+said, as she had watched Miss Pinckney walking up the row with her
+tall, ungainly suitor.
+
+For Uncle Bobo was right.  Mr. Skinner had every intention of coming to
+the point; though, I need not say, it was not his custom to go straight
+to the point.
+
+Mr. Skinner always preferred a circuitous route.
+
+When they were seated at supper Mr. Skinner said--
+
+"You have had no tidings of your runaway, I presume, Mrs. Harrison?"
+
+This question was asked as Mr. Skinner looked at Jack's mother with
+that oblique glance Jack had boldly called a "squint."
+
+Patience shook her head.  She could not bring herself to talk of her
+boy to Mr. Skinner.
+
+"Ah," he said, "what a home he has left, and what a friend!  When I
+think of Miss Pinckney's generosity and nobility of temper, I grieve
+that they were expended on so unworthy an object."
+
+The colour rose to Mrs. Harrison's cheeks.
+
+"You will be so kind, Mr. Skinner," she said, "not to talk about my
+boy.  It is not a matter I care to speak of to any one."
+
+"True, true!" was the reply.  "'Least said, soonest mended.'  But I
+suppose I may be permitted to offer my humble tribute of admiration to
+my dear, kind friend, who always gives me a welcome to her hospitable
+board."
+
+Here Mr. Skinner stretched out his long, thin fingers, and laid them
+gently on Miss Pinckney's, who was in the act of handing him another
+triangular cut from the pork pie, which had been the _piece de
+resistance_ of the supper-table.
+
+"Oh! dear me, Mr. Skinner," Miss Pinckney exclaimed, "I don't look for
+gratitude--never!  So I am not disappointed.  Gratitude isn't a plant
+that grows in these parts.  It doesn't flourish.  The air doesn't suit
+it, I suppose."
+
+This was said with a glance at poor Patience, who was well accustomed
+to such side-hits.
+
+"It is a plant that has a deep root in my heart," said Mr. Skinner,
+"and I hope the flower is not unpleasing, and that the fruit will be
+satisfying."
+
+This was a great flight of poetical rhetoric, and Miss Pinckney bridled
+and simpered like a girl of sixteen.
+
+"You are kindly welcome surely to anything I have to give, Mr. Skinner,
+now and at _all_ times.  Those that don't care for what I provide,
+well, they may seek their fortune elsewhere, and the sooner the better."
+
+Patience Harrison had long been disciplined to self-control, or she
+could never have borne the "quips" and "quirks" of her sister.
+
+Thus she kept silence, determined not to wrangle with Miss Pinckney in
+the presence of witnesses; above all, not in the presence of the man
+whom she distrusted.
+
+So she quietly cleared away the supper when the meal was concluded, and
+retired to the back premises to wash up the dishes, and put everything
+in order for the night.
+
+It was about ten o'clock when Mr. Skinner--having sipped his glass of
+hot gin and water bid his hostess an affectionate adieu, and turned his
+steps homewards.
+
+When he reached his own gate he exchanged a quiet greeting with two
+men, who were evidently waiting for him.
+
+Then all three went softly round to the back of the house, and entered
+it by the door through which Bet and little Miss Joy had gone in that
+afternoon.
+
+Mr. Skinner opened the door with a latch-key, and all three men passed
+silently into the little room with the big table, covered with the
+green cloth--the table which little Joy had said looked too big for the
+room.
+
+"Well," one of the men said, "'Fortune favours the brave.'  I am in for
+luck to-night.  What have you got to drink?  I dare say there's a
+bottle of rum in the cupboard, eh?"
+
+"Well," Mr. Skinner said, "I don't drink anything myself.  So, no
+doubt, what you left is to be had."
+
+"Ah, ha! ah, ha!" laughed the other man.  "You don't drink at your own
+expense; is that it?  The old lady in the row finds you in toddy."
+
+"Shut up!" said the elder of the two men; "don't talk all night, but
+let us to business."
+
+Then two packs of cards were produced with the black bottle, and very
+soon the game began.
+
+Ah me! that ruinous game, which so many, I fear, play, and thereby lose
+all sense of honour and right.  Who shall say how long is the list of
+broken hearts for which gambling is responsible?
+
+And not only the sordid gambling, such as that in which Mr. Skinner and
+his boon companions indulged, with dirty packs of cards, in a low room
+where the mice scampered about behind the loose boards, and the whole
+aspect was uninviting; but, alas! there is the same game going on
+amongst those who, from education and social position, should be the
+first to shun this crying evil.
+
+It matters not whether the stakes be for a pound or a penny, the danger
+and the sin is the same.
+
+The winner is always the winner at the expense of the loser.  The
+success of one is the destruction and misery of the other.  Deceit and
+fraud, with too often strong drink to silence the cry of remorse and
+the voice of conscience, follow in the gambler's train.  No departure
+from the paths of honesty is single in its consequences, and there is
+no sin but may be compared to the throwing of a pebble into a still
+lake, when the circles which follow the fall of the stone widen and
+widen, and that indefinitely.
+
+Gambling in all its forms is a grievous wrong; and whether from betting
+on horses, or speculating in stocks and shares, or descending to a
+shabby little room such as that where Mr. Skinner and his friends sat
+on this fair summer night, shuffling their cards, for what seemed by
+comparison insignificant sums, we are bound to protest against it with
+all our might, and to guard the young under our care from the first
+beginnings of what is indeed the cause of untold misery to many who, in
+thousands of cases, suffer for the sins of others.
+
+The stakes for which Mr. Skinner and his companions played were small;
+but his usual good fortune seemed to have deserted him of late, for he
+had lost again and again.
+
+One of the men, as he threw down the cards, said--
+
+"I have a score against you for last Tuesday, Skinner.  Do you want to
+run up further?" and he pulled out a bit of dirty paper from a
+pocket-book, and read from it sums which amounted to several pounds.
+
+Mr. Skinner treated the matter with lofty indifference, saying--
+
+"You needn't fear; I am going in for a prize, and I shall win!"
+
+"Ah, well, win or lose, I must be paid.  It is rather inconvenient to
+be out of pocket like this."
+
+Mr. Skinner threw down another four shillings, and said--
+
+"Try again."
+
+Again, the stakes being trebled on a card, he lost--though the winner
+this time was the third man of the company.
+
+Then a good deal of wrangling and quarrelling in an undertone followed,
+and Bet, in her room above, was awoke by it.  She had been awoke before
+from the same cause; but to-night she sat up in bed and listened.
+
+The joists that divided the room in this lean-to of Mr. Skinner's
+cottage, which could hardly be called a "wing," were very thin and far
+apart, and a knot in one of the boards of her room had been forced out
+and left a hole through which it was possible to get a peep into the
+room below.
+
+Presently the voices ceased, and she heard the stealthy footsteps of
+the men retreating across the yard, and then, as they reached the deep
+soft sand, they were heard no longer.
+
+Bet got up, and standing on tip-toe tried to look out of the little
+attic window that lighted her room.  As she did so the hole in the
+floor attracted her, for she could see the light through it from the
+room below.
+
+She lay down on the boards, and, looking through, could see her uncle
+at the table.
+
+He had a small box before him, from which he took out some coins, and
+then he put a key attached to the box in the lock, and fastened it.
+Bertha watched, she hardly knew why, with deep interest her uncle's
+proceedings, and saw him rise from the table with the box in his hand
+and go out.
+
+She climbed on the seat to bring her face on a level with the little
+window, and distinctly saw her uncle, with a lantern in one hand, which
+he set down by his side, and in the other a spade, with which he dug a
+hole in the soft, sandy mould by the strip of garden, where Mrs.
+Skinner cultivated some straggling cabbages, which went to _stalk_ with
+but few leaves, in the poor soil of the little enclosure.
+
+Presently he put something from his pocket into the hole, and then
+covering it with the soft soil, he returned to the house.
+
+What did it all mean?  Poor Bet felt something was wrong, and yet how
+could she help it?
+
+"I wish there was any one I could tell," she thought; "but there is
+nobody.  Little Miss Joy wouldn't care to hear, and nobody else would
+listen to me if I did tell them.  And I suppose Uncle Joe has a right
+to bury his things if he likes; but it's very odd."
+
+Then she crept back to her bed, and was soon asleep.
+
+Bet went off to school the next morning with a lighter heart than
+usual, for she had received a convincing proof of little Joy's
+friendship, by her invitation to tea at the row.
+
+The midsummer holidays were approaching, and she was determined to bear
+all the rebuffs she met with from her school-fellows with fortitude.
+What did anything matter if Joy loved her!
+
+When Bet reached the gates of the garden before Miss Bayliff's school,
+she saw a knot of girls standing there.  She came slowly towards them,
+shuffling her feet as usual in an awkward fashion, and not daring to
+draw too near the charmed circle, for her defender was not there.
+
+"Little Joy is late this morning," one of the girls said.  "But we must
+go indoors; Miss Bayliff is in a rage if we crowd outside.  Here, Bet,
+do you know where little Miss Joy is?"
+
+"How should she?" said another voice.  "Here comes May Owen; let us ask
+her: she lives in Broad Row."
+
+May Owen was the daughter of an ironmonger, whose premises were at the
+corner of the row, just above Uncle Bobo's shop.
+
+"Well," she said, "have you heard about poor little Joy?"
+
+"No; what's the matter?" asked a chorus of voices.
+
+"She was out last evening with Mr. Boyd, and as they were coming home a
+horse came galloping along the Market Place, and Joy was knocked down.
+She has hurt her head, they say, or her back.  The doctor has been
+there half the night, and Mr. Boyd is mad with grief.  It has made a
+scene, I can tell you, in the row."
+
+"Why, Bet!" one of the girls exclaimed, "don't do that!"
+
+For poor Bet had seized the arm of the girl nearest her to support
+herself.  Her heart beat wildly, her face was blanched with fear, as
+she gasped out--
+
+"Oh, I must go to little Miss Joy!  I must, indeed I must!"
+
+"Nonsense!  Don't squeeze my arm like that; you'll pinch me black and
+blue.  _You_ can't go to little Miss Joy; she wouldn't want _you_."
+
+"No; I should think not!" said May Owen.  "The notion of a scarecrow
+like you being a pleasant sight to Mr. Boyd in his trouble!  Mrs.
+Harrison is with the child."
+
+"Tell me--tell me," poor Bertha gasped; "will she get well?  will she
+live?"
+
+"I don't know.  Let us hope so, for she is a darling, and every one
+loves her," said another voice.  And then a bell rang, and the girls
+trooped up the steps into the house, and the business of the morning
+began.
+
+Who shall tell the misery of those long hours in school to Bertha?  She
+could only gaze at the white face of the clock, and count the minutes
+as the long hand passed over them.  As to her lessons in class, she
+was, as the governess who taught her said, "Hopelessly muddled."
+
+Vain were her efforts to get through her repetition of Cowper's lines
+on his mother's picture.  She sat with a sum before her on a slate, and
+blurred it with tears; and finally had a long array of bad marks, and
+was sent by the assistant governess to Miss Bayliff to receive a
+lecture, and to be given a long column of the Dictionary to write out
+and learn by heart in addition to her usual lessons.
+
+It did not strike Miss Bayliff that sorrow for Joy was the cause of
+Bet's woe-begone face.  Miss Bayliff herself was really distressed at
+the news which had circulated through the school of Joy's accident, but
+she did not think Bet could feel as she did for little Miss Joy.
+
+The moment school was over, Bet seized her hat from the peg in the
+passage, and set off to the row to learn the worst.
+
+To her great relief she saw Mrs. Harrison coming from her own door to
+Uncle Bobo's.  She clutched her arm pretty much as she had clutched her
+schoolfellow's; but she was not thrust away this time.  Patience
+Harrison said kindly,
+
+"My dear, our little Joy seems a trifle better.  She has opened her
+eyes and smiled at Uncle Bobo."
+
+"Will she get well?  May I see her?"
+
+"You must not see her; she has to be kept very quiet."
+
+"Oh! what shall I do? what shall I do?" Bet exclaimed.
+
+"Pray for her," was the reply, "and trust in God's love whichever way
+it goes with her."  And then, moved to deep pity for poor Bet, Mrs.
+Harrison stooped and kissed her, and went into the little shop.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VIII.
+
+_IN PERIL OF THE SEA._
+
+The _Galatea_ was a good sailing vessel, loaded with goods, and was
+bound for Constantinople.  She was a trading vessel, with a few
+passengers who paid a moderate sum for their berths, and were provided
+with very fair accommodation on board.
+
+Jack certainly proved himself a good sailor.  As soon as the first
+misery of sea-sickness was over, he made himself very useful to the
+crew generally, and to Dick Colley in particular.
+
+"He is worth his biscuit, captain," Colley said one day.  "A sharp lad,
+eh?"
+
+"Yes, and a handy one too.  It's well for you that you have had that
+boy to help you, with your lame leg; and you are trying to make him one
+of your sort, I see."
+
+"One of my sort!  No.  I hope a long sight better than my sort,
+captain.  I am but a beginner, learning the alphabet late in life; but,
+please God, I'll stumble on following Him, and I hope I may get others
+to follow Him too."
