xml version 1.0 encoding UTF-8
REPORT xmlns http:www.fcla.edudlsmddaitss xmlns:xsi http:www.w3.org2001XMLSchema-instance xsi:schemaLocation http:www.fcla.edudlsmddaitssdaitssReport.xsd
INGEST IEID E1NF7FFYY_OR4UN9 INGEST_TIME 2015-02-02T20:13:53Z PACKAGE UF00065481_00001
AGREEMENT_INFO ACCOUNT UF PROJECT UFDC
Till the Sugar Meits
The Story ofa Geranium.
The Flying Postman.
The Money in the Milk.
Â» The Cowslip Ball
The Little Model
Tales from over the Sea.
Lisetta & the Brigands.
4 Bessie Graham. â€”
â€œi In his Fathers Arms.
Cosmo & his Marmoset.
Talks with Uncle Morris.
The Patched Frock.
# Herbert.& his Sister.
H Lucy MillÃ©râ€™s Good Work.
Little Andy's Legacy.
How the Gold Medal was Won,
& The Young Drovers.
Master Charles's Chair.
way Little Kittiwake
GUA Squire Bentley's Treat. &e
y Bb Jessieâ€™ Visit to the Sunny Bank f
Arnys Secret. ;
The Children in the Valley. *
56, PATERNOSTER Row, LONDON.
Adgav Ly bho
etl Sent tes Kove)
JACK WAS AWAKENED BY VOICES.
Hittle Bot Services.
AUTHOR OF *STORYLAND,â€ ETC.
THE RELIGIOUS TRACT SOCIETY:
56, PATERNOSTER Row; 65, ST. Pautâ€™s CHURCHYARD}
AND 164, PICCADILLY.
I. THE TRAVELLING CIRCUS . .
i, IN SEARCH OF A HOME .
wit. A HAVEN oF REST. . .
Iv. THE ORPHANSâ€™ TALE. .
v. A WORD IN SEASON . .
vi. A HOME FOR THE HOMELESS
Ta WE ete
0295 00 â€”â€”â€”
fhe Fravelling Circus,
: @ OSSBROOK was a quiet old-
fashioned town nestling at
the base of a steep hill that
led to the downs. It called
itself a town on the strength
of possessing one long straggling
Ri street, where it would have puzzled
you to find two buildings alike, and where
the cottages, shops, and private houses were
grouped together in charming confusion.
The people were just as quiet and old-
fashioned as was the place, and lived con-
6 The Runaways.
tentedly, with few geelemibnts and relaxations.
In the summer evenings the young men and
boys played cricket on the piece of green
railed in for that purpose at the north end of
the town ; and their elders smoked their pipes -
and looked on, chatting the while with the
mothers and sisters who came to admire Billâ€™s
bowling, or Tomâ€™s batting, or Dickâ€™s prowess
as wicket-keeper. And in the winter an oc-
casional lecture at the Mechanicsâ€™ Institute
was considered by these simple folks quite
sufficient break in the monotony of their lives.
The lecture was sometimes enlivened by dis-
solving views, when it was called an Enter-
tainment ; and sometimes it was interspersed
with a song or two, and dignified with the
name of Concert. But these more ambitious
attempts were few and far between, and when
they did occur furnished gossip for a long
When, therefore, one fine morning early in
November, Mossbrook awoke to find itself
decorated with numerous and gaily-tinted
placards announcing the approach of a travel-
The Travelling Circus. 7
ling circus, which would stay two nights and
give as many performances, the effect may be
The placards were mostly headed by pic-
tures painted in all the colours of the rainbow,
and representing some of the attractions set
forth below. The performing dogs, the ele-
phant, and the horses flying over hurdlesâ€”
