"I guess as that's why you're so good to 'strays,'" said John Moseley. "Eh! but, Moll, wot 'as come o' yer word, as you'd take no more notice o' them, since them two little orphans runned away last winter?" "There's no manner o' use in twitting at me, John. A stray child allers reminds me so desp'rate hard o' Charlie, and then I'm jest done for. 'Twill be so to the end. Hany stray 'ud do wot it liked wid Mammie Moseley. But eh! I do wonder wot has come to my poor little orphans, them and Susie! I lies awake at night often and often and thinks it all hover. How they all vanished from us seems past belief." "Well, there seems a power o' 'strays' coming hup the stairs now," said John Moseley, "to judge by the noise as they makes. Sakes alive! wife, they're coming hup yere. Maybe 'tis Mr. Danvers and his good lady. They said they might call round. Jest set the table tidy." But before Mrs. Moseley could do anything of the kind, the rope which lifted the boards was pulled by a hand which knew its tricks well, and the next instant bounded into the room a shabby-looking dog with a knowing face. He sprang upon John Moseley with a bark of delight; licked Mammie Moseley's hands; then, seeing the cat in her accustomed corner, he ran and lay down by her side. The moment Toby saw the cat it occurred to him that a life of ease was returning to him, and he was not slow to avail himself of it. But there was no time to notice Toby, nor to think of Toby, for instantly he was followed by Maurice and Cecile and, immediately after them, a dark-eyed boy, and then a great big man, and last, but not least, a fair-haired and beautiful young woman. It was at this young woman Mammie Moseley stared even more intently than at Cecile. But the young woman, taking Cecile's hand, came over and knelt on the ground, and, raising eyes brimful of tears, said: "Mammie, mammie, I am Susie! and Cecile has brought me back to you!" * * * * * Over the confusion that ensued--the perfect Babel of voices--the endless exclamation--the laughter and the tears--it might be best to draw a veil. Suffice it to say, that this story of a brave endeavor, of a long pilgrimage, of a constant purpose, is nearly ended. Lovedy and her party spent a few days in London, and then they went down into Kent and found good faithful Jane Parsons, now happily married to the very night-guard who had befriended Cecile and Maurice when they were sent flying from Aunt Lydia to London. Even Aunt Lydia, as her mother's sister, did repentant Lovedy find out; and, seeing her now reduced to absolute poverty, she helped her as best she could. Nothing could make Lydia Purcell really grateful; but even she was a little softened by Lovedy's beauty and bewitching ways. She even kissed Cecile when she bade her good-by, and Cecile, in consequence, could think of her without fear in her distant home.