"We shan't hear the end of this in a hurry. What business has he prowling about the place at this time of night, I should like to know?" grumbled Dixon aloud, as he closed the door. "Bad company, indeed! He'll see for himself that I'm not drunk, whatever that fool Tom may be." Meanwhile the rector pursued his way home in less joyful mood than before he had stumbled across poor Tom Burney; he was sorely troubled about him as, for a long time, he had been one of the most promising young fellows in the place. He let himself quietly into the rectory, shading the light with his hand as he passed the door of Kitty's room; but a half-stifled cry of "Daddy!" arrested his steps. He pushed open the door and entered, crossing with swift, light tread to her bedside. The frightened look in the child's eyes died away as she looked into the smiling face. "What does my little Kitty mean by lying awake to this hour?" "I've been frightened, daddy. I lay awake on purpose, at first, because you promised to come and kiss me when you came home after the meeting." "Oh, I shan't promise that any more if it keeps you awake. Well!" "And then I heard Mr. Paul's voice down in the hall, and I thought he said something about fire. But Nurse said I was silly, and must go to sleep; but I couldn't till I knew you were safe." "What from, little one?" "The fire," said Kitty, with a suppressed sob. "I thought you might be burned, and nobody would tell me." "Well, that was very silly, certainly," said her father, with a little laugh that had a singularly reassuring effect upon Kitty. "And I tried to think of the three men with long names that the fire did not hurt; but it did not do me a bit of good, daddy." "Because you forgot about the fourth one who stood by them, even in the fire, whose form was like the Son of God," said the rector, gently. "And He was close by you, Kitty, although you were so frightened--by you, and me too. There! think of that and go to sleep now." But though Mr. Curzon spoke so cheerfully, there were tears in his eyes as he kissed his little daughter and tucked her into bed with strong, gentle hands. "Poor little soul! She's bound to suffer, with her crippled body and over-sensitive brain," he thought. The next morning at breakfast he told Kitty the story of the previous evening, quite simply, without any terrifying details. "I should think Mr. Paul is very brave--almost as brave as you are, daddy," said Kitty, whose terror seemed to have vanished into thin air with the light of day. "Much braver, I expect," agreed her father, good-humouredly. "But I wonder why you think so!" "Oh, Sally has told me lots of things. How he killed a mad dog, and nursed a man with smallpox, and knocked down a costermonger for kicking his pony. That was brave, wasn't it?" said Kitty, who clearly regarded the last item as the crowning act of bravery.