+
+"You needn't look for me in that following, Colley; but you are welcome
+to the boy.  It is all very fine to preach about God's love and care
+for us when the sea is stirred by a pleasant breeze, just enough to
+give us a capful of wind, and we are making our proper knots an hour
+straight for port; but when the waves are roaring, and the timbers of
+the ship groaning and creaking, and we know not but that we may go to
+the bottom any minute--don't tell me it is God's love then, when poor
+fellows are fighting the waves for life, knowing that if they are
+drowned they leave wife and child poor and desolate.  No, no, Colley;
+that motion won't hold water."
+
+"Begging your pardon, captain," said Colley, "it's better to trust in
+the Lord's love in a storm, than curse, and swear, and shriek as you
+and I have seen some of our mates take on, in mortal terror.  You can't
+deny that."
+
+"I deny nothing," was the reply.  "I am content to let things take
+their course, and religion with the rest.  Let them pray who like; it's
+no odds to me."
+
+Jack had been near during this conversation; and as the captain turned
+on his heel and took up his position again at the helm, Colley called
+Jack.
+
+"Were you within ear-shot just now, boy?"
+
+"Yes," Jack said.  "I heard what you and the captain were saying.  My
+mother talks as you talk; and as to little Miss Joy, she is always
+singing hymns, and loves taking Uncle Bobo's hand and trotting to
+church with him.  I wish you could see little Miss Joy; you would love
+her as much as I do."
+
+"P'r'aps I may see her one day.  She is a pretty little thing, you say?"
+
+"Pretty!" Jack said; "she is a great deal more than pretty.  Her eyes
+are like the sky; and how she can laugh, to be sure! it's like silver
+bells ringing.  Many a time, when I have been half wild with Aunt
+Amelia's grating tongue, I have run over to Mr. Boyd's, and Joy has put
+me right.  She would always be on the watch for me when I came back
+from school, and she calls my mother 'Goody,' and she is just like a
+little daughter to her.  Then when there were sharp words between Mr.
+Boyd and his old servant, Joy made peace.  She would climb on Uncle
+Bobo's knee, and kiss him, and put her hand before his mouth, and beg
+him to be quiet, and not get angry with Susan, because hard words did
+no good."
+
+"That's true, boy--that's true; and now I want to know what you are
+going to do when we are safe in port?  Go home and show you are sorry,
+eh?"
+
+"Not home to my aunt's house; I'd rather break stones.  Look here, she
+just makes me feel wretched, as little Miss Joy makes me feel good."
+
+"Ah, boy, that's the wrong end of the stick--the feeling good and
+wicked, as you say.  No, no; 'goodness,' as you call it, don't depend
+on little Miss Joy, or wickedness on sharp-tempered viragos like you
+say your aunt is.  It is the _heart_, boy.  If that is turned to God,
+then we may hope to keep straight, by watching and praying; but it is a
+fight, boy, as I find.  As I told you, I find it hard enough to curb my
+tongue; for it is like a ship flying afore the wind, with no rudder and
+no pilot.  Off I go, and the words drop from my lips like mad!  But I
+pray for help to bridle my tongue, and I cry to God for pardon every
+time I take His blessed name in vain.  Don't you learn bad ways aboard.
+Most of the crew are steady young fellows.  One or two of 'em are on
+the right track; but that man who kicked you when you came aboard, you
+beware of him.  He is more dangerous when he is friendly than when he's
+your enemy.  So don't listen to him; it won't do you no good."
+
+Amongst the passengers was a sweet-faced woman, with her little boy.
+Jack took greatly to the child.  He reminded him of Miss Joy, and he
+would take his hand and lead him about the ship, and show off Toby's
+tricks for his amusement.
+
+The woman was on her way to Cairo to join her husband, who had a place
+there in an English family as courier and valet.  She had been sent
+home by the doctors for her health, and was now on her outward-bound
+voyage, with her little son.
+
+She soon found that Jack was trustworthy, and she allowed her little
+Peter to be with him whenever Jack had time to amuse him.  Old Colley,
+too, would set him on his knee, and tell him stories of the sea, and
+the names of the sea-birds, which often followed the ship, and would
+sometimes pounce down on any bit of biscuit or salt meat which might be
+on deck.
+
+It was a pretty sight when little Peter's golden hair rested against
+Colley's blue jersey, and the child would put up his hand and stroke
+the stubby beard of his new friend, and say--
+
+"I shall be a sailor when I grow up.  I love the sea."
+
+Then Colley would stroke his head and say--"In calm weather it's
+pleasant enough, boy.  You wait till you have seen a storm."
+
+The voyage out promised well till they came to the Bay of Biscay, when
+contrary winds and a storm drove the _Galatea_ to take refuge in the
+port of Lisbon.
+
+The captain was anxious to make his way to Constantinople, and against
+the advice of Colley and the second mate sailed out from Lisbon in
+rough weather.
+
+"The storm is over," he said, "and I've no time to spend with the men
+kicking their heels aboard, or going ashore to get into mischief."
+
+So the orders were given, and the _Galatea_ went curtesying over the
+billows, under a bright sky, with all sails set.
+
+"We are in the track of a storm, and if I'm not mistaken," Colley said,
+"we shall find ourselves in a worst plight before forty-eight hours
+have come and gone.  I never saw the moon look as she did last night
+without a meaning."
+
+But for that night Colley's prophecy seemed to be unfulfilled.  The
+wind sank, the sea became like glass, and the _Galatea_ made but little
+progress.  The weather was intensely hot, and the nights scarcely
+cooler than the days.
+
+It was on the evening of the second day, after sailing out of the port
+of Lisbon, that Colley asked Jack if he saw a dark line drawn along the
+horizon.
+
+"Yes," Jack said, "I see."
+
+"That's the storm coming, and it will be upon us fast enough."
+
+The captain, who was standing at his post with his glass, saw it also,
+and very soon orders were shouted to reef sails, and "every man to his
+post."
+
+Before a landsman could believe it possible, the mysterious dark line
+had spread over the sky, and there was a hissing sound as of coming
+breakers.  Then a swift forked flash struck across the waters, and was
+followed by a peal of thunder which was deafening.  In another quarter
+of an hour the waves were roaring, and the noise of the thunder and the
+gathered blackness of darkness were awful.
+
+The _Galatea_ was well manned, and every one of the crew held gallantly
+to their post.  The captain encouraged the frightened passengers, and
+tried to quiet their fears.
+
+Jack obeyed orders, and never flinched from his duty.
+
+Presently the angry billows broke with terrific violence over the poor
+_Galatea_, and she bowed herself in her distress till the masts and
+timbers creaked, and every time she went down into the deep valleys
+between the mountainous waves, it seemed impossible that she should
+right herself again.
+
+"We are in great peril, boy," Colley said in Jack's ear, or rather he
+shouted the words at the pitch of his voice.  "You put your trust in
+God, and He will hear your cry."
+
+Ah! in moments of dire distress and fear, the soul that has before been
+dumb cries unto God.  Poor frail mortals think they can do very well
+without God, when skies are blue, and all things, golden, bright, and
+prosperous; but in the hour of death, and in all times of tribulation,
+few indeed are to be found who do not cry to God for refuge and
+deliverance.
+
+Jack stood face to face with death, and he knew it.  All his short life
+seemed to rise clearly before him, and his mother's face as he knelt to
+repeat his little prayer at her knee in childish days.  His mother! she
+had been left a widow, although she could not believe it; his mother!
+to whom he should have been a stay and comfort, deserted, because he
+had been a coward, and could not meet the trials of his daily life--his
+aunt's sharp tongue, and Mr. Skinner's side-hits.
+
+He had run away to sea to escape these, to please himself--and this was
+the end.  Oh! his mother! his mother!  Had he not seen her watch and
+wait for his father's return? and had he not seen the lines of care
+deeping on her sweet face?  And now he had added to her sorrow, and
+could never hear her words of forgiveness.
+
+All this passed through Jack's mind far more quickly than I can write
+it here, or you can read it; and hot tears mingled with the cold, salt
+spray, which drenched him through and through as he stood firm by the
+rope which was entrusted to him.
+
+The storm raged with unabated fury, and the darkness was only just
+pierced by the rising moon, itself invisible, but which cast a strange
+weird whiteness athwart the gloom.
+
+The worst had not yet come.  It was about midnight that cries arose
+above the storm, and a violent shock told that the _Galatea_ had struck
+on a rock.  There was no hope then--the _Galatea_ was doomed.
+
+The boats had been kept in readiness, and the captain's voice was
+heard, shouting his orders to let them down.  For the _Galatea_ had
+parted in midships, and was settling down into those black waters
+where, here and there, the white surf on the wave-crests was seen with
+ghastly clearness in the murky gloom.
+
+"All women and children first," the captain ordered; and Peter's
+mother, clasping the child close, with the few passengers, were let
+down into the first boat.
+
+"Back, you coward!" the mate shouted, as the man who had been so
+unfeeling to Jack, on first starting, stumbled forward and tried to
+jump into the boat.  Alas! too late was the command to stop.  The boat
+was swamped, and smothered cries arose from the surging depths.  The
+other boats were lowered, and old Colley remained to the last.
+
+"Now, captain," he said, "it's your turn.  She's settling down fast."
+And between the roar of the storm and the more distant roll of the
+thunder, a swishing, gurgling noise told that the water was fast
+gaining ground, and the _Galatea_ going down.
+
+"I leave the ship last, or die with her.  Forward, Colley!  Do you
+hear?"
+
+"After you, captain; after you."
+
+"Colley, old fellow, you never disobeyed me before.  You won't do it
+now."
+
+Then a great shudder seemed to thrill through the ship, and she turned
+on her side, and with a mighty rush the waves seized their prey, and
+the _Galatea_ went down into the stormy waters.
+
+Jack found himself struggling in the surging waves; but a boat was near
+him, and a hand seized him and dragged him in.
+
+It was old Colley's hand, and he had in his other arm little Peter, and
+a whine told that Toby was with his master.
+
+It was a perilous position--the boat was tossed like a feather on those
+stormy billows; while above the raging of the storm could be heard
+cries for help from those who were clinging to broken rafts and pieces
+of the wreck.
+
+"She was cracked like a walnut," Colley said; "and the captain's heart
+was broken--that's why he said he would die with her."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IX.
+
+_ON THE WIDE, WIDE SEA._
+
+The boat was drifting off, and every minute seemed to put a further
+distance from the place where the _Galatea_ had struck the rock and
+perished.  At this time the fury of the storm had abated, and a rift in
+the clouds showed the moon in its last quarter floating like a boat on
+its back in a silvery sea.  The pale rays shed a flickering light upon
+the waters, and there was a lull.  Behind them rose a low black mass,
+with the points of the masts showing where the _Galatea_, had gone
+down.  No other object was visible, and Colley covered his face with
+his hands.
+
+"I don't believe there's one of 'em saved," he said; "I don't indeed.
+The boats were swamped, and this is the only one that righted.  But,
+boy, I don't know where we are, nor where we are drifting."
+
+"Are we going home?" said a little voice from the bottom of the boat.
+"I want to get home with mother."
+
+"Ay, my lad; but I expect we must all three give up an earthly home,
+and turn our thoughts to a heavenly one."
+
+When morning dawned they were far out on the trackless waters, and not
+a sail in eight.  Jack, at Colley's bidding, tied his shirt to the oar,
+in the hopes that, fluttering in the breeze, it might attract the
+notice of some passing vessels.  But although several sail were seen on
+the horizon, none seemed to come across the track of the little lonely
+boat.  The scorching sun of noon beat on their unprotected heads, and
+poor little Peter cried and moaned with a pain in his head.  Hunger
+too, and thirst, began to be unbearable; and Colley had some difficulty
+in preventing Jack from drinking the sea-water, and giving it to little
+Peter.
+
+"Don't you do it, boy; it will drive you mad, and you will repent it if
+you touch it."
+
+Towards evening the air became cooler, and Peter, pulling at Jack's
+trousers, said--
+
+"There is something hard under my head, and Toby is sniffing at it."
+
+Oh, how untold was the thankfulness with which Colley pulled out a
+canvas bag of sea biscuits, which had been stowed away under one of the
+seats, with a stone jar in which was a little rum!
+
+"Thank the Lord, you won't starve, you young ones; there's enough to
+keep you alive."
+
+"Enough to keep us all alive!" Jack said; "and I shan't touch a crumb
+unless you eat the same quantity as I do."
+
+The boy lying at their feet had already set his teeth into a biscuit
+like a hungry dog, and was putting his mouth to the stone bottle.
+
+"Gently, now, gently," Colley said, trying to take the bottle away from
+the child.  But he did not succeed till he had swallowed a considerable
+quantity, and lay in a kind of stupor.
+
+Another night closed in, and the stillness and darkness were acceptable
+after the burning heat of noon.  At day-dawn Jack saw a ship.  Surely
+it was coming nearer and nearer.  He stood up and called "Ahoy!" with
+all his might, and poor Toby whined and barked.  Colley, awakened from
+a light dose, stood up also, and joined in the cry.  But, alas! there
+was no answer, and the white sails, glistening in the level rays of the
+rising sun, vanished like a bird taking flight.
+
+"It is no use hoping for help," Jack said, sinking down.  "I say,
+Colley, are we to go on floating over the wide sea for ever?"
+
+"Nay, lad, nay; it won't be for ever.  Please the Lord, He'll put an
+end to these long watches in His own time."