their riders, meantime, poising themselves on
one foot in the most graceful and wonderful
manner imaginable. These specimens of art,
so novel to the Mossbrookites, were of course
objects of attention immediately; and the
errand-boys lost their places, and the children
got late for school through loitering before
When it became known that the cricket-
ground had been chosen as the site of the
exhibition, that spot might have been a
magnet, for it drew all there who fancied
they had nothing better to do, and a great
many who knew very well they had, to witness
the erection of the poles and canvas which
had already reached the town in a lumbering
8 The Runaways.
waggon. The arrival, in grand procession, of
the performers was fixed for the following day,
and then the excitement was at its height,
and nobody thought of doing anything but
stand in the doorways or at the windows in
readiness to catch the first glimpse of the
Miss Hartley, the young daughter of the
owner of Holly Lodge, drove down the street
a little before; and, hearing what was ex-
pected, she drew up her ponies where the road
was wide, and begged permission of her
governess to wait. To this Mrs. Fenwick
demurred at first. She was not quite sure
whether Friskie and Fop, who were even now
tossing their heads and pawing the ground
impatiently, would approve of the music and
the glitter of the show; but Laura pleaded so
earnestly, and Tim, the groom, who was as
anxious as his little mistress to see all there
was to be seen, offered so readily to answer
for their good behaviour, that she gave in,
and allowed him to take up his station at
The Travelling Circus. 9
It was a very grand procession; and many
were the expressions of delight and approval
when it had passed, and the knights and the
spangled ladies, the elephants and the horses,
had all entered the huge booth on the cricket-
Miss Hartley talked merrily about it as
she turned Frisk and Fop homewards. Holly
Lodge was two miles from Mossbrook.
â€œYou will go, will you not, dear Mrs.
Fenwick?â€ said she. â€˜I will ask papa to
take us to-night, and it will be such fun! I
want to know if the dogs really do dance a
polka. Would the man teach Bijou if papa
were to pay him, do you think? And I wonder
what that little fairy does when they perform.
She looked pretty, did she not, with her gauze
wings? It must be delightful for her!â€
â€œDo you think so?â€ said Mrs. Fenwick,
â€œIndeed I do! They must dress her
prettily, and she has nothing to do but dance
or sing, or something of the sort. It is just
how I would like to gain my living.â€
10 The Runaways.
â€œ* Imagine how hard you would have to work,
my dear Laura, to do either sufficiently well.â€
â€œTt is not very likely I should ever try it,
is if?â€ said Laura, and a hard, discontented
look came into her eyes. â€˜â€˜ But,â€™â€™ she added,
wilfully, â€œI would directly, if papa had no
money, and ifâ€”if I were only like other girls,
and could do as they do.â€
Mrs. Fenwick only sighed this time; and
the young lady, touching Friskie and Yop
smartly with her whip, drove in silence
through the avenue, and drew up at the door
of her fatherâ€™s house with something very like
a frown disfiguring her childish face.
Mr. Hartley, contrary to his better judg-
ment, granted his little daughterâ€™s request ;
indeed, it was seldom she asked anything in
vain. He was a widower, and but too ready
to indulge his only child, so that she ran
some risk of being spoilt.
So in the evening the carriage was ordered,
and Mr. Hartley, Laura, and her governess
went to the circus. Here Miss Hartley pre-
sently recognised the child who had interested
The Travelling Circus. 11
her in the morning, and watched her with
great delight as she went through her share
of the performance. The little girl appeared
twice; the first time alone, and the second
with a boy older than herself. He might be
about ten; she did not look more than seven.
The two were so much alike that it was evident
they were brother and sister; and when they
danced together on the back of a white horse,
which cantered round and round the ring,
there was a tremendous clapping of hands,
which was repeated still more vigorously when
one of the men took off the saddle and bridle,
the master cracked his long whip, and they
were off again. The girl jumped through
hoops, the boy turned somersaults. Once he
miscalculated the distance and fell to the
ground. If he were hurt he did not show it;
recovering himself so â€˜quickly that scarcely
anybody noticed the mishap. The man with
the long whip did, though; and he scowled
threateningly at the little fellow, as, hand-in-
hand, the children made their last bow.
Laura was much too excited to be at all
12 Lhe Runaways.
sleepy when they returned. She chattered
away to her papa until Mrs. Fenwick coaxed
her to her room. She told her maid all
about the wonderful evening while undressing,
and when at last she was snugly tucked in her
little white nest of a bed, and Susan had
made up the fire and said good-night, she
remained awake a long time, picturing to
herself the delights of the life led by Made-
moiselle Marguerite and her brother Jacomo.
And what were they doingâ€”these children
whom Miss Laura lay envying in her soft bed ?
Well, at that precise moment, Marguerite,
whose every-day name was Mag, was sitting
on a truss of straw in one of the vans that
were dotted about round the booth, all quiet
and deserted now in the moonlight. She was
sitting with her brother in this van, which
often served them as a sleeping-place. Just
now they had it to themselves, for their com-
panions were still at supper in the largest
vehicle, and their voices, quarrelsome some-
times, and then again raised in noisy laughter,
could be plainly heard. No such sounds of
The Travelling Circus. 13
merriment came from the two little figures on
the straw. The boy, lying face downwards,
sobbed violently; his sister, with a pitiful
look of helplessness, tried to comfort him.
