When she looked round again, he was gone. Their ways had parted. An hour later, Bel Bree turned the key outside her door, and with a little leather bag in her hand, saying not a word to any one, went down into the street. Across the Common, and over the great hill, she walked straight to Greenley Street, and to Miss Desire. CHAPTER XXV. BEL BREE'S CRUSADE: THE PREACHING. Desire Ledwith had a great many secrets to keep. Everybody came and told her one. All these girls whom she knew, had histories; troubles, perplexities, wrongs, temptations,--greater or less. Gradually, they all confessed to her. The wrong side of the world's patchwork looked ugly to her, sometimes. Now, here came Bel Bree; with her story, and her little leather bag; her homelessness, her friendlessness. No, not that; for Desire Ledwith herself contradicted it; even Mrs. Pimminy and Miss Smalley were a great deal better than nothing. Not friendlessness, then, exactly; but _belonglessness_. Desire sent down to Leicester Place for Bel's box; for Cheeps also. Bel wrote a note to Miss Smalley, asking her to take in Bartholomew. What came of that, I may as well tell here as anywhere; it will not take long. It is not really an integral part of our story, but I think you will like to know. Miss Smalley herself answered the note. It was easy enough to evade any close questions on her part; she thought it was "a good deal more suitable for Bel not to stay at Mrs. Pimminy's alone, and she wasn't an atom surprised to know she had concluded so;" besides, Miss Smalley was very much preoccupied with her own concerns. "There was the room," she said; "and there was the furniture. Now, would Bel Bree let the things to her, just as they stood, if she,--well, if Mr. Sparrow,--for she didn't mind telling Bel that she and Mr. Sparrow had made up their minds to look after each other's comfort as well as they could the rest of their lives, seeing how liable we all were to need comfort and company, at fires and things;--if Mr. Sparrow hired the room of Mrs. Pimminy? And as to Bartholomew, Mr. Sparrow wouldn't mind him, and she didn't think Bartholomew would object to Mr. Sparrow. Cats rather took to him, he thought. They would make the creature welcome, and make much of him; and not expect it to be considered at all." Bel concluded the arrangement. She thought it would be a comfort to know that Aunt Blin's little place was not all broken up, but that somebody was happy there; that Bartholomew had his old corner of the rug, and his airings on the sunny window-sill; and Miss Smalley--Mrs. Sparrow that was to be--would pay her fifteen dollars a year for the things, and make them last.