+
+"Colley," Jack said, "do you think I am being punished for my sins?  I
+ran away in a fit of temper, and I know how my mother is waiting and
+watching for me, as she did for my father, and she will watch and wait
+in vain.  Oh, Colley, do you think God is very angry, and that this is
+my punishment--to die out here, with no one to care, no one to----"
+Jack broke down, and hid his face on his sleeveless arms, for his blue
+jersey was fluttering in the morning breeze.
+
+"Boy," Colley said, "it is just this: You wanted your own way, and you
+were let to take it.  You have made your own punishment; but as to
+God's anger--well, if you turn your heart to Him in Christ's name, He
+won't send you empty away.  He will speak peace for His dear Son's
+sake, whether He lets you go back to you poor mother, or whether He
+takes you through the Valley of Death to His kingdom in heaven."
+
+"Colley," Jack said vehemently, "I don't want to die.  I want to live,
+and show my mother I am sorry."
+
+"We can't choose, boy, we can't choose; and we are just in God's hands,
+and must be quiet."
+
+But, oh! through that long day of heat and oppression it was hard to be
+quiet.  The poor child moaned, and was rapidly becoming insensible.
+Jack's lips were so sore and chapped he could not bite the hard
+biscuit; and though Colley soaked his in a few drops of rum, he felt
+sick at the smell and taste of the spirits, and when offered a morsel,
+he turned away, saying--
+
+"It reminds me of Skinner.  I hate the smell."
+
+The great waste of waters, of varied opal hues, in the clear depths of
+which the forms of many sea creatures could be seen darting hither and
+thither--how desolate it was!
+
+Above, snowy gulls flew and floated now and again on the waves.  One
+came so near that Colley seized it and took it into the boat.  It
+looked up with wondering eyes, and Colley said--
+
+"You poor stupid thing!  You have come to your death;" and then he
+wrung the bird's neck, saying, "If the worst comes to the worst, we
+must eat it raw."
+
+"I would sooner die," Jack said wearily.  "I begin to wish to die,
+Colley.  Yesterday I wanted to live, but I don't feel to care now, and
+I believe that poor little darling is going."
+
+"Help me to lift him up--lift him up," Colley said; and between them,
+feeble as they both were, the old man and the boy, they managed to get
+the poor child's head to rest on Colley's knees.
+
+Towards evening the child opened his eyes.  "Mother," he said, "I'm
+coming."  Then he smiled, and Jack said, "He is better."
+
+But Colley shook his head.  "No; but he will be better soon;" and then
+he said a few words of prayer, and bid Jack think of some hymn his
+mother had taught him.
+
+Jack tried to summon a verse from his confused brain, and the one
+little Miss Joy had often said came to his lips, and he repeated in a
+low voice, quavering with weakness and emotion--
+
+  "Jesus, lover of my soul,
+    Let me to Thy bosom fly,
+  While the nearer waters roll,
+    While the tempest still is high:
+
+  "Hide me, O my Saviour, hide,
+    Till the storm of life is past;
+  Safe into the haven guide,
+    Oh, receive my soul at last!
+
+  "Other refuge have I none,
+    Hangs my helpless soul on Thee;
+  Leave, ah! leave me not alone,
+    Still support and comfort----"
+
+
+"Oh!  Colley," Jack said, breaking off, "look!"  The little boy's eyes
+were wide open, gazing upwards.  Then a smile, a sweet smile, a shudder
+as if in answer to a welcome, and the spirit of the child had fled!
+
+Colley bowed his head weeping.
+
+"A pretty little lad!" he said, "his mother's pride aboard ship.  Well,
+well, she is waiting for him, and God's will be done."
+
+When the shadows crept over the blue expanse that night, Colley lifted
+the child's body tenderly in his arms, and said to Jack--
+
+"Kiss him for his mother, boy.  He is saved from the death which,
+unless God send help, lies before you and me--the death of starvation.
+You are young, but I am an old man; for all sailors are old at fifty,
+and few see sixty.  I shall go next."
+
+"Oh, Colley, Colley, do not leave me all alone!"
+
+Colley shook his head.
+
+"Again I say, Let God's will be done.  I wish--I wish I had a memory
+for a text of Scripture to say before I bury this child; for we must
+bury him, and now.  You've been at school, you say, up to the time you
+ran away.  Can't you say the words of Scripture which you have learned?
+You must know a lot."
+
+Poor Jack rubbed his head and tried to collect his thoughts, but in
+vain.
+
+"It's what the Lord said to Mary when her brother Lazarus died.  Ah,
+I've got it now!"
+
+and Colley slowly and solemnly repeated, "I am the Resurrection and the
+Life; he that liveth and believeth on Me shall never die."
+
+Then the old sailor clasped his weather-beaten hands over the child's
+lifeless form, and with tears running down his rugged cheeks he said:
+"O heavenly Father, Thou hast called this child from pain and
+suffering.  In Thy mercy send for me next; but let poor Jack live to go
+back to his mother.  For Christ Jesus' sake."
+
+Then tenderly and gently the little form slipped over the side of the
+boat; there was a sudden splash, a rippling sound, and all was
+still--so still, except for the mysterious murmur which always sounds
+like whispers from another world at nightfall on the sea.
+
+Again the sun rose, and again the silent sea was flooded with the rays
+of the sun.  The inhabitants of the little boat were too weak now to
+speak much.  Even Toby could scarcely wag his tail, but lay with his
+head on his paws, gazing up to his master's face, questioning as to
+what it meant--this faintness and weakness which seemed to be creeping
+over him.
+
+The dead gull lay untouched.  There was not strength left to eat it,
+even if there had been inclination.
+
+Jack still grasped the oar, and still the poor blue jersey fluttered in
+the breeze.  But Colley lay at the bottom of the boat, breathing
+heavily, though his eyes were open, and his rough weather-beaten hands
+folded as if in prayer.
+
+They had drifted far out in the Atlantic, but not in the direct line
+hitherto of the many steamers which continually cross the great
+dividing waters which lie between the Old World and the New.
+
+Jack had ample time for thought, as the long weary hours went by.  But
+a stupor was fast creeping over him, and everything became dreamlike
+and unreal.  Even the images of his mother and Joy, which had been so
+vivid, grew taint and indistinct, and he was scarcely conscious, when a
+loud "Ahoy!" fell on his ear.
+
+He started up, and there, at last, was a boat alongside of theirs.
+
+"Wake up, boy!" said a cheery voice.  "What's happened, eh?"
+
+"Oh, Colley, Colley!" Jack cried, "we are saved, we are saved!"  And
+then from excess of joy and emotion he fell prone upon the prostrate
+figure of the old sailor.
+
+"A man, a boy, and a dog," said one of the boat's crew.
+
+"Half-starved, I declare!  Look alive, mates, and let's get 'em aboard
+our ship as quick as may be.  I told you this object we saw was a craft
+of some sort, though you were so slow to believe me.  A happy thing for
+these poor creatures I got the boat lowered."
+
+In another quarter of an hour two pairs of sturdy arms were pulling the
+boat and those in it to the good ship _Claudia_, bound for the islands
+of the Southern Seas.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER X.
+
+"_ONLY A LITTLE BOX._"
+
+Uncle Bobo was sitting at the door of his shop one golden September
+day, when the atmosphere of the row was oppressive, and his heart was
+heavy within him.
+
+Little Miss Joy was mending--so the doctors said; for Uncle Bobo had
+declared two heads were better than one, and had insisted on calling in
+a second opinion.
+
+Yes; they all said little Miss Joy was better.  But in what did this
+betterness consist?  She was still lying in that upper chamber, whence
+she had always smiled her good-morning on Patience Harrison, and sang
+her hymn of thanksgiving as the little birds sing their matins to the
+rising sun.
+
+Better! yes, she was better; for there was now no danger to her life.
+But the fall had injured her back, and she could not move without pain.
+The colour was gone from her rosy lips, and the light from those lovely
+gentian eyes was more soft and subdued.  Little Miss Joy, who had been
+as blithe as a bird on the bough and so merry and gladsome, that she
+deserved her name of "Little Sunbeam," was now a patient sick child,
+never complaining, never fretful, and always greeting Uncle Bobo with a
+smile--a smile which used to go to his heart, and send him down to his
+little shop sighing out--as to-day--
+
+"Better--better!  I don't see it; the doctor doesn't know!  What are
+doctors for, if they can't make a child well?  I pay enough.  I don't
+grudge them their money, but I expect to see a return for it.  And here
+comes Patience Harrison to tell me what I don't see--that my little
+sunbeam is better."
+
+Patience Harrison was crossing the row to Uncle Bobo's door as he
+spoke.  Her face wore the same expression of waiting for something or
+some one that never came, as it did on the morning when we first saw
+her looking up and looking down the row for Jack.
+
+It was a wonderfully warm September.  No news had been brought of the
+wanderer: the news for which her soul thirsted.  George Paterson, it is
+true, had heard an inkling of news, but it was not anything certain.
+He had heard from a sailor that Jack Harrison had been seen aboard the
+_Galatea_ by a passenger who had been put ashore as the _Galatea_
+passed the Lizard; and tidings had come that the _Galatea_ had been
+lost off the coast of Spain, and only nine of the crew or passengers
+aboard had survived to tell the tale!  That the _Galatea_ was lost
+seemed certain, but that Jack was aboard her was not proved.  The man
+who reported that he had seen him could not be sure of his name.  He
+heard him called Jack, but so were hundreds of other boys.  He had
+understood that he was a runaway, kept on sufferance by the captain to
+please the second mate; but that was all, and it was not much.
+Certainly not enough to warrant adding to Patience Harrison's heavy
+burden of sorrow.  So George Paterson kept the suspicion to himself,
+and waited for confirmation of the report before he mentioned it.
+
+Patience Harrison had nursed and cared for Joy as if she had been her
+own child, and Uncle Bobo was not ungrateful.
+
+"Well," he said, as she leaned against the door, a variety of articles
+making a festoon over her head, and a bunch of fishing-tackle catching
+a lock of her abundant hair, which was prematurely grey:--"Well, is the
+grand affair coming off to-morrow?"
+
+"Yes, they are to be married to-morrow at ten o'clock; but there's to
+be no fuss.  They are going to Cromer for a few days, and I have
+promised to keep shop till they come home."
+
+"And what's Joy to do without you?"
+
+"I shall run over early every morning and late every evening, and poor
+Bet Skinner is out of her wits with delight because I said I thought
+you would let her stay by day and take my place."
+
+"To be sure! to be sure!  Only don't expect me to hold out a hand to
+that old lady, Skinner's mother.  Is she to be present at the wedding?"
+
+"Yes, and so is Bet; and I have excused myself on account of looking
+after the shop."
+
+"Well, your poor sister is making a pretty hard bed for herself to lie
+on, and I am afraid she will live to repent it; though, to be sure, we
+can't call it marrying in haste.  That sly fellow has been sneaking
+about here for a long time.  What's the mother going to do?"
+
+"She will live where she is for the present, and everything will go on
+the same, except that I cannot live with Skinner.  I shall look out for
+a situation in a shop, as soon as Joy is well again, and does not want
+me.  Or maybe I shall take one of the small houses on the Denes, and
+let lodgings to folks who can put up with humble accommodation."
+
+"You oughtn't to do any such thing," said Mr. Boyd.  "You have been a
+widow now between eleven and twelve years.  A good man wants to make
+you his wife--and," said Uncle Bobo, slapping his knee, "and why
+shouldn't he?"
+
+"Please do not speak of it, Mr. Boyd," Patience said.  "Do you think
+that I could ever marry any man while I am waiting for my husband's
+return, and now, too, for my boy's?  No! it is only pain to me to think
+that any of my friends could think I should forget."
+
+"You'll see the boy safe and sound before long, and you'll find the
+salt water has washed a lot of nonsense out of him.  He will come back,
+but the other--never!"
+
+Mrs. Harrison said no more, but climbed up the narrow staircase to
+Joy's room.
+
+"Oh, Goody dear!  I _am_ so glad you are come," Joy said, stretching
+out her little thin arms and winding them round her friend's neck.  "I
+have been fidgeting so, hearing you talking to Uncle Bobo downstairs.
+And I've been very snappy to Susan, because she will have it I ought to
+try to stand.  Goody dear, I _can't_."
+
+"Susan knows that as well as I do, dearie.  I think she tries to make
+you out much stronger than you are, to comfort Uncle Bobo."
+
+"_Dear_ Uncle Bobo!" the child said.  "I wish he would not fret about
+me.  Goody!  I was dreaming of a horse tearing after me, just as that
+horse did that evening; and then it wasn't a horse at all, but it was
+great roaring waves, and I thought Jack was with me, and we were going
+to be drowned."
+
+The lines on Mrs. Harrison's forehead deepened, and she tried to say
+cheerfully--
+
+"Dreams do not mean anything, dear; and it is said they always go by
+contrary, you know."
+
+Then Mrs. Harrison began to settle Joy's pillows, and put back the
+curtains so that she might see from her bed the strip of blue sky above
+the opposite roofs and through a slight aperture between the two
+houses, where Joy could on clear nights see two or three stars, and at
+certain, and what seemed to her very long intervals, the moon, on her
+lonely way through the heavens.
