"Now, my dearie, drink it up. I must leave you alone a while at after. I'm going out to beg a coverlet and a bit more victuals. You're not afeared to be left? There's no need, my dear--never a whit. The worst outlaw in all the forest would as soon face the Devil himself as look behind this screen. But I'll lock you in if you like that better." "As you will, Mother Haldane. The Lord will take care of me, in the way He sees best for me, and most for His glory." "I'll lock you in. It'll not be so hard for Him then. Some'at new, bain't it, for the like o' me to think o' helping Him?" Ermine answered only by a smile. Let the old woman learn to come nigh to God, she thought, however imperfectly; other items could be put right in time. It was nearly three hours before Haldane returned, and she came so well laden that she had some work to walk. A very old fur coverlet hung over her left arm, while on her right was a basket that had seen hard service in its day. "See you here, dearie!" she said, holding them up to the gaze of her guest. "Look you at all I've got for you. I didn't steal a bit of it-- I saw from your face you wouldn't like things got that way. Here's a fine happing of fur to keep you warm; and I've got a full dozen of eggs given me, and a beef-bone to make broth, and a poke o' meal: and they promised me a cape at the green house, if I bring 'em some herbs they want. We shall get along grandly, you'll see. I've picked up a fine lot of chestnuts, too,--but them be for me; the other things be for you. I'll set the bone on this minute; it's got a goodly bit o' meat on it." "You are very good to me, Mother Haldane. But you must take your share of the good things." "Never a whit, my dearie! I got 'em all for you. There, now!" She spread the fur coverlet over Ermine, wrapping her closely in it, and stood a moment to enjoy the effect. "Ain't that warm, now? Oh, I know where to go for good things! Trust the Wise Woman for that! Can you sleep a while, my dear? Let me put you on a fresh poultice, warm and comforting, and then you'll try, won't you? I'll not make no more noise than Gib here, without somebody comes in, and then it's as may be." She made her poultice, and put it on, covered Ermine well, made up the fire, and took her seat on the form, just outside the screen, while Ermine tried to sleep. But sleep was coy, and would not visit the girl's eyes. Her state of mind was strangely quiescent and acquiescent in all that was done to her or for her. Perhaps extreme weakness had a share in this; but she felt as if sorrow and mourning were as far from her as was active, tumultuous joy. Calm thankfulness and satisfaction with God's will seemed to be the prevailing tone of her mind. Neither grief for the past nor anxiety for the future had any place in it. Her soul was as a weaned child.