"And that is true, too," said Anne. "Well, my dear, I am sure I am glad you find comfort in the Bible, and I would be the last one to oppose you. I remember when my poor sister was in the waste of which she died; after her sweetheart was drowned in the fishing-boat, the Bible was her only comfort. I have been sorry ever since, that I let you have any thing to do with that gipsy-woman; and I shall never forgive myself if harm comes of it to you." "What harm can come besides the loss of the knife and of my silver sixpence? I do not believe the Lord will hear that wicked woman,—for I am sure she is wicked,—and you know, Anne, if he takes care of us, nothing can harm us. I was learning a beautiful psalm this very evening which tells about that. Shall I say it to you?" Anne assented; and Lady Lucy repeated the ninety-first psalm. Long before it was finished, Anne was sound asleep. And Lucy, notwithstanding the thunder, lightning, and rain, soon followed her example. When she opened her eyes, it was broad daylight. The sun was shining, and a dear little robin-redbreast was singing his song right on her window-seat. Lucy slipped out of bed and went to the window. Every thing was drenched and dripping with wet. It had evidently blown hard during the night, for in more than one place, broken branches were hanging on the trees or lying on the grass: but every thing glittered in the sunlight, the air was fresh and sweet, and the world seemed to be rejoicing in the new light of morning. Thankful tears rose to Lucy's eyes, and she repeated the words of her morning hymn:— "Glory to Him who safe hath kept, And hath preserved me while I slept; Grant, Lord, when I from death shall wake, I may of endless life partake." She stole softly to the door and opened it a little way. There lay a friend indeed, no less than Goodman, the old bloodhound, who had been a puppy when her father went away, and had known him again when he came back. Old Goodman who was allowed to go about as he liked, and who had more than once hidden himself in the house and stayed all night in some snug corner. He now lay comfortably snoozing on the mat, but lifted his head and knocked his tail against the floor as Lucy opened the door. "You dear, faithful, old dog," said Lucy, bending over him and patting the great head tenderly. "Did you come to take care of your little mistress, you dear dog? You shall have some of my breakfast and sleep here every night till Cousin Deborah comes home. And you will take care of your little mistress, won't you, old fellow?" Goodman lazily put up his tawny muzzle and licked Lucy's face, as if ratifying this treaty on his own part. And Lucy, feeling her heart lighter than for many a day, went back to her room to dress. "Dear me, Lady Lucy, are you up already?" asked Anne, sleepily. "I am sure it is very early."