+
+"Susan says the wedding will be to-morrow, and that you will have to
+stay to keep shop while Miss Pinckney is away."
+
+"Yes, dear; and Bet is coming to be with you."
+
+Joy sighed, and said softly--
+
+"Poor Bet! she does love me very much; but, dear Goody, _I_ don't love
+her as I love you.  When Jack comes home, I shall tell him how kind you
+have been to me, and we shall be so happy; only I expect Jack will be
+vexed to see me lying here, instead of running out to meet him."
+
+Mrs. Harrison could only turn away her head to hide her tears as Joy
+went on:
+
+"Uncle Bobo said the other day, when he came up and found me crying,
+just a little bit, 'Why, I shall have to call you little Miss
+Sorrowful!'  And then he seemed choked, and bustled away.  I made up my
+mind then I would try to smile always when he came.  I should not like
+him to call me little Miss Sorrowful, it seems to hurt him so.  And
+then he always says he ought to have snatched hold of me when the horse
+came galloping after us, and that he ought to have been knocked down,
+not me.  But that is quite a mistake.  Uncle Bobo is wanted in the
+shop, and I don't think I could have done instead of him; and then it
+would have been worse for him to bear the pain than it is for me; for
+when he had the gout in his toe, he did shout out, and threw the things
+about when Susan went to bathe it.  So it is best as it is," was little
+Miss Joy's conclusion; "isn't it Goody?"
+
+The wedding came off the next day, and the row was greatly excited by
+the event.
+
+Miss Pinckney was dressed in a cream-coloured cashmere, trimmed with
+lace, and she wore an apology for a bonnet, with orange blossoms, and a
+large square of tulle thrown over it.
+
+Susan, who reported the appearance of the wedding party, which she
+watched leaning out of Joy's window, exclaimed:
+
+"All in white, or next to white!  Deary me!  If I was fifty, and had a
+yellow skin, I wouldn't dress like a young girl.  There she goes
+mincing down the row, and there's a coach waiting at the end with white
+horses.  And there goes Mrs. Skinner looking like a lamp-post, dressed
+in a grey alpaca; she looks as grim as ever.  And there's poor
+Bet--well, to be sure, what a frock and bonnet!  They belonged to her
+mother, let alone her grandmother, or p'r'aps to that pretty daughter
+of hers, who ran off--she was that ill-treated by her mother she
+couldn't bear it!  Ah! they are a queer lot, those Skinners; they do
+say Joe Skinner is a queer customer, and that he is so hard up, that's
+why he's married that old lady.  He will make her money spin, and there
+won't be much left at the end of a year.  Serve her right.  I've no
+patience with folks making themselves ridiklous at her time of life.
+Why, my dear!"  Susan said, growing confidential, as she drew her head
+in from the window, when the little following of girls and boys who
+lived in the row had returned from seeing the last of Miss
+Pinckney--"Why, my dear!  I could have married, last fall, the
+lamplighter who has looked after the lamps in the row for years.  But I
+knew better.  I told him I was forty-eight, and he was scarce
+thirty-eight, and I was not going to make myself a laughing-stock.  And
+he went and married a young girl, and has made a good husband.  So
+that's all right!"
+
+It was the same afternoon that Mrs. Harrison, being installed in her
+sister's place at the shop, Bet came breathlessly up the narrow stairs
+to say--
+
+"Grandmother wants to see you."
+
+"Oh!  I'd rather not, please.  I feel so afraid of your grandmother.
+Don't, please don't let her come."
+
+But it was too late.  Mrs. Skinner's spare figure was already at the
+door.  She was dressed in her wedding gown and bonnet, and came to
+Joy's bed, standing there like a grey spectre, her bonnet and face all
+of the same dull grey as the gown.
+
+Joy turned up her wistful eyes to the hard, deeply-lined face, and her
+lips quivered.
+
+"If you please," she said, "I am glad you will spare Bet, while Goody
+is so busy."
+
+But Mrs. Skinner did not speak--not a word.  "I am getting better," Joy
+continued; "at least the doctors say so; but--but I can't stand or walk
+yet, so I am glad to have Bet."
+
+Mrs. Skinner had all this time been scanning little Miss Joy's features
+with a keen scrutiny.  Then, after a few minutes, she jerked out:
+
+"I hope you'll soon get about again; you are welcome to keep Bet;" and
+then she turned, and her footfall on the stairs was heard less and less
+distinct, till the sound ceased altogether.
+
+"Your grandmother is--is not like other people," little Miss Joy
+ventured to say.  "I don't like her; but I beg your pardon, I ought not
+to say so to you."
+
+"And do you think _I_ like her?" Bet exclaimed vehemently.  "At first I
+thought I'd try, and I did try; but she was always so hard.  She loves
+Uncle Joe, I think, though she is angry with him for marrying Miss
+Pinckney, and lately I have heard high words between them."
+
+And now Bet took off her wedding bonnet, and sat down by Joy's side,
+perfectly content that she was thought worthy to be her companion.
+
+"You'll tell me if you want anything," she said.  "And you won't mind
+if I am stupid and blunder, will you?"
+
+"No," Joy said faintly.  "Have you got your work, or a book?  Give me
+my crochet.  I like to try to do something, though lying flat it is
+rather tiring."
+
+Bet did as she was told, and then said humbly, "I shan't talk unless
+you wish me to talk;" and the poor girl settled herself by the window
+till a bell rang.
+
+"That is for you to go down for my tea," Joy said.  "It saves Susan's
+legs, you know."
+
+Bet was only too happy to be of use, and hurried down stairs at once
+for the tray.
+
+"Be careful now," Susan said; "and don't fall upstairs and break the
+crockery.  There's a cup for yourself, and Mrs. Harrison has sent over
+a bit of wedding-cake.  It's very black, and I don't like the looks of
+the sugar; but I dare say it may eat better than it looks."
+
+The day wore on to evening, and the row was quiet, when Joy, who had
+been lying very still, suddenly said--
+
+"I have been dreaming of Jack again--Jack Harrison.  I think he must be
+coming home."
+
+"Did you care for Jack Harrison very much?"
+
+"Very much," said Joy; "he was always so good to me.  That last day
+before he ran away he lent me that pretty book you were looking at, and
+said we would learn those verses at the beginning together, and I never
+saw him again.  That was a dreadfully sad time; and then, not content
+with being very hard on Jack, Miss Pinckney and your uncle said he was
+a thief.  Think of that!  Jack a thief!  Miss Pinckney said he had got
+the key of a drawer and taken out a little box, where she kept the
+money.  There were four or five pounds in it."
+
+"A box!" Bet said; "was it a big box?"
+
+"Oh no; dear Goody says it would go into anybody's pocket.  A little
+box with a padlock and a little key.  I knew Jack did not take it, but
+of course as he ran away that very day it looks _like_ it.  Even Susan
+shakes her head, and I never talk of Jack to her.  But," said Joy, "I
+am tired now, and I think I'll take what Uncle Bobo calls 'forty
+winks.'"
+
+Everything was very quiet after that; and when Bet saw Joy was asleep,
+she crept downstairs, and in the shop saw Mrs. Harrison.
+
+Miss Pinckney's shutters were closed, and she felt free to come over
+and have a last look at Joy.
+
+"A little box! a little box!" Bet repeated to herself as she went home.
+"A box so small it would go into anybody's pocket."  And Bet that night
+lay awake pondering many things, and repeating very often, "A little
+box!"
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XI.
+
+_MR. SKINNER IN COMMAND._
+
+Mrs. Skinner was more silent than ever during the next few days, and
+when she spoke it was to scold Bet in a rasping voice.
+
+She was suffering from that very bad mental disease which is beyond the
+reach of doctors, and is a perpetual torment; and that disease is
+called remorse.
+
+Of late she had been haunted by the memory of her only daughter, and of
+her harshness to her.  The man she had chosen to marry was good, and to
+all appearance above the class in which Maggie was born.  There was
+nothing against him but poverty.  He had been a travelling
+photographer, who set up his little van with "Photographic Studio"
+painted on the canvas cover in large letters, and had sometimes done a
+brisk trade on Yarmouth sands.  One of his first customers had been
+Maggie Skinner, then in her fresh beauty, and a tempting subject for a
+photographer or artist.
+
+About the same time a wealthy grocer in Yarmouth, old enough to be her
+father, had offered to marry her.  He had a villa at Gorlestone:
+possessed a pony-carriage, and was rich and prosperous.  But Maggie
+shrank from marrying him.  Mr. Plummer might be rich, and no doubt he
+meant well and kindly by her, but she could not marry him.
+
+In vain she pleaded with her mother, and with her inexorable brother
+Joe, that to marry simply for what you were to get by it was a sin--a
+sin against the law of God, who meant marriage to be a sign and seal of
+mutual love.
+
+Mrs. Skinner at last said that if she did not do as she bid her, and
+promise to marry Mr. Plummer, she might go and earn her living for she
+was not going to keep her in idleness.  Many stormy scenes followed;
+and one night Maggie declared that she could not marry Mr. Plummer, for
+she had promised to marry Roger Chanter, the photographic artist!
+
+"And if you do, you shall never see my face again," Mrs. Skinner
+declared.  "I'll turn you out of the house, and you may disgrace
+yourself as you please.  I have done with you.  Your brother there
+knows when I say a thing I mean it."
+
+"Oh, mother, you are very cruel!"  Ah! how those words sounded
+sometimes in the dead of night, when Mrs. Skinner lay awake, listening
+for Joe's return, and to the moaning of the restless sea.
+
+"Oh! mother, you are very cruel!"  Those were the last words ever heard
+from Maggie, as she passed out of her mother's sight.  The next morning
+her bed was empty, and she was gone.
+
+From that day up to the present time not a word had been heard of her,
+nor had her mother or her brother troubled themselves to inquire for
+her.  It was supposed she had married the pale, delicate-looking
+photographer; but her name was never mentioned, and she had passed away
+as if she had never been.
+
+It was the day of the bride and bridegroom's return, and Patience
+Harrison had put all things in order.  The business had not suffered in
+the absence of the head of the establishment, and Mr. Skinner expressed
+considerable satisfaction at this.  He at once took the keys, and said
+he would keep the books and the money, and, in fact, rule the
+establishment, and transact the business.
+
+He was fidgeting about the shop the next morning, and peering into all
+the boxes and drawers, when his wife ventured to remark that perhaps he
+would be late at the office on the quay, as the clock had struck ten.
+
+"My dear," was the reply, "I have resigned my post in the
+Excise-office, and shall henceforth devote myself to you and my aged
+mother.  I have always been a good son, and I shall often look in on
+her of an evening when I have settled up matters here."
+
+Patience Harrison heard this announcement, and saw her sister's face
+betray considerable surprise.
+
+"Resign the place at the office!" she exclaimed.  "Why, Joe!----"
+
+"Why, Joe!" he repeated.  "Why, my dear, you ought to be delighted; you
+will have so much more of my company and my help.  Now you can take
+your ease, and sit in your parlour, while Mrs. Harrison waits in the
+shop, and performs household duties."
+
+"What next, Joe!  I am not going to sit with my hands before me because
+I am a married woman.  As to a man about in a little shop like mine,
+with ladies trying on caps and ordering underclothing, it is not to be
+thought of.  The customers won't like it.  It is too small a place for
+three."
+
+"You may be easy on that score, sister," Patience said.  "I only
+remained while you were away.  I wish to leave you, and think of taking
+a little house on the Denes, and taking a lodger till they come home."
+
+"Pray may I ask who are _they_?" Mr. Skinner said.
+
+"My husband and my son," was the reply.
+
+"The folly of some women!" exclaimed Mr. Skinner.  "No, Mrs. Harrison,
+you don't know when you are well off.  You should recompense your
+sister's goodness and generosity by staying to assist her in her
+household cares."
+
+"I did not ask for your advice, and I do not want it.  Sister, I shall
+cross over to Mr. Boyd's, and take care of that dear child for the
+present.  I have packed my boxes, and Peter will carry them over."
+
+"My dear," Mr. Skinner said, "that being the case, we at once renounce
+all connection with Mrs. Harrison."
+
+"But we shall have to keep a servant," exclaimed his wife; "and
+servants are such a terrible trouble, and think of the worry and the
+expense, and----"
+
+Poor Mrs. Joe Skinner seemed unfeignedly sorry.  She began to magnify
+her gentle sister's perfections now she was to lose her.
+
+"And Patience knows all my ways, and how to use the furniture polish on
+the chairs and table in the parlour.  And----  Oh! really, Patience, I
+hope you will stay; especially now the boy is gone.  You are welcome,
+I'm sure; very welcome!  It was the boy made the trouble.  We've gone
+on so pleasantly since he went."
+
+Patience turned away to hide the tears of wounded feeling, and said no
+more.
+
+As she was crossing over to Mr. Boyd's, she saw a ladylike, sweet-faced
+woman standing at the door of the shop.
+
+Mr. Boyd was very busy rubbing up a chronometer, which the captain and
+mate of one of the small sailing vessels were bargaining for; and as it
+was difficult for more than three people to stand in the little shop at
+once, Patience paused before entering.
+
+"I am waiting to speak to Mr. Boyd," the lady--for so she looked--said.
+
+"I dare say he will be at liberty directly," Patience said.  "It is a
+very small shop, and too full of goods for its size."