He still wore his gaudy dress, but it was half-
hidden beneath a manâ€™s great-coat, for the
14 The Runaways.
night was cold. Mag was wrapped up in a
dark cloak, but it concealed nothing grander
than an old brown stuff frock and clumsy
boots. In spite of the cloak she shivered as
she crept closer to the lad, and put one hand
round his neck, while with the other she
strove to put something into his.
â€œDonâ€™t ery, Jack,â€ she said. â€˜â€˜ See, I have
saved you half my supper. Oh! Jack! dear
Jackâ€”do stop, you frighten me! Did he
hurt you more than ever, Jack ? Bad, cruel
manâ€”I hate him!â€
She rose with flashing eyes, and shook her
small fist defiantly, as if her enemy had been
present. And seeing this the boy rose too,
and trying to keep back his sobs, he said,
â€œ Hush, Mag! donâ€™t you go and get your-
self in a row all for nothing. Old Foxey has
been drinking, and like enough you'll catch it
if you put yourself in his way. And it isnâ€™t
so much that Iâ€™m hurt,â€™â€”seeing that Mag
still looked resentfully at the doorâ€”â€˜ it isnâ€™t
so much because of that I cried, but heâ€”he
kicked Punch. Look, Iâ€™m afraid heâ€™s lamed
The Travelling Circus. 15
him. He knew it would make me feel bad to
see him hurt poor motherâ€™s dog.â€
â€œ Motherâ€™s dogâ€ lay on the straw. He was
an ugly little mongrel, but he lifted up great
loving eyes at Mag as she knelt beside him
and cried over his shaggy coat; and though
he moaned when she touched him, he licked
her cold fingers as if grateful for the atten-
â€œOld Foxeyâ€™s very cross since motherâ€™s
gone,â€ she said, breaking bits of her bread
and cheese for Punch. â€˜He never used to
beat you, and box my ears. Why does he
now, I wonder?â€
**â€™Cause we've got nobody to care about us,
I sâ€™pose,â€ said Jack, mournfully.
â€˜* Mother used to say God cared for us. Do
you think He does, Jack?â€
* Shouldnâ€™t think soâ€”much,â€ replied Jack,
â€œBut He must, or mother wouldnâ€™t have
said s0, would she?â€
Jack was silent.
â€˜Would she?â€ persisted Mag. â€˜Or do
16 The Runaways.
you think God has forgot all about us now
mother has gone, and we donâ€™t say our
prayers sometimes ?â€
_ â€œWe canâ€™t help that, we canâ€™t,â€ said Jack,
in an aggrieved tone. â€œIâ€™m sure Iâ€™m too
tired to be able to say â€™em many a time when
we come off. Besides, I donâ€™t believe thatâ€™s
got much to do with it. God loves every-
body, mother said, even old Foxey, and he
donâ€™t say his prayersâ€”no fear!â€
â€œOh! but then how kind He must be!â€
said Mag, eagerly. â€˜â€œâ€˜If He is so very, very
kind as that, wouldnâ€™t He do something for
us if we asked Him? let me tryâ€”teach me
again. Oh! Jack, if we canâ€™t have mother to
take care of us, do let us have God.â€
Taking his silence for consent, the little
girl knelt down, and gravely folding her hands,
she whispered, very falteringly, â€˜â€˜ Our Father,
which art in heaven.â€
Jack had to help her once or twice in this;
but when she got to the end she began a little
hymn, and said it through without one mis-
The Travelling Circus. 17
â€œNow that my journeyâ€™s just begun,
My course so little trod,
Tl stay before I further run,
And give myself to God.
What sorrows may my steps attend
I cannot now foretell ;
But if the Lord will be my Friend
I know that all is well.
If all my earthly friends should die,
And leave me mourning here, ,
Since God regards the orphanâ€™s cry,
Oh, what have I to fear ?â€
Surely the Saviour who had so loved children
when on earth heard that prayer and hymn.
It. was a hymn their mother had taught
them both, and at the sound of the old familiar
words Jackâ€™s tears started afresh. He winked
them away at first, but it was of no useâ€”come
they would. They were nothing to be ashamed
of; but he wanted to hide them, and bent his
head over Punch to try, until Mag crept back
to his side, startled again by the violence of
his pent-up sobs.
