It was occupied, at this time, by three families, one of whom was the Willets, mother and daughter, Josephine, Rob’s “Little Joe.” Deacon Cornhill, as soon as he had somewhat recovered from his astonishment, was ushered into the presence of the invalid woman, who, after giving Joey a joyous greeting, received him in a manner which told that she had been well bred. “But I am so helpless here,” she said. “I feel very grateful to you for befriending Joe, who is my mainstay. I must have been taken to the poorhouse soon after I was obliged to give up work but for her. And she cannot stand it much longer, poor thing! It has been so hard since my husband died. Ah! John and I never dreamed of what was in store for us when we left our old home in Maine to begin a new life in the big city. It was a new life, but a hard one. He was a good mechanic, but we had not been here two years before he was taken down with the fever. Of course, as soon as he stopped work his wages stopped, and when he died I was without a penny, and Joey a little girl. How many times have I pined for the old home, but, alas! I shall never see it!” “You shall!” cried Deacon Cornhill, vehemently, for almost at the outset of their conversation the subject uppermost in his mind had received an impetus he had not anticipated. “That is, you may not see the old home, but you can see another as good.” If at first she thought him demented, he quickly explained the proposition he had made to Rob, when Joey clapped her hands with delight. “It might bring back your health, mother.” “I know the sweet scent of the country air would do me good, my daughter; but do not raise any false hopes. We have not a cent to get there, if we had any place to flee to.” “Hurrah!” cried the usually dignified deacon, forgetting his staid ways in the excitement of the moment; “my case is as good as won. You shall both of you go, if you will, and never return to this wicked city.” “Here comes Rob!” cried the happy Joe, beginning to dance along the length of the narrow room. “We’ll talk it all over with him, and what a happy day it will be!” CHAPTER VI. CARRYING THE NEWS. “I can do it, and I will!” The mixed train from the south was drawing slowly out of Wenham Junction, as Phil Hardy simultaneously uttered this speech and threw himself upon the back of old Jim, his father’s farm horse. It was in the early part of April, and the mud along the country roads was deep and soft, which fact was shown by the appearance of the horse and its boyish rider.