+
+"Do you happen to know if Mr. Boyd has a little girl living with him?
+She is now just short of nine years old.  She is very----"
+
+The voice suddenly faltered, and Patience hastened to say--
+
+"She is a darling child.  Mr. Boyd has adopted her, and he calls her
+Joy.  We all call her Joy--little Miss Joy.  Do you know anything about
+her?"
+
+The lady grasped Mrs. Harrison's arm.
+
+"Let me see Mr. Boyd," she said.  "Wait till I see him."
+
+The bargain in the shop was now completed, and the captain and mate
+were departing with their chronometer, when Uncle Bobo sang out to
+Patience--
+
+"Glad to see you; the little one aloft is just hungry for a sight of
+you.  Bet isn't come yet.  She's to help her old grannie before she
+starts."
+
+A bevy of little girls on their way to school now came up with flowers,
+and some ripe plums in a basket.
+
+"Please will you give these to little Miss Joy?" the eldest of the four
+said, "with our love.  Please, Mr. Boyd, how is she? is she better?"
+
+"So they say, my dear; so they say.  I wish I could say so too.
+But--well--never mind.  Here, Mrs. Patience, take 'em aloft to the
+child.  And now, ma'am, what can I show you?" Mr. Boyd said, turning to
+the lady.
+
+"The child--you call--little Miss Joy," was the reply, in faint tones.
+"Mr. Boyd, you don't know me, and Mrs. Harrison does not know me.  I
+was once Maggie Skinner, and Little Joy is my child!"
+
+Uncle Bobo looked with a keen glance from under his bushy grey eyebrows
+into the lady's face.
+
+"You Maggie Skinner!  Well, I never!"
+
+"Yes, I have had a great deal of trouble; but it is over now."
+
+"Sit down; sit down," Uncle Bobo said, pushing a high round stool with
+a slippery leather top, the only seat for which the shop could afford
+room.  "Sit ye down; but surely you look too old to be Maggie Skinner!"
+
+"I have had many troubles.  Oh!  Mr. Boyd, can you forgive me?  When my
+darling child was a baby, I wanted bread.  My husband died just when
+she was eighteen months old; I had not a shilling in the world; there
+was only the workhouse before me, and I could not--no, I could not take
+my precious child there.  So I walked here from Ipswich.  I remembered
+you had a kind heart--so I laid her here on your door-step and stood
+watching till you came and took her up, and I knew you would be good to
+her; but I dared not face my mother.  I wandered alone all that night;
+and early in the morning, before any one was stirring, I came to look
+up at this house.  As I stood listening, I heard my baby's little
+cough.  Some one was crooning over her and playing with her."
+
+"That was Susan.  Hi, Sue! come this way," exclaimed Mr. Boyd.
+
+Susan came blundering down the stairs, asking--
+
+"What do you want?  I was just giving the precious child her breakfast.
+She seems a bit brighter this morning."
+
+"What is the matter with her?" Maggie Chanter asked.  "Is she ill? is
+she ill?"
+
+"She was knocked down by a runaway horse last June, and hurt her back.
+What do you know about the child?"
+
+"I am her mother?" was the answer.  "Oh!  I thank you all for being
+kind to her."  And then a burst of passionate tears choked the poor
+mother.
+
+Patience Harrison's kind arms were round her in a moment.
+
+"My dear," she said, "God is very good to us.  Do not fret; you trusted
+this little one to His care, and He has not forgotten you.  Little Miss
+Joy is loved by every one; she is the sweetest and best of little
+darlings."
+
+"Ah!  I am so afraid she may not love me," the poor mother said.  "She
+may think I was cruel to desert her; but what could I do?  I knew Mr.
+Boyd had a kind heart; but many, oh! many a time I have repented of
+what I did.  As I wandered back to the quay that morning I saw a new
+registry office I had never seen before.  I waited till it was open,
+and went in.  A man-servant was waiting with me, and he went into the
+manager's room first.  Presently the manager came out.
+
+"'What place do you want?' she asked,
+
+"'Any place,' I replied.  'A maid----'
+
+"'I think she'll do,' the man said.
+
+"Then he told me his young mistress was married a month before, and was
+to sail from London Docks that night for India.  The maid who was to
+have attended her was sickening of scarlet fever; the lady was at her
+wits' end; she was staying at Lord Simon's, near Yarmouth.  'Come out,'
+he said, 'and see her at once.'
+
+"I went, and I was instantly engaged.  I told my story in a few words,
+and the lady believed me.  Strange to say, she had a photograph taken
+by my husband, with the name Ralph Chanter on the back.  She remembered
+him and the time when he was taking portraits here.  Well, I served her
+till she died, dear lady, and never returned to England till last week.
+She has left me a legacy, which will enable me to set up a business,
+and make a home for my child.  You'll give her back to me, Mr. Boyd?"
+
+Uncle Bobo's face was a study as he listened to this story, told
+brokenly, and interrupted by many tears.
+
+"It will be kind of hard," he said at last.  "Yes, it will be _kind of
+hard_," with desperate emphasis.  "But," he said, heavily slapping his
+leg, "I'll do what is just and right."
+
+"I know you will, I know you will," Patience Harrison said; "but, oh! I
+am so sorry for you, dear Uncle Bobo."
+
+"Let me see my child," Maggie Chanter said.  "Let me see her; and yet,
+oh, how I dread it!  Who will take me to her?  Will you take me?  Will
+you tell the story, Mr. Boyd?"
+
+"No, no, my dear, don't ask me; let Patience Harrison do it; let her.
+I can't, and that's the truth."
+
+Then Patience Harrison mounted the narrow stairs, and pausing at the
+door said, "We must be careful, she is very weak."
+
+Maggie bowed her head in assent, and then followed Patience into the
+room.
+
+"Oh, Goody, I am _so_ glad you are come!" and the smile on Joy's face
+was indeed like a sunbeam.  "Bet has not come yet.  I don't like to vex
+her, but she does blunder so.  Susan calls her Blunder-buss; isn't that
+funny of Susan?"
+
+Then Joy turned her head, and caught sight of the figure on the
+threshold.
+
+"Why doesn't she come in?" Joy said; "she looks very kind; and see what
+flowers and plums the girls have brought me as they went to school!"
+
+"Joy, darling Joy," Patience said, "you have often said you wished you
+had known your mother."
+
+"Have I?  You are like my mother now."
+
+"But what if I were to tell you your very own mother is come, Joy?"
+And then, pointing to Maggie, she said, "There she is!"
+
+The excitement and agitation was all on one side.  The mother tried in
+vain to conceal her deep emotion.  Joy, on the contrary, was quite
+calm, and said, looking at Patience--
+
+"Is it true? _is_ this my mother?"
+
+"Yes, yes; your poor unhappy mother.  Can you love her, little Joy?
+Can you forgive her for leaving you to Mr. Boyd?"
+
+"Why, yes," Joy said brightly, "of course I can; he has been ever so
+good to me, and I do love him so."
+
+Then Patience Harrison slipped away, and left the mother and the child
+together.
+
+"The meeting is well over," she said as she returned to the shop.
+
+"But the parting isn't over," was poor Uncle Bobo's lament; "and I tell
+you what, when it comes it will break my heart.  I shan't have nothing
+left to live for; and the sooner I cut my cable the better."
+
+Patience Harrison felt that it was useless to offer comfort just then,
+and she remembered Bet had not arrived as usual, and turned out of the
+row.  Towards the market-place, on the way to Mrs. Skinner's cottage,
+she met George Paterson.  His face brightened, as it always did, when
+they met.
+
+"Well," he said, "have the bride and bride-groom come home?"
+
+"Yes," she replied, "and I have given notice to quit."
+
+"You have!" he said joyfully; "then you will come to me?"
+
+"No, George, no--not yet."
+
+"Not _yet_!  When, then?" he asked quickly.  "I was reading in the
+paper the other day, that when a man is not heard of for seven years it
+is lawful to marry another.  It is getting on for twice seven years
+since you were left desolate."
+
+"My dear kind friend," Patience said, "I have waited so long and prayed
+so often to be shown the right path, that I feel sure God will not
+leave me without an answer; and till I am certain that my husband is
+taken away by death, I could not be the wife of another man."
+
+"Then you may wait till you are a hundred," George said impatiently.
+"How _can_ you ever know?"
+
+"Dear George, be patient with me.  Do not be angry with me.  I have
+asked God for guidance, and He will give it in His own time."
+
+"I am wrong to be hard on you, I know," was the reply; "but to see you
+drifting alone, and with no home, is enough to madden any man when a
+home is ready for you."
+
+"I have got some strange news for you," Patience said, trying to change
+the subject.  "Our little Joy is Maggie Skinner's child.  She left her
+when destitute on Mr. Boyd's door-step."
+
+"How do you know?"
+
+"Because she is here in Yarmouth, and I have just left her and her
+child together."
+
+"Well, wonders never cease! and I suppose you know why Joe Skinner has
+left the office?"
+
+"That he may get entire rule in my poor sister's home, and grind every
+penny out of her.  The reason is plain enough."
+
+"Ah! but there's another reason.  He is dismissed from the office for
+certain irregularities in the cash.  He has narrowly escaped
+prosecution--so I hear."
+
+"Oh, George, then our suspicions about that little cash-box are right!"
+
+"It looks like it," George said, as Patience's eyes shone with a
+wonderful light of hope.  "It looks like it; and when the boy comes
+home, we will see his character cleared."
+
+"_When_ he comes home!  Oh, another 'when,' another waiting time!"
+Patience sighed out, "There is a word which gives me comfort, however,
+and I am always hearing it, as if it were whispered to me: 'If it
+tarry, wait for it.'"
+
+"You find waiting easier than I do," George said.
+
+"Easy!" she said, clasping her hands together.  "Easy! oh, only God
+knows how hard!"
+
+Then she turned sorrowfully away from him, and pursued her way alone to
+look for Bet.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XII.
+
+_THE SPIRIT OF PEACE._
+
+Bet had been sent on an errand for her grandmother, and when Patience
+came up to her she was laden with a heavy basket of market produce.
+She was bending under the weight she carried, and as Patience joined
+her she set down the basket and wiped her hot face with her
+handkerchief.
+
+"Is little Miss Joy worse?" she asked eagerly, "I couldn't come early,
+for grandmother wanted me to scrub out the room Joe uses, and the
+passage; and then I had to change my frock and go to the market.  I met
+the girls going to Miss Bayliff's, and they laughed at me, and said
+they supposed I was so clever I had left school because there was no
+more to learn; and they laughed and jeered at me as they daren't have
+done if little Miss Joy had been there.  But as she loves me a little,
+and never laughs at me, I don't mind."
+
+"I thought I should meet you, Bet, and I came along to tell you some
+news."
+
+"Not that Jack is come?  Oh my!"
+
+"No; my wanderer is not come home; but another has--your Aunt Maggie."
+
+Bet stared in Mrs. Harrison's face with open mouth.
+
+"My Aunt Maggie! she that went away!  I have got her picture in a box.
+I showed it to little Miss Joy that last evening she was ever running
+about, and she came home with me."
+
+"Bet, that Aunt Maggie is Joy's mother."
+
+"How do you know?"
+
+"She is with Joy now.  I have left them together."
+
+"Are you come to tell grannie?  She has been so mopy since the wedding.
+Uncle Joe had a breeze with her just before he married.  She says she
+can't get along living in this house alone with me.  Come and see her,
+do; and tell her about Aunt Maggie.  I think you must tell her that."
+
+"But I do not know your grandmother very well.  I have scarcely spoken
+a dozen words to her in my life."
+
+"I feel afraid to tell her," Bet said.  "Do come along, please, Mrs.
+Harrison."
+
+Patience did not like to refuse the earnest pleading of poor Bet.  Just
+as they reached the back door--for Bet never entered at the front--she
+paused.
+
+"Little Miss Joy won't care for me, or no one, now that she has got her
+mother.  I say, is it wicked?  I almost wish Aunt Maggie had never come
+back.  Little Miss Joy will belong to her now, and--she won't care for
+me."
+
+"Bet," Patience said, "all love that is very, very strong for any
+person is likely to lead to jealousy; take care, for jealousy would
+make you unhappy.  True love thinks nothing of itself in comparison
+with the person beloved.  Whatever is for the good and for the
+happiness of any one we love, should make us happy also.  Try to see
+that."
+
+"I can't," said poor Bet.  "I'd like little Miss Joy to love me, that I
+would; and I thought she was beginning to love me, and now she'll have
+her mother, and never want me."
+
+"Or _me_," Mrs. Harrison said.  "I might say the same; but I think it
+would be a great mistake if I did, for I believe dear little Joy will
+love you and me and Uncle Bobo just the same as ever."
+
+"Do you?" Bet said; "that's good to hear;" and then Bet opened the door
+and went up the long narrow passage to the front of the house.
+
+Mrs. Skinner was seated by the table in the kitchen, stiff and
+straight; her hands were folded, and she only nodded as Bet put the
+basket on the table with both her tired arms.
+
+"Grannie, Mrs. Harrison is come to see you."
+
+"I don't want Mrs. Harrison," was the reply.
+
+"I won't stay long, Mrs. Skinner," Patience said.  Mrs. Skinner's back
+was turned to the door, and she never moved her position.
