"So you sleep in the old church, do you?" said Mr. Robin. "Yes," said the old man. "I've slept there about a year now. You won't tell of me, will you? I've nowhere else to go but to the house, and I don't do a bit of harm—not a bit I don't." "How do you get in?" asked Granny Robin. "Through the vestry-window," he said. "It hasn't a lock on it. But I couldn't climb up this afternoon; I turned faint and dizzy-like. I fell down quite stupid, and when I came to my senses it was raining fast; I thought I was going to die—I did indeed." "Then that was the light we saw in the church—me and Stephen!" cried Audrey. "Did you see it?" said the old man piteously. "Don't tell of me—don't!" "How do you get your living?" asked Granny Robin. "I sit under the railway-bridge and play my fiddle," said the old man. "I must have dropped my fiddle, I think," he said, as he felt for it with his trembling hands. "It'll be on the grass outside somewhere; and I get a few coppers—a very few coppers indeed. They buy me a bit of food, but I've none left for lodgings—not a penny, I haven't." "So you sleep in the old church! Isn't it very damp?" asked Aunt Cordelia. "Not in the pulpit," said the old man. "I curl away in the pulpit, and put my head on an old cushion—it's snug up in the pulpit. Don't tell of me—now don't, there's good folks!" "But what do you want a light for?" said Mr. Robin gravely. "Just to eat my supper by," he said. "It's so dark in there. I feel lonesome when I'm eating my supper. I put it out as soon as ever I've done." "Then you're not blind!" said Stephen's father, holding up the board which had been hanging round his neck. "No," he said; "I wear that because they give me more coppers if I do. I haven't very good sight; it's dim-like, but I'm not so blind as all that." "Oh dear, oh dear!" said Mr. Robin. "This is a very sad story." "Don't tell of me—" said the old man, whimpering like a child, "don't tell of me!" "We must think what's to be done," said Granny Robin; "we'll talk it over to-night." "And you may sleep on this sofa till morning," added Mr. Robin. "We are trusting you very much by letting you stay under our roof; but we can't turn you out in the rain. You won't disappoint our trust, will you?" "No, I won't, sir," said old Joe; "and thank you kindly, sir!" He turned so faint after this, that they were obliged to lift him on the sofa and to cover him with a thick shawl. And then, when the others were gone, and Mr. and Mrs. Robin were alone, they talked long and earnestly together about what was to be done with old Joe. He was evidently a poor, ignorant old man, with no idea of right or wrong, and as dark in his soul as a heathen in Africa. Yet perhaps God had sent him to them that they might lead him into the Kingdom of Light, and if so, they ought not to send him away. So in the morning, after they had given him some breakfast, they talked to him about it.