Winifred had succeeded perfectly. She found the gentleman asleep, and had with some difficulty aroused him, and made him understand her errand. He had objected at first, she said, for fear of bringing trouble upon them all, but when she had made him comprehend the true state of the case, he had gone with her, slowly and with a good deal of difficulty (for he was stiff and very lame), to the widow's cottage. Dame Sprat was easily aroused, and opened her door at once. She knew the stranger directly, and called him Master Arthur. "Aye, aye, I thought as much!" said the farmer, nodding. "But least said soonest mended. Go on, my child." "That is all," said Winifred, simply. "Dame Sprat welcomed him like a lady in her own hall. She would fain have had him take her bed, but he would not hear of that. He wrapped himself up in the dame's old duffel cloak and was asleep in a moment in her great chair. Then I left the basket and came home as fast as I could. I heard the church clock strike twelve as I came over the stile by our orchard, and oh, it was so cold!" said Winifred, shivering. "Yes, I fear you are chilled through and through! I trust you have not caught your death!" said her mother. "Come now, and let me put you to bed at once." The warmed bed and the hot spiced drink soon threw off the chill, and in half an hour Winifred was sleeping as sweetly as though she had gone to bed with the chickens, as usual. CHAPTER III. MY LADY. "WINNIE is lazy this morning," said Jack, as he sat down to his breakfast of bread and milk in the kitchen. "It is almost six, and she is not down yet." "No," replied his mother; "Winnie is not lazy, but tired, and not very well. She was awake late last night, and I thought she had better sleep awhile this morning." "Yes, there is always some good reason for everything that Winnie does!" said Jack, peevishly. "I wish I could always do just right, as she does!" "I wish you could," said his mother, "but that is not the way to begin." Jack murmured something about favorites, which, however, he was very careful not to let his mother hear, and went on eating his breakfast with a very discontented face. The truth was, he was a good deal ashamed of his fright the evening before, and he felt vexed at Winifred for doing the errand he had been afraid to perform. Jack knew that he was a coward, and he was ashamed of his cowardice, but instead of letting his shame lead him to the amendment of his fault, he permitted it to make him jealous of every one who was braver than himself, and especially of Winnie, who, being a girl, had, he opined, no business to go where he was afraid to venture.