+
+Patience advanced to her side and said--
+
+"Bet thought you would like to hear some good news."
+
+"There is never good news for me," was the answer, in a tone so hard
+and yet so pathetic that Patience's heart was touched.
+
+"A wanderer has come home," Mrs. Harrison said.
+
+"Oh! your scapegraces I suppose.  My son Joe has a very bad opinion of
+him--I can tell you that."
+
+Mrs. Harrison took no notice of this thrust, but said--
+
+"No, my boy has not come home; but your daughter has returned.  She is
+little Joy's mother."
+
+"What!" exclaimed Mrs. Skinner; "I don't believe it."
+
+"Well, it is true; and you have only to come to Mr. Boyd's to convince
+yourself of the truth.  If other tokens were wanting, the likeness
+between dear little Joy and her mother is striking; and, besides----"
+
+"There, I don't want to hear any more," Mrs. Skinner said.  "I'm a
+miserable woman--that's what I am; but I want no pity, and I want
+nobody or nothing."
+
+Patience Harrison ventured a little nearer, and said, "Come and see our
+dear little Joy and her mother.  You will feel happier then.  God will
+comfort your sore heart, if you turn to Him.  Do come and satisfy
+yourself that you have a child and a grandchild, who will love you if
+you will let them."
+
+Mrs. Skinner took no further notice of what Patience Harrison said, and
+resolutely turned her head away.  But just as Bet was leaving the
+kitchen with her visitor she said:
+
+"You stay at home, and don't go gadding off where you are not wanted.
+Bide at home and do your duty.  Do you hear?"
+
+"You had better stay," Patience said, "and be patient.  You are sure to
+hear something from Aunt Maggie before the day is over."
+
+It was not till the evening was closing in that a gentle tap was heard
+at the door, and Bet, opening it, saw her aunt standing there.
+
+"You are Bet, I suppose.  Little Joy sent me," she whispered.  "I was
+afraid to come till mother wished for me; but Joy begged me to come,
+and tell her I am sorry I offended her.  For, Bet, I ought not to have
+deserted her, and I see it all now.  Where is your grandmother?"
+
+"Sitting in the parlour knitting; but she won't speak, and she looks
+very strange.  I've had such a long day, Aunt Maggie, watching the
+clock, and thinking it would never end.  I have got your picture," she
+added, "and it is very like dear little Miss Joy.  _You_ are not like
+it now."
+
+"No, no; trouble and sorrow have changed me.  Poor Bet!  I remember
+coming to kiss you that night when I went away.  Poor little thing, I
+pitied you.  But, Bet, I ought never to have acted as I did; and God
+has been kinder to me than I deserve; for my darling found a true
+friend, and if only she gets well I shall be a happy mother.  I think
+how proud her poor father would have been of such a dear child."
+
+"She is dear!" said Bet, in an ecstasy of delight.  "But there's
+grannie calling; you had better come."
+
+"Bet, who are you gossiping with out there?" cried Mrs. Skinner.  "Shut
+the door at once, and come in, will you?"
+
+Then Maggie Chanter, trembling and half choked with emotion, went up to
+the table where, by the light of a dull little paraffin lamp, Mrs.
+Skinner sat.
+
+"Mother!"
+
+Mrs. Skinner looked up over her spectacles.
+
+"Mother, I am so sorry.  Please forgive me, and let me comfort your old
+age, mother!  My little Joy sent me.  She does so want to see you, and
+to know you will forgive me."
+
+"Forgive you!  What do you care for my forgiveness?  You chose your own
+way, and made your own bed, and it isn't my fault you found it hard."
+
+"Come to Joy, mother.  Hear her dear little voice asking you to--to be
+kind.  Will you come?"
+
+"I'll see about it."
+
+"But come now; it is not very dark; there's a moon rising.  Oh, mother,
+come!"
+
+There was a pause, and then Mrs. Skinner said--
+
+"Get me my cloak and bonnet, Bet.  I suppose for peace sake I shall
+have to go."
+
+But Mrs. Skinner's voice trembled, and Bet saw her hand shake so that
+she could hardly fasten her cloak.  She followed her daughter silently
+out of the house, only saying to Bet, "Be sure to lock the door."
+
+Bet was left alone, and had again nothing to do but to count the
+clock's chimes as it struck the quarters.  At last, lulled by the sound
+of the in-coming tide and the low moan of the wind, she fell asleep in
+her grandmother's chair.
+
+She was awakened by the sound of a laugh--a discordant laugh.  It came
+from her Uncle Joe's old room.  Presently there was the chink of money,
+and Bet, creeping softly to the end of the passage, listened
+attentively.
+
+"Come, that's a good card," said the speaker; "you are in luck's way."
+
+"Oh!  I know what I'm about now; we'll have shilling stakes to-night."
+
+"Won't your pretty bride wonder where you are?"
+
+"She'll be taught _not_ to wonder, that's all."
+
+"Has that young hopeful ever turned up?" was the next question, as the
+cards were shuffled.
+
+"No, and it will be the worse for him when he does."
+
+Silence reigned after this, and it was evident that Joe Skinner thought
+his mother and Bet were safe in bed.
+
+Bet crept upstairs.  At last she heard the clock strike eleven, and
+then the three men below departed, noiselessly as they came, by the
+back door, of which Joe Skinner had the key.
+
+Bet pinched herself to keep awake till she heard her grandmother's step
+at the front of the house.  Running down, she opened the front door
+before there was time to ring.
+
+Mrs. Skinner came in as she had gone out, silent and self-restrained.
+
+"Go back to bed, child," she said; "you'll catch your death of cold."
+
+"But you are so cold, grannie; let me make up the fire, and get you a
+cup of tea; let me."
+
+Mrs. Skinner said nothing, but she shivered, and leaned her head
+against the back of the chair.
+
+Bet instantly made her preparations, and the kettle was soon boiling,
+and the cup of tea ready.  The crackling of the wood, and the sudden
+blaze, seemed to thaw poor Mrs. Skinner mentally and bodily.
+
+"You are a good girl," she said; "go to bed now."
+
+As Bet was leaving the kitchen she looked back, and saw her grandmother
+with her head bowed on her hands, and heard a low, sobbing cry.  The
+hardly-wrung tears of old age, the painful, difficult sobs of a sore
+and seared heart, how sad they are!  Bet did not return to her
+grandmother, but, softly closing the door, left her, saying to herself--
+
+"When I'm bad, and crying my heart out, I don't like to be watched.  I
+dare say grannie is like me."
+
+Then, faithful and loyal-hearted, she climbed the narrow stairs, and
+lay down this time to hear no disturbance till the morning dawned.
+
+There are moments when the soul is brought, as it were, into the very
+presence of the all-loving Saviour of the lost.  In the silent watches
+of that night the words which had been spoken by a child had a strange
+and unwonted power.
+
+"Grannie," little Joy had said--"Grannie, God is Love; and as He loves
+us and forgives us, we'll love and forgive one another, won't we? and
+we'll be so happy together--you, and I, and mother, and Uncle Bobo, and
+dear Goody."
+
+"Happy!  No, I shall never be happy," Mrs. Skinner had replied.  Little
+Miss Joy was disappointed; but she quietly said:
+
+"Yes, you _will_, if you make other folks happy, grannie.  _That's the
+secret_."
+
+Was it indeed the secret?  Again and again, like a breath of heaven,
+gentle and subtle, an influence unknown before seemed to touch Mrs.
+Skinner's heart in those solemn, lonely hours as she sat pondering over
+the sad, sad past.
+
+The Holy Spirit had convinced her of sin, and she was turning by that
+divine power from darkness to a glimmering of light.  When the grey,
+cold dawn of the autumn morning crept through the chinks of the
+shutters, she went softly to her room, and lay down with the relief a
+tired labourer feels who has laid down a heavy burden he has borne
+through the long hot day.  That burden was the burden of harsh,
+unforgiving judgment and remorse.  It had been rolled away, like that
+of one of old, at the foot of the cross--the cross of Him who, in the
+pains of a cruel death, could pray for those who had done Him wrong,
+and say, "Father, forgive them."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIII.
+
+_A TOKEN AT LAST._
+
+The ship that had picked up Colley and Jack Harrison in mid-ocean, and
+saved them from the lingering death of starvation, was bound for the
+islands of the South Pacific, and the captain told them that they must
+be content to be absent from England till the following spring.  He had
+to call at several of the islands, and exchange cargo, so that even
+with fair weather their return voyage could not be made under nine
+months.
+
+Poor Colley was slow to recover; indeed, he never did recover fully
+from the effects of those terrible days and nights at sea.  But Jack
+was young and strong, and he and Toby were soon, as old Colley said,
+"hale and hearty as ever they were."
+
+Jack earned his biscuit and won favour as well; and the captain's kind
+heart was touched by Colley's history of what had happened to his old
+mother and his little children at home, and the fear he had that he
+should never see them again.
+
+"I am cut to the heart that I can't work as a able-bodied seaman
+should," Colley would say.  "But God will reward you for your goodness
+to me and the boy."
+
+The captain puffed his short pipe, and said:
+
+"I am an old hand now; but I say, Once get a taste of shipwreck like
+yours, and you are cured of your craze for the sea.  Not that I am
+chicken-hearted, and I'd stand to my ship as your captain did--ay, and
+go down with her if needs must; but for all that it is a roughish life,
+and a terrible trial for them that love you and are left ashore."
+
+"Ay! ay!" old Colley said, "there's the pinch.  The youngster's father
+made off to better himself now ten years agone, and he's never been
+heard of from that day to this.  Dead, of course; only the poor woman,
+his wife, won't believe it--so the lad says."
+
+A day or two after this the captain called Jack, and said:
+
+"The mate wants a word with you in private."
+
+"What have I done to offend him, sir?" Jack said.
+
+"Don't jump at conclusions, youngster.  Did I say anything was wrong?
+Be off with you."
+
+Jack went to the mate's berth, and found him sitting cross-legged on
+the edge, and looking mysterious.
+
+"Is your name Harrison, young 'un?'
+
+"Yes," Jack said.
+
+"Do you hail from Yarmouth?"
+
+"Yes," said Jack again.
+
+"Where's your father?"
+
+"He was lost at sea--so we think; but we never heard a word about it,
+and mother thinks he may be still alive."
+
+"Did he own several small herring boats, and have a share in a
+curing-house, before he went a-whaling?"
+
+"Yes," Jack said, growing more and more wondering and excited by these
+questions.
+
+"Look here, youngster.  When I was a boy, eleven years ago, I was
+working on a whaleship, and your father was aboard.  His name was John
+Harrison, hailing from Yarmouth."
+
+"Oh!" Jack said.  "Where is he--do you know?"
+
+"No, my lad; let us hope his soul is gone aloft, but his body is lost.
+We had dragged our boat across a field of ice for some miles, on the
+look-out for our ship, which we had left, stored with provisions, in
+open water.  We were pretty near starving, for we had missed the track,
+and the men said they would not go on another step.  But your father,
+boy, had a brave heart, such as I never saw before or since; and he
+said, if those that were too chicken-hearted to go on, would stay where
+they were for a few hours, he would go ahead and find the ship, as he
+knew perfectly well we were near it, and near a village of the folk
+they call Esquimaux.  One youngster, just such another as you, said,
+'I'm your man, captain'; and they set off with a good heart.  We that
+were left turned our boat bottom upwards, and a sorry set we were,
+frost-bitten and starving.  We huddled together to keep each other
+warm--warm! why, I am cold now when I think of it; and look here, I
+lost a finger and the end of a thumb that same time."
+
+"How?" Jack asked.
+
+"How?  Frost-bitten, of course.  Well, those two that left us never
+came back, and never were seen again.  We waited till we were so weak
+we could scarce crawl, and then two of us--for three of the fellows
+died--made our way back, and found a ship which took us aboard; but
+never a word of your father and the young 'un from that day."
+
+"My father!" said Jack.  "Are you sure?"
+
+"Well, I am as sure as I can be of anything.  I was rummaging in my
+locker t' other day, after we had picked you and old Colley up, and I
+knew your name, and I found an old handkerchief that belonged to John
+Harrison, and I'll proceed to produce it, lad."
+
+The mate then dragged from the depths of the locker a torn and ragged
+red handkerchief, with yellow spots, and in the corner in white letters
+was marked with thread, "J. H."
+
+"Yes, boy, there's the article, and your father gave it to me to tie up
+my leg, which had a bad wound.  He was uncommon loth to part with it,
+but there never was a man with a kinder heart, never.  He was a bit
+fiery and off at a tangent, always thinking he was right and every one
+else wrong; but he was a fine fellow, and you bid fair to be like him.
+Here, take the handkerchief, and you can show it to your mother.
+She'll know it; for John said to me, 'I'll let you have it for your
+poor leg; but when I come back you must give it to me again, because my
+wife tied it round my neck when I bid her good-bye, and I value it.'  I
+remember he said, 'She is a right good woman is my wife, and I'll see
+her and the boy again, please God.  I never lose heart.'  Well, he may
+see you again in the next world, but never in this, boy, never in this;
+he is dead and gone long ago."
+
+Jack folded the handkerchief, and put it in his pocket.  He felt
+strangely affected by the sailor's story, and could only say:
+
+"If ever I see my mother again she shall have this token.  She has
+often prayed for a token that my father was dead, or a sign that he was
+living; and now she will have it."