â€˜Oh, mother, mother!â€ he cried, as he
felt her little cold hand slip into his. â€œJ
wish old Foxey was dead, and she was back
18 The Runaways.
againâ€”I do! Mag,â€ he continued, after a
pause, and speaking ina calmer voice, â€œâ€˜ guess
what came into my head when he was licking
me, just as he will again to-morrow night, and
the next night after that, and the next, and
the next, unless we do what I thought.â€
â€œWhy, whatâ€™s that?â€ said Mag, with
brown eyes wide open.
Before he answered, Jack looked nervously
over his shoulder, as though he feared Foxey
might be listening; then, drawing his little
sister to him, he whispered in her ear, â€œ Run
fn Search of a Home.
ay wo days later the circus
was again on the road,
and making for a large
town at some distance
During this time
Jackâ€™s notion, the au-
dacity of which had at
first fairly taken away
poor teil Magâ€™s breath, was discussed be-
tween the children at every opportunity, and
the fact that old Foxey (as the master of the
circus was nicknamed) happened to be in a
worse temper than usual at this time tended
to strengthen it. To use Foxeyâ€™s own words,
they â€˜had not made a good thing of it at
20 The Runaways.
Mosgsbrook ;â€â€™ and his receipts being consider-
ably less than he expected, he was anything
but a pleasant person to deal with. Jack
came in for another thrashing: and timid
Mag, whose chief incentive to success in her
wretched business was the terror she felt at
her harsh master, was cuffed and shaken and
driven nearly wild with grief at his threat, to
â€œdo for Punchâ€ the first time he caught her
wasting her time over him. So Punch, not
yet recovered from the kick, was kept carefully
out of sight, and his little owners began to
save all they could from their meals, and to
secrete the same in a bag, that they might
not start provisionless.
There was nothing further to be done by
the children but to watch for the best chance
of carrying out their design; and hearing
the third evening that they were to travel
all night, Jack decided that this would be
the very time to make their escape; as, if
they could ship out while the caravan was in
motion, they would get several hoursâ€™ start
before they would be missed.
In Search of a Home. 21
In this they succeeded; and at half-past
twelve that night Mag, muffled up in her big
cloak, and Jack carrying the bag cf broken
victuals and the invalid Punch, found them-
selves on the high road beneath a very dim
and watery moon, with fast-beating hearts,
and heads in a whirl of mingled delight and
alarm atthe thought that they had really and
truly â€œâ€˜ run away.â€
And at this stage of the proceedingsâ€”that
is to say, while they were creeping along the
shadow of the hedge, and the sound of the
wheels bearing Foxey far from them was
dying away in the distanceâ€”Mag suddenly
thought of something that had not once
occurred to her before.
â€œâ€˜ Jack,â€ said she, squeezing his hand very
tightly as she trotted by his side, â€œâ€˜ Jack, we
are running away now, ainâ€™t we?â€
â€œNo mistake about it!â€ answered Jack,
â€˜â€œ* Butâ€”where will we run to?â€ asked Mag,
half ashamed to own herself troubled by so
slight a matter.
22 The Runaways.
â€œTo London!â€ returned Jack, promptly.
â€œOh! never you fear, Mag! We'll go to
London, and I'll get work, and we'll live in a
house all by ourselves. Or maybe, we'll have
a room first, till I am able to earn more
money. I shall earn more when Iâ€™m big,
â€œYes; and youâ€™re not very little now, are
you?â€ gaid Mag. â€˜â€œâ€˜ And we asked God to
take care of us. And you know the way to
London, donâ€™t you, Jack ?â€â€™
â€œTf I donâ€™t Tl find it,â€ Jack replied,
sturdily. â€˜â€˜ We ainâ€™t far out yet, anyhow, for
only yesterday I saw a milestone with â€˜To
London 84â€™ miles on it. Come on, Mag!
Won't it be jolly when we get there? And
when we are rich we'll go to the circus like
the swells, and have nothing to do but shout
and clap our hands if we like it, and sit still
if we donâ€™t.â€ ,
At this Mag, whose energies had begun to
flag a bitâ€”quickened her pace.
â€œOh, yes!â€ she cried, eagerly. â€œLike
that little girl I saw in the boxes that first
In Search of a Home. 23
night we played at Mossbrook. Such a grand
little girl, Jack! She was dressed all in black
velvet, and she had a gold chain, and curls
right down to here,â€ putting her hand on his
shoulder; â€˜â€˜ and there was a gentleman on
one side of her, and a lady on the other; and
whenever she spoke they smiled and looked
pleased, and seemed as if they loved her very
much indeed; and when they put me on
Silverskin, and told me to mind what I was
about, I wished so much I was that little girl.
