The children were famishing. The food disappeared in a twinkling. Then the boy explained that they had come all across the sea to take refuge with their grandmother in their desolation since their father's death, for their mother had died five years ago. Some kindly disposed people had seen them on board the ship, and given them a little money to carry them the rest of the way on landing. But the very first night ashore some wicked person had stolen it, so there was nothing for it but to come on, on foot. It was really no very great distance, not more than eight to ten miles from the seaport, but they were strangers in a strange land, almost afraid to ask their way, and they had probably wandered astray. This was their pitiful story. But already Michael's kindness had revived them, and they stood up, eager to get to the only home they had now a chance of. The cousins looked at each other. What was in store for the poor things? Their grandmother, a loving soul, would welcome them no doubt, and share with them all she had. But that "all" was really nothing. She was feeble and crippled with rheumatism. But for old Peter and his friend Ysenda, she would before this have risked dying of starvation. However--"Cheer up," said Michael, as he hoisted little Mattie on to his shoulder, Paul loading himself with the bundles. "Cheer up. We'll be at the good dame's in no time. Giles," he went on, for Hodge was looking sulky and disapproving, "Giles, you might do worse than help the boy--or at least bring a bundle of my faggots and come with us. Martha's fire will be none too big." Giles started forward, half shamed into doing his part--and Hodge, who was, after all, more stupid than bad-hearted, drew out of his pocket two small copper coins, which he handed to Paul. "Tell your granny," he said, "that's to help to get you some milk for breakfast from the farm near by her cottage." Paul smiled gratefully and thanked him. Then they set off--Hodge walking with them a part of the way, till he reached the turning to his own home. The poor dame was still up--sitting by the tiny fire in her kitchen, grudging to lose any of its welcome warmth, when Michael--leaving the others at the door--stepped in warily with a cheerful "good evening," so as not to terrify the lonely old woman. Mingled indeed were her feelings, as you can imagine. Loving delight as she clasped the little travellers in her trembling arms, though even in that first moment the dire misgiving seized her as to how they were to be fed and clothed! So pathetic are often the greatest joys of the very poor. But the children for the moment had no such fears. "Oh granny, granny," cried the little girl, "it is so sweet, so lovely to have found you," and Paul turned away to hide the tears which he thought himself too big a boy to give way to. They were near Michael's own eyes, and even Giles had a lump in his throat as he set to work to build up the fire with the bundle of his cousin's faggots.