+
+Then Jack returned to his post on the deck, and, throwing himself down
+behind some loose crates, found himself sobbing bitterly.
+
+The homeward voyage was prosperous, and it was on a bright August
+evening that the white cliffs of old England came in sight.  In another
+hour Jack and his old friend found themselves dropping down with the
+tide to St. Catherine's Docks.
+
+They were penniless, and how to get back to Yarmouth was a puzzle.
+Jack could walk, but Colley could only hobble with the help of a stick.
+The captain was kindly-disposed, and at parting gave Jack a few
+shillings, saying he had more than earned his biscuit; while the mate
+said he felt quite downhearted at losing him.
+
+"Tell 'ee what, lad," Colley said, "I know there's a place where the
+shipwrecked fishermen's folk hang out.  Let's enquire for it, and may
+be they'll give us a helping hand."
+
+So the two made their way through the crowded thoroughfares to the
+place which has been a refuge for many in like circumstances.  The
+kindness of their reception greatly cheered old Colley, and they were
+put up for the night, while inquiries were made about the _Galatea_,
+and the truth of their story.
+
+"The _Galatea_ had been lost, with all hands," was the answer from
+Lloyd's; and the captain of the _Claudia_, the ship which had picked
+the poor waifs up in mid-ocean, gave both man and boy an excellent
+character.
+
+"The old geezer was useless, but I didn't grudge him his berth.  What's
+the world like, if we can't hold out a helping hand to one another in
+trouble?"
+
+This was all satisfactory, and money was provided to pay the railway
+journey to Yarmouth, while Jack's few shillings were expended in a pair
+of second-hand boots for himself, and a new jersey--that which had
+served for a flag of distress in mid-ocean being so full of holes that
+he presented a very ragged appearance.
+
+Home at last!  Home!  Yes, where his mother was, was Home.  He would
+not care about the cold looks of his aunt: he would bear even Mr.
+Skinner's gibes and scoffs: he would bear everything for his mother's
+sake.  And then, at last he had tidings for her!
+
+Colley was put down at a station before Yarmouth was reached, as it was
+nearer the home of his old mother, who looked after his little ones.
+
+"For I married late in life, my boy," he said to Jack, "and lost my
+poor wife almost as soon as I'd got her.  She just lived to be the
+mother of the youngest of the three children, and then she died.  The
+sailor's life is a hard one, and the wives of sailors have a hard time,
+boy!  The men grow old, like me, before their time.  Why, I'm but just
+over fifty years old, and I feel a vast deal more like seventy.  Take
+my advice, boy, and give up the sea.  You are a good scholar, and you
+are the only son of your mother.  Bear all your aunt's hard words, and
+live ashore, and be a comfort to her.  You have had your lesson.  God
+has given you a pretty hard one to learn, first page!  But never
+mind--so much the better for you.  Those days and nights were about the
+worst I ever went through, and I've had a taste of dangers, I can tell
+you.  Don't you forget them, nor the Lord's mercy to you and me in
+delivering us from the dreadful death of starvation.  Don't forget it."
+
+"Forget it!" Jack said.  "Why, I dream of it most nights, and see
+little Peter's dying eyes.  I----"
+
+Jack's voice was choked with tears, and old Colley wrung his hand,
+while Toby wriggled up to him, and licked his face with silent sympathy.
+
+Colley stumbled out of the carriage with Toby in his arms when the
+station was reached, and so they parted.
+
+In a few minutes more Jack found himself in Yarmouth, and was making
+his way towards the row.  His only thought was of his mother and little
+Miss Joy.  He looked up the familiar row, and then darted through it
+till he came to the little milliner's shop.  The widow's caps still
+showed in the window, and there was a straw bonnet trimmed, and some
+artificial flowers, lying on a very dusty bit of black velvet.  The
+window that used to be so bright looked dim, and the brass ledge before
+it dull and stained.  Altogether there was a dejected appearance about
+the place.  The door was open, and Jack entered cautiously.
+
+His aunt was sitting behind the counter waiting for customers, who were
+slow to come; for the business had very much declined since Mr. Skinner
+had taken the command and Mrs. Harrison had left the house.
+
+Mrs. Skinner looked very different from the Miss Pinckney of scarcely a
+year ago.  She had a dirty, faded look, and her face was pinched and
+miserable.  When she saw a sailor boy standing by the counter, she rose
+and said--
+
+"What for you?  Have you brought a message from any one?"
+
+"No, Aunt Pinckney.  Don't you know me?  Where's my mother?"
+
+Mrs. Skinner was for a moment speechless.  Then she raised her shrill
+voice--
+
+"Joe!  Joe! come here; the young thief is come back."
+
+Mr. Skinner, who was apparently smoking in the back parlour and taking
+life easily, now appeared.
+
+"What are you making such a row about? screeching like a poll-parrot!"
+
+Days of courtship and days of matrimony are apt to differ, in cases
+like that of Mr. and Mrs. Skinner!
+
+Then, having delivered himself of this polite question, Mr. Skinner
+caught sight of Jack.
+
+"You! oh! it's you, is it?  Well, the police have been looking for you,
+and I'll just give you in charge."
+
+Jack, utterly bewildered, was for the moment speechless.  Then he said--
+
+"Hands off!  What do you mean?  Where's my mother?"
+
+"She is not here; so you needn't think any of her crying and fuss will
+avail.  I'll give you in charge unless you confess."
+
+"Confess what?" said Jack, wriggling away from Mr. Skinner's grip.
+"Hands off, I say!  I am not going to run away.  What am I to confess?"
+
+"Take him into the back parlour, Joe.  You'll have the neighbours
+coming in: take him out of the shop."
+
+"Hold your tongue!" was the rejoinder.  "I shall do as I choose."
+
+"Let me go and call Mr. Boyd," Jack said.  "He will tell me where my
+mother is.  Let him be a witness of what you say, and what charge you
+have against me."
+
+Jack now looked across the row for the first time, and saw a young man
+standing at the door of the little stuffy shop, which, unlike its
+opposite neighbour, had grown smarter, and had a lot of ships' lanterns
+hanging over the door, and showy aneroids and compasses in the window.
+
+"Where's Mr. Boyd?  Where's little Joy's Uncle Bobo?"
+
+"Gone!  He has sold the business; he is gone right away."
+
+"Gone!  And where's Joy--little Miss Joy?  I tell you I will know.  And
+where is my mother?"
+
+"Look here, youngster!  This matter must be cleared up.  You'll not be
+let off so easy; but if you confess, well--we shan't be hard on you."
+
+"Confess _what_?" Jack shouted now.  He was getting very angry, and
+repeated, "Confess _what_?"
+
+"Oh, that's all very fine!  Perhaps you've forgotten you ran away and
+broke your poor mother's heart, and took my little cash-box with you
+with four pounds odd money in it," said his aunt.
+
+"It's convenient to forget.  You'd better not try to fool _me_," said
+Mr. Skinner.  "Your aunt's key of that drawer was in her little
+key-basket.  You slily took it out, and when the house was quiet,
+opened the drawer and put the box in your pocket I see!"
+
+Jack's face grew crimson.  He felt very much inclined to fly at Mr.
+Skinner's throat, and pummel him well with his strong young fist.  But
+the vision of his mother and little Miss Joy rose before him, and with
+a desperate effort he controlled himself.
+
+"Prove what you say, and don't call me a thief till you have proved me
+one."
+
+"Well, it's my duty--my painful duty," said Mr. Skinner, "to lock you
+up till I have fetched a policeman, and communicated with your mother."
+
+"You needn't _lock_ me up," said Jack proudly.  "If I say I'll stay
+here, I'll stay.  Indeed, I will stay till you have made it all clear.
+Your little cash-box!  Aunt Pinckney----"
+
+"No, no, not Aunt Pinckney; I am Mrs. Skinner now."
+
+The tone was so sad that Jack's boyish heart was touched.
+
+"Do you think I could steal a penny of yours, aunt, when you had kept
+me and mother all those years?  Will you send for her? and I will stay
+till she comes."
+
+But Mr. Skinner pushed Jack into the kitchen behind the parlour.
+
+He had just turned the key in the lock, when a voice was heard in the
+shop--Bet's voice.
+
+"I have brought you some fresh eggs, and half a pound of butter, Aunt
+Skinner," she said.  "Aunt Maggie sent them with her love.  What is
+amiss, Aunt?"
+
+"Child," Mrs. Skinner said, "Jack is come home.  Your uncle has locked
+him up in the kitchen.  Hush! here he is."
+
+"Well, what are you prying about here for?" Mr. Skinner said.  "Oh,
+eggs!  My dear, poach me a couple for supper; I'm fond of poached eggs."
+
+But Bet stood on one foot speechless by the counter, where she had put
+the basket.
+
+"What do you say Jack stole?"
+
+"My little cash-box, the night he ran away; but I don't want to be hard
+on the boy--my only sister's child.  I'll forgive him if he'll confess."
+
+Bet stood pondering for another moment, and then she said--
+
+"I've got another errand to do.  I'll come back for the basket."
+
+And Bet was off, as if on the wings of the wind--off to the Denes and
+the little lonely red-brick house, which was shut up and had a board on
+a pole in the front garden, with "To Let.  Inquire for the key at Mr.
+Skinner's, Market Row," painted in white letters on it.
+
+Bet looked right and left; there was no one in sight, and she went
+round to the back, and found, to her great joy, an old trowel with half
+the handle broken, which she seized eagerly.  She went down on her
+hands and knees, and dug and burrowed with her fingers in the soft,
+sandy soil.  Her heart beat wildly with hope and fear; her hat fell
+back, and her tawny hair fell over her shoulders.  The light of the
+April evening was waning; she had not a moment to lose.
+
+"It was here--it was here--it must have been just here," she cried.
+Some people passing on the raised path where Uncle Bobo had sat on the
+evening of little Miss Joy's accident turned to look at her once, and
+wondered what she was doing, digging there on hands and knees.
+
+At last Bet stopped, and, raising her head and clasping her hands,
+said--
+
+"Little Miss Joy would tell me to pray to God to help me to find it.
+He would hear _her_.  Will He hear me, I wonder?"
+
+Then poor Bet uttered a few words, calling on God, who saw everything,
+to show her where what she sought lay hid.
+
+She redoubled her efforts, and moving a little further from the house,
+she dug another hole till she came to some bricks.  She lifted them,
+and there was the little cash-box--empty now, but, oh! of what
+priceless value!
+
+Bet gathered up her stray tools, and putting on her hat, ran off again
+along the sand by the sea-shore, now left hard by the retreating tide,
+on and on to the farther end of that part of Yarmouth where a road,
+then lately made, led towards Gorlestone.  Breathless and panting she
+reached the first of two pretty houses standing together, with a strip
+of garden in front, bright now with wallflowers and hardy hepaticas and
+celandines.
+
+Under the porch of the first, smoking his pipe, sat Uncle Bobo; and
+warmly covered with a rug, in a reclining chair by his side, was little
+Miss Joy.
+
+Maggie Chanter was sowing some seeds in the window-box of the next
+house, and Mrs. Harrison was standing by the porch, waiting and
+watching.  She had her knitting in her hand, but her eyes were on the
+sea, with the same wistful longing in them as of old.
+
+"Jack is come home.  Jack!" gasped Bet.  "They say he stole the
+cash-box, but--but--I've found it.  Quick! take it to Uncle Joe, and
+say I found it in the ground at the back of grannie's old home."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIV.
+
+_THE WAITING IS OVER._
+
+Sudden news, whether it be good or bad, is always a shock; and when
+Patience Harrison caught the cry repeated by Maggie Chanter, "Jack is
+come home!" and echoed by little Miss Joy's silvery voice, and old
+Uncle Bobo's bass, "Jack is come home!" she sank back in the porch and
+gasped for breath.
+
+Presently the little gate was opened by George Paterson, who hastily
+asked--
+
+"What is the matter?  Jack come home?  Well, that's good news."
+
+"Yes," Maggie Chanter said; "but Bet there has some other news, which
+is not so good.  They dare to say Jack stole the cash-box the day he
+ran off, and they have locked him up."
+
+"But he didn't, he didn't," Bet said, recovering her breath at last.
+"Here it is; take it to Uncle Joe, and tell him where I found it."
+
+"Yes; take it," said Uncle Bobo; "I'd go myself, only I can't stir my
+old stumps as fast as you can.  Paterson, you are the man for the
+business."
+
+George Paterson was looking at poor Patience, who seemed utterly
+overwhelmed with the tidings; and behind her stood old Mrs. Skinner,
+with her arm round her, letting her head rest against her shoulder.
+
+"There, there," she said, as Patience began to sob convulsively;
+"there, there, you've naught to cry for.  Your boy is come back; and if
+Bet is to be believed, my son is the thief, not yours.  You needn't
+break your heart.  What made you go and look for the box, Bet?  What
+made you think of it?"
+
+"Oh, grannie, I--I saw Uncle Joe bury it in the ground one night!  I
+never knew what it was till I heard a talk about a little box that was
+lost."
+
+"Well, well, the box is found, and now I am off to bring the boy to his
+mother.  Bet, you come along."