She must be so happy, mustnâ€™t she?â€
â€œOught to be, if she isnâ€™t,â€ declared Jack.
â€œBut I canâ€™t make out why some folks are
so very rich and some are so very poorâ€”it
doesnâ€™t seem fair.â€
*â€œ*Pâ€™rhaps the rich folks are the good ones,â€
suggested Mag, after gravely considering the
question a minute or two. â€˜Oh, Jack, how
dark itâ€™s got! I wish the moon would shine
again. And Iâ€™ve hit my foot against a stone.
Oh! and whatâ€™s that? Youâ€™re not frightened,
are you, Jack?â€
â€œNot a bit of it!â€ said Jack, valiantly,
24 The Runaways.
trying hard to believe that his heart was not
beating quicker than usual, and that if his
knees shook at all it was with cold. For
right before them he had caught a glimpse of
a huge monster which seemed to be looking
over the fence and waving a pair of ghostly
arms. Luckily the moon peeped out in her
nightcap of clouds, and the terrible form
proved to be nothing more dreadful than a
scarecrow. Jack breathed again, and, pulling
himself together, he set to work to reassure
the trembling Mag.
â€œTt isnâ€™t nothing to be frightened at. Keep
close to me. Why, youâ€™re never tired already ?
Come, step out, and I'll tell you the hymn
that our mother used to sing to us about the
â€˜*Whaitâ€™s a pilgrim?â€ inquired Mag, still
casting timorous glances towards the farmerâ€™s
â€˜Why, people that have a long way to go,
like we have. It will just suit usâ€”listen !â€
And taking her hand closer in his, the boy
began saying softlyâ€”
In Search ef a Home.
â€˜Guide me, O Thou great Jehovah,
Pilgrim through this barren land ;
I am weak, but Thou art mighty,
Hold me with Thy powerful hand.â€
Poor little pilgrims! If ever they needed
guidance and protection, it was surely now;
as, helpless and friendless, they wandered
through the dark night alone. And who shall
doubt but both were theirs when the childish
voices repeated, trustingly,
â€˜J am weak, but Thou art mighty,
Hold me with Thy powerful hand.â€
â€œI only know one more verse,â€ said Jack :
â€œOpen Thou the crystal fountain,
Whence the healing streams do flow:
Let the fiery, cloudy pillar
Lead me all my journey through;
Be Thou still my Strength and Shield.â€
Thus occupying his little companionâ€™s at-
tention one way and another, he managed to
hasten on, and as the night wore away, began
to look for, anything that would afford them
shelter while they rested.
26 The Runaways.
Coming at length to an old broken-down
shed in which there was a rough kind of cart,
he led Mag to it; and there, having opened
the bag, and eaten some crusts, they and
Punch curled themselves in one corner and
fell fast asleep.
They would have stayed in the shed much
longer than they did, but early in the morning
Jack was awakened by voices, and cautiously
raising himself on his elbow, he saw two men.
For an instant he thought they were pursued,
and his heart was in his mouth. He soon
understood, however, that the new-comers
were labourers who had come for some of
These happening to be very near the en-
trance, they did not see the children, nor
notice a low growl from Punch, which was
promptly checked by Jack. Directly the un-
welcome visitors had gone, he sat up and
They might come againâ€”indeed, from the
few words he had heard them say, he felt
sure they wouldâ€”for the cart. It was too
In Search of a Home. 27
soon yet to risk discovery; and when he
thought of the warm reception they might
expect from the enraged Foxey if they were
to be sent back, he hesitated no longer, but
woke Mag, and made instant preparation for
trudging on again.
Vaven of Rest,
np now their troubles began.
The morning was wet and
\ cold; and the first excite-
ment had worn off. Poor
Mag, sleepy and tired,
thought regretfully of the
warm tea and thick bread
and butter Foxeyâ€™s wife
gave her for breakfast.
