And so we went away. The others had started, and we hurried after them; but first mother made me put on the Chinese dress, and then, leaving the deafening sounds behind us, we crept on into the Mission-house. We were only just in time. As we left the room, which mother locked behind her, we heard someone trying the other door, and knew that it would not be long before they forced the lock, and then— Mother hurried me on through the Mission-house, carefully locking the doors behind us, on into the first house, where we saw poor Daig Ong. Mother stopped to say a few words to her, and then we passed on again; we dared not stay, for the rioters might guess at our escape and bring us back again. House after house we passed through safely, for the people in the village knew us and loved us, until at last we reached the road for Wei-hai-wei, and caught a glimpse of Nurse and the others on a-head. They were going very slowly, and we soon overtook them. CHAPTER V. A TERRIBLE WALK. Mother took baby Anna in her arms, and baby smiled and touched mother’s face with her little hands, then looked up at the sky again with that solemn, wondering look of hers; and the next day, when the sun was setting, and its glory fell on her little upturned face, Jesus called her to Himself, and the angels carried her away from us to Heaven. It reminded me of a piece of poetry out of a book of mother’s, called "Voices of Comfort." I learnt it by heart to repeat to father, and if I can remember it, I will write it down, because it is such a lovely piece:— They are going—only going— Jesus called them long ago! All the wintry time they’re passing, Softly as the falling snow. When the violets in the spring-time Catch the azure of the sky, They are carried out to slumber Sweetly where the violets lie. They are going—only going— When with summer earth is drest, In their cold hand holding roses, Folded to each silent breast. When the autumn hangs red banners Out above the harvest sheaves, They are going—ever going— Thick and fast, like falling leaves. All along the mighty ages All adown the solemn time, They have taken up their homeward March to that serener clime, Where the watching, waiting angels Lead them from the shadow dim, To the brightness of His presence, Who hath called them unto Him. They are going—only going— Out of pain and into bliss, Out of sad and sinful weakness, Into perfect holiness. Snowy brows—no care shall shade them; Bright eyes—tears shall never dim; Rosy lips—no time shall fade them; Jesus called them unto Him. Little hearts for ever stainless, Little hands as pure as they, Little feet—by angels guided Never a forbidden way.