"There is a fountain filled with blood Drawn from Emmanuel's veins; And sinners plunged beneath that flood Lose all their guilty stains." That was another frightening thing. It would be like the fountain in Aunt Bella's garden, with blood in it instead of water. The goldfishes would die. Mark was pleased when she said that Sarah wouldn't be allowed to go to Heaven because she would try to catch the Holy Ghost. Jesus was not like God. He was good and kind. When he grew up he was always dressed in pink and blue, and he had sad dark eyes and a little, close, tidy beard like Uncle Victor. You could love Jesus. Jenny loved him. She was a Wesleyan; and her niece Catty was a Wesleyan. Catty marched round and round the kitchen table with the dish-cloth, drying the plates and singing: "'I love Jesus, yes, I do, _For_ the Bible tells me _to_!'" and "'I am so glad that my Father in Heaven Tells of His love in the book He has given-- I am so glad that Jesus loves me, Jesus loves me, Jesus loves even me!'" On New Year's Eve Jenny and Catty went to the Wesleyan Chapel at Ilford to sing the New Year in. Catty talked about the Old Year as if it was horrid and the New Year as if it was nice. She said that at twelve o'clock you ought to open the window wide and let the Old Year go out and the New Year come in. If you didn't something dreadful would happen. Downstairs there was a party. Uncle Victor and Aunt Lavvy and Aunt Charlotte were there, and the big boys from Vinings and the Vicarage at Aldborough Hatch. Mark and Dank and Roddy were sitting up, and Roddy had promised to wake her when the New Year was coming. He left the door open so that she could hear the clock strike twelve. She got up and opened the windows ready. There were three in Mamma's room. She opened them all. The air outside was like clear black water and very cold. You couldn't see the garden wall; the dark fields were close--close against the house. One--Two--Three. Seven--When the last stroke sounded the New Year would have come in. Ten--Eleven--Twelve. The bells rang out; the bells of Ilford, the bells of Barkingside, and far beyond the flats and the cemetery there would be Bow bells, and beyond that the bells of the City of London. They clanged together and she trembled. The sounds closed over her; they left off and began again, not very loud, but tight--tight, crushing her heart, crushing tears out of her eyelids. When the bells stopped there was a faint whirring sound. That was the Old Year, that was eighteen sixty-nine, going out by itself in the dark, going away over the fields. Mamma was not pleased when she came to bed and found the door and windows open and Mary awake in the cot. II. At the end of January she was seven years old. Something was bound to happen when you were seven.