Punch could not walk, and
/ === seemed to get worse, for he
lay whining in Jackâ€™s arms. They fancied by
their own feelings the animal must be thirsty,
but looked longingly at many scattered cot-
tages they passed before they dared ask for a
drink. When they did summon up courage
A Haven of Rest. 29
they met with a crumb of comfort, for the
woman was good-natured enough to give them
a cup of milk, though she rather marred the
effect of her kindness by bidding them be off
directly after, as she â€œâ€˜ didnâ€™t want no tramps
Jackâ€™s cheek flushed at this; and he was
about to explain that they were no tramps,
but remembering that it would not look
much better to own they were runaways,
he prudently kept silence, and pocketed the
They wandered through fields and ploughed
land, having shunned the road as a place
where they were more likely to be seen. Jack
had, however, intended to keep it in sight,
but the day was misty, and after two or three
times turning hurriedly out of their way to
avoid meeting with any one, they found they
had lost it. So they went on and on at
random, and consoled themselves with the
reflection that next day, if they could regain
it, there would be less danger of pursuit.
That night they slept in a barn. Jackâ€™s
30 The Runaways.
sturdy heart quaked a little as he divided the
last scraps of bread and turned the crumbs
out of the bag to add to Punchâ€™s share. There
was not half enough for one of them, much
less for three; and when they reluctantly left
their retreat in the morning, which, warned
by their former adventure, they did pretty
early, they were a very hungry little party
But hungry, footsore, and faint, the thing
that troubled them most of all was the fear
that their dog was very ill, and they could do
â€˜nothing for him. If Jack put him down, he
staggered and fell; if he held him, half-shel-
tered beneath his coat, his feeble moans did
not cease, though they grew fainter and
fainter. The fact was Punch was dying from
the effects of the cruel kick he had received,
but the children thought he was starving.
â€œOh! if we had but a morsel to give him,â€
sobbed Jack; and hearing this, Mag screwed
up her courage, left him sitting under a low
stone wall, and ventured to a small roadside
house to beg for something to eat. But being
A Haven of Rest. 31
chased away by angry words and threats, they
were too frightened to try again.
A drizzling November rain came on, and
the stone wall was no protection from it; yet
here they remained, absorbed in vain efforts
to win some recognition from the little ragged- â€”
looking animal which had been their faithful
playfellow andcompanion. Never again would
Punch be eitherâ€”never again. He no longer
wagged his tail when Jack called him, nor
licked the small red hands that stroked so
lovingly his tangled hair. With anxious
hearts they watched his laboured breathing,
and when it gradually ceased, and he presently
lay quite still under her cloak, even Mag knew
that he was dead, and she and Jack gave way
to a passion of grief over their lost favourite.
The gathering darkness made them bestir
themselves at last. But what did it matter
where they went now? Jack gently lifted
Punch, Mag carried theempty bag, and sobbing
bitterly the little wanderers crept on. Along
by the wall, which gave place to a wooden
railing separating them from a dreary expanse
Be The Runaways.
of wet meadows; past a plantation of young
trees with bare branches showing cheerless in
the twilight,â€”on and on, until a warm light
shone out in the dusk; and, tempted by it,
two little drenched and shivering mortals
stood in a gentlemanâ€™s garden, pressing their
pale faces against a window, and looking wist-
fully into a room lit by the flickering firelight.
A room bright with pictures and books and
flowers, where a lady sat with her back to-
wards them, and a young girl reclined on a
sofa, wheeled to the fire. â€˜â€˜ May be theyâ€™d be
kinder than poor folks. Shall we try ?â€â€™ said
Jack, under his breath. Mag did not answer
at first. Her eyes, red and swollen with
crying, were fixed intently upon the young
lady; and when by some chance movement
the latter afforded her a better view, she whis-
pered, clutching Jackâ€™s arm in her excitement,
â€˜Itâ€™s the little girl, Jackâ€”oh! it is the little
â€œThen it ain't no use staying,â€ replied
Jack, sighing. â€˜If sheâ€™s the one you saw at
Mossbrook, they'll know us.â€
A Haven of Rest. 33
He turned away, but was too late. The
inmates had seen them, the lady was already
at the low French window, and before Mag
ED Se ae a
had recovered from her surprise a hand was
laid gently on her shoulder, and a gentle voice
said, â€œâ€˜ What are you doing here, child, out in
34 The Runaways.
the rain? Whyâ€”who is this? Surely I
have seen you beforeâ€”where do you come
Utterly overcome by the glimpse of warmth
and comfort, by the discovery she had just
made, and most of all perhaps by the unex-
pected kindness of the words, Mag suddenly,
to Jackâ€™s consternation, sobbed out the truth.