+
+"No," Bet said; "I dare not, Mr. Paterson, I dare not."
+
+"I will come with you, Mr. Paterson," Maggie said.  "I am not afraid of
+Joe--I never was.  He ought to be ashamed of himself, and I expect
+there is worse behind."
+
+"I have no doubt about it," said George Paterson, as he and Maggie set
+out together.
+
+The gardens of the two pretty neat houses were divided by low iron
+railings.  One was inhabited by Mr. Boyd, old Susan, and Mrs. Chanter
+and her darling Joy; the other by Mrs. Skinner and Bet and Patience
+Harrison.
+
+"I can't part with the child," Uncle Bobo had said: "I'd rather cut off
+my right arm."  And, indeed, parting from the little dark shop in the
+row, and the darker parlour behind it, where he had lived for so many
+years, had been almost like cutting off a right arm to Uncle Bobo.  But
+when he heard the doctors say that little Miss Joy ought to have fresh
+air, and that the bedroom where she lay so patiently week after week,
+with only the occasional variety of being carried "to the leads," where
+the memorable tea-parties used to be held, was not healthful for her,
+he decided to sell the business, and remove.  What a removal it was!
+and even now Uncle Bobo said the light was too much for his eyes, and
+that he liked the shade of the row better than the glare of the sea.
+But little Miss Joy was so dear to the old man's heart, that he gave
+even this great proof of his love.  The two little houses, away from
+the bustle and noise of the busy seaport, were hired, and the
+sitting-room was to be let this season, with one bedroom, to any
+visitor to Yarmouth who would like the quiet, broken only by the
+distant murmur of the sea, or the voice of birds in the low copses
+which had been planted round a house of some pretension not far off.
+
+As soon as George Paterson and Aunt Maggie were gone, Joy said--
+
+"Bet, go and ask dear Goody to come here.  I want her so much."
+
+"What do you want, my lamb?" Uncle Bobo said.  "Hi, Mrs. Harrison, you
+are wanted.  Little Miss Joy wants you."
+
+That name had always a charm about it, and Mrs. Harrison raised
+herself, and went slowly, and like one in a dream, down the narrow
+garden path, out at the little gate, and in at the next.  She was met
+by Bet, who threw her arms round her, and said--"You go and sit with
+Joy while I go to poor grannie.  Oh, I am sorry for grannie; but I _am_
+glad for you!"
+
+"Here, Mrs. Harrison, take my chair," Uncle Bobo said, "and sit by the
+child.  You'll feel better then.  She is the peace-maker--bless
+her--and every one is the better for being alongside of her."
+
+Yes; it was most true.  When Susan was put out with new-fangled ways;
+when Mrs. Skinner relapsed into her old silence, only broken by
+fault-finding; when Maggie grew impatient of her mother's strange
+temper; when little breezes disturbed the waters of domestic life in
+the two homes--then it was that little Miss Joy's presence was sought,
+and her gentle words were truly like oil on troubled waters.
+
+Have we not all felt the presence of such peace-makers to be as a
+breath from heaven?  And are they not most frequently found amongst
+those who have had the cross of suffering laid upon them, and who are
+shut out from many of the pursuits and enjoyments of others?
+
+Blessed indeed are the maintainers of peace; blessed, thrice blessed,
+are the child-comforters who can love and pity the erring and soothe
+the sorrowful, and who by their own beautifully simple child-faith
+encourage others to seek after a like precious gift.
+
+Mrs. Harrison sat with Joy's hand in hers for the next hour, an hour of
+painful waiting and expectancy.  Joy did not say much, but now and then
+she would put in a little word of her own thoughts.
+
+"There is the big star!  Look, Goody! isn't it beautiful?  Oh, I do
+like to see the whole sky, and all the stars now!  God seems to look at
+me as I look at them.  It was good of Him to let me come to live here,
+though I loved the dear old row very much when I could run about.  Then
+it is so nice to see mother going about making everything pretty; and
+doesn't she work beautifully!  That last dress she made was lovely.
+She is teaching me to work too.  Don't you care to hear my chatter,
+dear Goody?  You are thinking Jack may come every minute," as Mrs.
+Harrison heaved a heavy sigh.  "I talk to make the time seem
+shorter--that's all.  Uncle Bobo is standing by the gate; he will be
+the first to tell us when they are coming."
+
+It did seem a long, long time.  Bet was constantly running backwards
+and forwards from the door of the next house to the gate; and Susan,
+with folded arms, was leaning against the side of the house, coming
+round the corner every now and then to say it was getting too cold for
+Miss Joy to stay in the porch.
+
+"Oh, I am quite warm! let me wait, Susan."
+
+"You must have your own way, I suppose, as usual," was the short reply.
+
+Susan was fond of saying rather sharp things sometimes, to cover her
+real love for Joy.  She had felt a natural pang of jealousy when she
+found the young mother had taken her place of waiting on Joy, or rather
+sharing the waiting with Bet and Mrs. Harrison.  She was not quite
+kindly disposed to Maggie Chanter, and would mumble sometimes--
+
+"It was all very well for folks to leave their children on people's
+doorsteps, and then when they were grown nicely, and every one loved
+them, it was very fine to come and claim them;" and she would say,
+"There's no love lost between me and Mrs. Skinner's daughter, and I
+don't hold with girls going off with poor sickly photographers when
+they might have rode in their carriage and married rich grocers."
+
+People like Susan generally speak in the plural number when their
+remarks are directed to one person who is the object of their satire or
+reproof.
+
+The longed-for moment came at last.  As the three neared the house,
+George Paterson said:
+
+"Run on and go to your mother alone, boy; she will like it best."
+
+Jack did as he was bid, and in a few minutes he was kneeling at his
+mother's side, clasping her round the waist and covering her with
+kisses.
+
+"Forgive me, mother dear; forgive me!"
+
+Mrs. Harrison could only press the boy close to her heart and murmur
+over him tender words, while Joy's little voice said:
+
+"Kiss me too, Jack, dear Jack.  Of course every one forgives
+you--because God for Christ's sake has forgiven us.  Oh, dear, _dear_
+old Jack!"
+
+It was not till Jack was in his bed that night that his mother,
+kneeling by him, poured out her heart in thankfulness to God.  Then he
+drew from under his pillow the old red and yellow handkerchief, and in
+a few words told the story as the sailor had told it to him.
+
+"The token has come at last," poor Patience said.  "Yes, I marked those
+letters on the handkerchief with my own hand.  Oh, Jack!  Jack! it all
+comes back to me, and I have had a weary time of waiting; but it is
+better to _know_ at last."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XV.
+
+_THE HERITAGE OF PEACE._
+
+The joy of the hypocrite is but for a moment; and the house that is
+built on the sand must needs fall to ruin at last.
+
+Mr. Skinner received the box with his accustomed composure, though he
+turned deadly pale.  It was an _extra_ordinary coincidence that the box
+was found in the sandy ground.  How it came there he was at a loss to
+conjecture.
+
+"The less said about it the better," George Paterson remarked, "and you
+owe this boy a full apology."
+
+"Well, it _is_ possible there is a mistake somewhere.  However, we will
+give the youngster the benefit of the doubt, and send him home to his
+mother."
+
+"Doubt!" Maggie exclaimed vehemently; "_doubt_!  You stole the box,
+Joe, and hid it in the garden behind your house.  You were _seen_ to
+bury it; you had better make a clean breast of it."
+
+"Oh, spare him, Maggie Chanter!" poor infatuated Mrs. Skinner said.
+"Joe!  Joe!"
+
+Then, with a white face and an expression on it none who saw it will
+ever forget, Mr. Skinner, with a wave of his long thin hand, left the
+house.
+
+Nothing more was ever heard of him.  The crooked paths of deceit and
+dishonesty can have but one end, unless by God's grace those paths are
+forsaken, and the strait and narrow way chosen in their place.  Poor
+Aunt Amelia had indeed reason to rue the day when she had listened to
+the flattering words of the wily man.  He left her with an empty purse,
+a ruined custom, and a sore heart.  But she was now delivered from one
+who in her folly she had trusted, and there were many who, hearing her
+story, pitied her, and gave back the custom they had withdrawn.
+
+      *      *      *      *      *
+
+Another year passed away, and it brought more peaceful times.
+
+Perhaps Patience Paterson's life could not be called sunny or bright;
+but it is calm and peaceful, and she is the happy wife of a good and
+noble-hearted man, who had loved her faithfully for many years.
+
+George Paterson was conscious that the deep respect he now felt for his
+wife would scarcely have been the same had she yielded to his wishes,
+and, taking it for granted that her husband was dead, had married him
+while his end was undecided.  Patience may well set an example to
+others in this matter, and her evening-tide light will be clouded by no
+misgivings and no self reproaches.
+
+She had asked for some token, and it was given.  Through the trial of
+her boy's absence came the blessing of the long-looked-for tidings; and
+in this, as in many another step of her pilgrimage, she could feel the
+truth of the words, "To the upright there ariseth light in the
+darkness."
+
+They took a pretty house near Gorlestone, and George became a
+prosperous man.  Jack was taught his business as ship's carpenter, and
+the control exercised by his step-father was most salutary.  He is
+likely to grow up a good and useful man.
+
+The two houses, called by Uncle Bobo "The Home, Number One and Number
+Two," became popular as lodgings for single ladies and their maids, and
+were said to be amongst the best and most comfortable in or near
+Yarmouth.
+
+Old Colley and his children were not forgotten, and were often invited
+to tea in the garden behind the two houses, where Uncle Bobo and Colley
+would exchange many stories or yarns of their early days.
+
+Little Miss Joy did not get strong or vigorous, but she was able to
+walk about by the help of an arm.  Uncle Bobo would sometimes hire a
+donkey-chair, and trudge by her side as it rolled along the esplanade,
+or was taken down to the edge of the water, where she loved to sit and
+think, and listen to the sweet music of the chime of the waves.
+
+It was one lovely summer's evening when little Miss Joy was enjoying
+the air and her favourite song of the waves, that Bet, now grown a tall
+and less ungainly girl, came up to her with a thin, sad-looking woman
+dressed in black.
+
+"I've made Aunt 'Melia come," Bet said.  "I told her you wanted her,
+and here she is."
+
+"I've got the camp-stool in the chair," Joy said.  "Sit down, Aunt
+Amelia, and let us be comfortable and happy."
+
+Mrs. Skinner shook her head.
+
+"No, my dear, I can never be happy.  I leave that to other people."
+
+"Oh, yes, you can be happy!" little Miss Joy said.
+
+"No, no; not with a broken heart!"
+
+"God can mend broken hearts.  Don't you know that, Aunt Amelia?  'He
+gives medicine to heal their sickness.'"
+
+"Not when troubles are brought upon one's self by one's own folly and
+sin, my dear.  No, no."
+
+"I don't think that makes any difference," said little Miss Joy in her
+clear, musical voice.  "He healeth those that are broken in heart; He
+giveth medicine to heal their sickness.  He telleth the number of the
+stars: He calleth them all by their names.  I do _love_ that psalm,
+because it shows God cares for little things like me and my little
+troubles, and for great and mighty things like the stars.  For, you
+know, I _have_ my little troubles.  I do long to run and skip as I used
+to do, and wait on Uncle Bobo and mother, when she is tired and the
+lodgers are rather tiresome, and poor grannie is cross, and _I_ am
+inclined to grumble and be cross too."
+
+"Never, never, my dear," said Mrs. Skinner.
+
+"Well, I know I _feel_ cross, and I go to God for His medicine.  I wish
+you would go too, Aunt 'Melia."
+
+Mrs. Skinner shook her head.
+
+"I think grannie has gone to Him, and she is happier, I know.  He will
+give it you if you ask Him.  His medicine is love, the love He had for
+us when He gave us the Lord Jesus."
+
+Mrs. Skinner still shook her head, but tears rolled down her thin,
+faded cheeks.
+
+"I must be going now," she said.  "Good-bye, my dear."
+
+"Good-bye.  Kiss me, Aunt 'Melia;" and then Bet, who had purposely kept
+apart, came up with some shells she had gathered for Joy, and said, as
+she had gone to fetch Aunt Amelia, she would take her home again.  So
+they turned and left Joy, and then Uncle Bobo came down from the seat
+where he had been watching what passed, and, calling the donkey-boy, he
+told Joy it was time to be going home.
+
+"What have you been saying to poor Mrs. Skinner?" he asked.
+
+"Not much, dear Uncle Bobo; but, oh, I am so sorry for her, and I wish
+I could comfort her!  I love poor Mrs. Skinner now, indeed I do."
+
+"Love her!  Well, bless your little heart, you love everybody, I think."
+
+"Yes, I think I do, and I am so happy, Uncle Bobo.  Let us go home now."
+
+Dear little Miss Joy!  Who shall say what is the guerdon she and those
+like her wear?
+
+Truly those that are the maintainers of peace have a blessed heritage;
+for the golden fruit of righteousness is a glorious harvest for those
+who make peace.  Yes, and for those childlike souls there is quietness
+and assurance for ever.
+
+
+
+
+      *      *      *      *      *
+
+[Transcriber's note: the three illustrations between pages 53/54,
+103/104, and 157/158 were missing from the source book.]
+
+      *      *      *      *      *
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Little Miss Joy, by Emma Marshall
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