They took their supper together in the house which may henceforth be called the child’s; and when they had finished their meal, drew round the fire, and almost in whispers—their hearts were too quiet and glad for loud talking—talked over their future plans. Before they separated the schoolmaster read some prayers aloud, and then they parted for the night. Next day they all worked gaily in arranging their houses until noon, and then went to visit the clergyman. He received them very kindly, and at once showed an interest in Nell, asking her name and age, her birthplace, why she left her home, and so forth. The schoolmaster had already told her story. They had no other friends or home to leave, he said, and had come to share his life. He loved the child as though she were his own. "Well, well," said the clergyman, "let it be as you wish. She is very young." "Old in troubles and trials, sir," replied the schoolmaster. "God help her. Let her rest and forget them," said the old gentleman, laying his hand upon her head, and smiling at her. "Your request is granted, friend." After more kind words they went to the child’s house, where they were talking over their happy fortune when another friend appeared. This was a little old gentleman who had lived in the parsonage house ever since the death of the clergyman’s wife, which had happened fifteen years before. He had been his college friend and always his close companion. The little old gentleman was the friend of every one in the place. None of the simple villagers had cared to ask his name, or, when they knew it, to store it in their memory, and he was known simply as the Bachelor. The name pleased him, or suited him as well as any other, and the Bachelor he had ever since remained. And the Bachelor it was, it may be added, who with his own hands had laid in the stock of fuel which the wanderers had found in their new home. The Bachelor, then, lifted the latch, showed his little, round, mild face for a moment at the door, and stepped into the room like one who was no stranger to it. "You are Mr. Marton, the new schoolmaster?" he said, greeting Nell’s kind friend. "I am, sir." "I am glad to see you. I should have come to greet you yesterday, but I rode across the country to carry a message from a sick mother to her daughter in service some miles off, and have but just now returned. This is our young church-keeper? You are not the less welcome, friend, for her sake or for this old man’s." "She has been ill, sir, very lately," said the schoolmaster. "Yes, yes; I know she has," he said. "There have been suffering and heartache here." "Indeed there have, sir." The little old gentleman glanced at the grandfather, and back again at the child, whose hand he took tenderly in his and held. "You will be happier here," he said, "We will try, at least, to make you so. You have made great changes here already. Are they the work of your hands?" "Yes, sir," said Nell.