"I've lost _my_ girl," said the woman. "Death has come for her!" And, when speaking to us, she spoke more intelligibly than when alone. "Yes; but this child has been lost--lost out of doors! Have you seen or heard anything of one?" "I've not been in the way o' seeing or hearing, master; I've been in the tent alone. If folks had come to my aid, Corry might not have died. I've had nothing but water to put to her lips all day?" "What was the matter with her?" Tod asked, convinced at length that Lena was not there. "She have been ailing long--worse since the moon come in. The sickness took her with the summer, and the strength began to go out. Jake have been down, too. He couldn't get out to bring us help, and we have had none." Jake was the husband, we supposed. The help meant food, or funds to get it with. "He sat all yesterday cutting skewers, his hands a'most too weak to fashion 'em. Maybe he'd sell 'em for a few ha'pence, he said; and he went out this morning to try, and bring home a morsel of food." "Tod," I whispered, "I wish that hard-hearted Molly had----" "Hold your tongue, Johnny," he interrupted sharply. "Is Jake your husband?" he asked of the woman. "He is my husband, and the children's father." "Jake would not be likely to steal a child, would he?" asked Tod, in a hesitating manner, for him. She looked up, as if not understanding. "Steal a child, master! What for?" "I don't know," said Tod. "I thought perhaps he had done it, and had brought the child here." Another comical stare from the woman. "We couldn't feed these of ours; what should we do with another?" "Well: Jake called at our house to sell his skewers; and, directly afterwards, we missed my little sister. I have been hunting for her ever since." "Was the house far from here!" "A few miles." "Then he have sunk down of weakness on his way, and can't get back." Putting her head on her knees, she began to sob and moan. The child--the living one--began to bawl; one couldn't call it anything else; and pulled at the green rushes. "He knew Corry was sick and faint when he went out. He'd have got back afore now if his strength hadn't failed him; though, maybe, he didn't think of death. Whist, then, whist, then, Dor," she added, to the boy. "Don't cry," said Tod to the little chap, who had the largest, brightest eyes I ever saw. "That will do no good, you know." "I want Corry," said he. "Where's Corry gone?" "She's gone up to God," answered Tod, speaking very gently. "She's gone to be a bright angel with Him in heaven." "Will she fly down to me?" asked Dor, his great eyes shining through their tears at Tod. "Yes," affirmed Tod, who had a theory of his own on the point, and used to think, when a little boy, that his mother was always near him, one of God's angels keeping him from harm. "And after a while, you know, if you are good, you'll go to Corry, and be an angel, too." "God bless you, master!" interposed the woman. "He'll think of that always."