"That was wise of thee, dear child," said Dame Drayton with a sigh; for she could not help wondering what would happen to her own darlings if she and her husband should ever fall into similar trouble. Sometimes it seemed impossible that they could long escape suspicion, and then anyone might denounce them who happened to bear them any ill-will. The messenger who had brought the children did not stay long, for the streets of London were no fit place for a woman after dusk, even though she might be staid and discreet; and so, as soon as the necessary particulars had been given, Master Drayton put on another hat and coat, to go with her to the Friend who had undertaken to manage the affair for the committee of suffering. While her husband was gone, Dame Drayton took the children to the little bedroom she had prepared for them near her own, and the nervous, frightened manner of the two younger girls fully justified what her fears had been concerning them. They clung to their elder sister, trembling even at the kind attentions of their friend, lest she should attempt to tear them from this last protector. "Thee will let us sleep together," said the little mother, as she took a hand of each of her younger sisters, and led them upstairs. "We are not hungry now, only a little tired with the fright," she explained, when Dame Drayton would have had supper brought into the keeping-room for them. "Certainly ye shall sleep together, and to-morrow I hope we shall learn to know each other better;" and she shut the children in to themselves, for she could see that it would be kinder to leave them now, than to press any attentions upon them, or to ask them any further questions. Before she went to bed, however, she gently opened the door and looked in, but found to her relief that they were sound asleep in each other's arms; and they did not rouse the next morning until all the house was astir, and the sun peeping in at their windows. "This is Bessie Westland, and these are her little sisters, Rose and Dorothy," said Dame Drayton the next morning, introducing the new-comers to her own children and the family assembled at the breakfast table. One of the apprentices had just raised his horn of small ale to drink, but at the name of Westland he paused, and looked first at the new-comers, and then at his companion; for the name of Westland had been heard of a good deal during the last few days, and the lads were not likely to forget it. The hatter noticed the look that passed between the two boys, and it did not tend to make him feel more comfortable; for although it was known that he was a strict and godly citizen, the fact of his being a Quaker he desired to keep secret as far as possible, but he feared now that the coming of these children might be the means of its discovery.