â€œOh!â€ she cried, â€˜we run away, we
did. Donâ€™t send us back, please. We only
want to go to London for Jack to get some
work. But itâ€™s such a long way, and we donâ€™t
know it quite. And Punch is deadâ€”poor,
poor Punch, that mother was so fond of!â€
The lady, listening to this outburst, glanced
in perplexity from the boy, still clasping in
his arms the body of the dog, to the forlorn
little speaker. She was trying to recollect
where she had seen them, but before she
could do this a voice from the sofa exclaimed,
impulsively, â€˜â€˜ Make her come in, dear Mrs.
Fenwick, make her come in! I will tell you
whosheisâ€”Mademoiselle Marguerite! Enter,â€
continued the speaker, extending her hand,
A Haven of Rest. 35
but not attempting to rise; â€œenter quickly,
mademoiselle, But what have you done with
your spangles? and why are you not riding
your pretty white horse? Ah! she is like the
witch in the fairy tale, who changes into a
princess, only this time the princess has
changed to the witch.â€
â€˜Hush, Laura,â€ said Mrs. Fenwick, â€˜â€˜ you
frighten them ; and this is no jest. The poor
children are faint with hunger or cold.â€
So saying she drew them in; and a servant
who, entering the room to light the lamps,
had almost forgotten that such things existed,
in his bewilderment at the scene, now came
forward and closed the window. To him Mrs.
Fenwick gave some directions, and in a very
few minutes Jack and Mag found themselves in
a large kitchen, and seated before a good fire.
Here they excited much sympathy and no
little curiosity. For John told how Miss
Laura had recognised in one little outcast the
pretty Marguerite of the circus.
â€˜* Miss is quite right too,â€ he added; â€˜â€˜ thatâ€™s
the lot they belong to, Iâ€™ll answer for it.â€
36 The Runaways.
And since he and the coachman had oecu-
pied seats in the pit the night that Mr.
Hartleyâ€™s party had visited the entertain-
ment, John spoke with much importance, as
befitted an authority on the point.
A chorus of surprise and pity followed his
words. The cook hastened to get some bread
and meat; Mrs. Barton, the housekeeper,
drawn from her own sitting-room by the un-
usual hubbub, produced one of Bijouâ€™s dis-
carded baskets, and displaying its comfortable
cushion, coaxed them to lay Punch ona softer
bed than any he had known in life; and then,
their woes forgotten for awhile, the children
began to enjoy the grateful warmth, and to
satisfy their hunger.
Phe Orphansâ€™ Fale,
HEN the young run-
aways, refreshed and
comforted, were again
summoned to the
drawing-room, a gen-
tleman sat by the still
occupied couch. It
was Mr. Hartley, in
whose house they now
were, and who, by a few well-directed ques-
tions, was soon in possession of their history.
A very simple history it proved; father died
when they â€˜ was little,â€™ but mother not nearly
so long ago. Mother used to make dresses
for the performers; and when she was ill she
asked Foxey to send the children to a brother
38 The Runaways.
of hers who lived ever so far off. This Foxey
promised to do, but never did; finding them,
no doubt, too profitable to be given up. Of
his subsequent harshness, Jack spoke much
more freely when he received Mr. Hartleyâ€™s
assurance that wherever they were sent it
would certainly not be back to their old
quarters. At least, if their tale were true, in
which case the man could have no claim
â€œTt is true, sir,â€™ said Jack, earnestly,
â€œevery word of it. Uncleâ€™s name is Reed ;
that was motherâ€™s name onceâ€”she used to
ery when she talked of Kildoh.â€
â€œAnd why, my man, did you not try to
seek your motherâ€™s friends, instead of turning
your thoughts to London?â€
â€œ Kildonâ€™s right away in Scotland, sir. I
didnâ€™t think we could walk so farâ€”leastways,
that Mag could,â€ added Jack, drawing him-
**Do you know in what part of Scotland
â€œNo, sir. But itâ€™s near Kilâ€”Kilâ€”what
The Orphanâ€™s Tate. 39
was that funny name, Mag, that used to
make us laugh?â€
â€œKnock!â€ said Mag.
â€œKnock!â€ repeated Mr. Hartley. â€˜â€˜ Kil
and Knock! that sounds very ferocious; but
I think IJ can guess the place you mean. Can
â€œWould it be Kilmarnock, papa?â€
â€œThatâ€™s it, miss,â€ cried Jack. â€˜ Kilmar-
nock, thatâ€™s it!â€
â€œHave yeu nothing that belonged to your
mother?â€ asked Mrs. Fenwick.
â€œOnly Punch,â€ said Mag, her lip beginning
to quiver. â€˜Oh! maâ€™am, if God is so good,
why did He let poor Punch die?â€
Miss Laura opened her eyes at this unex-
pected speech, and but for a warning glance
from-her governess would have indulged in a
â€œMy child,â€ said the lady kindly, â€˜â€œâ€˜ Punch
had been hurt, you say. If he were ill and
suffering it was better for him he should
die. God is indeed good. He put your dog
out of his pain; and it is He who has
40 The Runaways.
brought you and your brother to a place of
Mag smiled through her tears at this. She
had not trusted in vain, then. Here was a
grand lady who also spoke of Godâ€”her
motherâ€™s Godâ€” with faith and love. She
answered readily, â€˜â€œâ€˜ Yes, maâ€™am, we knew He
would take care of us.â€
â€œWhy?â€ queriÃ©d Miss Laura, who had
mentally put them down as a pair of little
*Â« Because we asked Him, and He loves us,
you know,â€ said Mag. There was nothing
bold in her manner, but as a natural con-
sequence of her training she was not so shy;
and looking frankly at the young lady, she
quoted from her favourite hymnâ€”
â€˜Â¢ Tf all my earthly friends should die,
And leave me mourning here,
Since God regards the orphanâ€™s cry,
Oh! what have I to fear?â€
â€œRight!â€ cried Mr. Hartley. â€˜Right,
little Mag: keep always your simple faith in
His goodness, and you will not go far wrong.
The Orphansâ€™ Tale. 41
And now,â€ said he, touching the bell, â€œ the
sooner you both get some rest the better. We
can have another talk in the morning. John,
take these little ones to Mrs. Barton; she
knows what to do. Go, my lad, we will do
our best to find you a home.â€
â€œ What a funny little thing that girl is!â€
said Laura, as the door closed on them. â€˜â€˜ And
now, papa dear, what will you do?â€
â€˜My darling, you must give me breathing
time,â€â€™ said her father, laughing.
â€œ Because, papa, continued Laura, heedless
of the interruption, â€˜â€˜ Andrews might help
Andrews was the head gardener, and a
â€œJT donâ€™t think it very probable, dear. Do
you know where Kilmarnock is, Laura?â€
â€œTt is in Ayrshire, on the western coast
of Scotland,â€ she promptly responded.
â€œWell, Andrews came from Aberdeen, and
that is ps
â€˜**On the eastern coast, papa,â€ said Laura,
pleasantly conscious that geography was one
42, The Runaways.
of her strong points, and delighted to air her
knowledge. â€˜â€˜ Aberdeen is a great deal farther
north than Ayr.â€
â€œYes, Laura; and therefore it is quite
likely that of Ayrshire Andrews may know
â€œWell now, papa,â€ said Laura, nodding
triumphantly, â€œyou often say I speak before
I think, but you must own I have not done so
this time, for I have thought of something
which I believe you have forgotten, and that
is the brother of whom Andrews spoke so
often when he first came.â€
â€œThe brother? yes, I did not think of
him. But Andrews has really become so
reserved, not to say morose, lately, that I
donâ€™t much wonder I had forgotten his exist-
â€˜But I remember, papa, because when his
little nephew died, Andrewsâ€”who was much
pleasanter thenâ€”told me about it, and how
the â€˜ wee manâ€™ was just my age.â€
â€˜* Ah! the brother was married and settled
The Orphansâ€™ Tale. 43
â€˜Glasgow, papa,â€ broke in Laura, fearful
lest she should lose the pleasure of unfolding
her idea. â€˜â€˜ And Glasgow is in Lanarkshire,
and Lanarkshire joins Ayrshire; and surely,
surely, papa, if Andrews were to write to his
brother he could find out all about it!â€
â€˜Well argued, Laura!â€ said Mr. Hartley,
patting her flushed cheek. â€˜â€˜ Your scheme
certainly sounds feasible. I must warn you,
however, to prepare for a disappointment.
Andrews is a capital gardener, but a strange
man: I can never quite make him out.
Besides, his brother may have left Glasgow,
or not be in a position to assist us, or a
hundred things. What, have I chased the
sunbeams from my little girlâ€™s face already ?
Cheer up, Laura, if Andrews fail us, we may
hit on some plan by which to trace the friends
of our little waifs. And now, my dear, I have
my letters to see about, and Mrs. Fenwick is
looking at her watch; that means bedtime,
doesnâ€™t it? So I suppose I had better say
good-night to you beforeI go. God bless you,
44 The Runaways.
â€œ Papa,â€ whispered Laura, â€˜I donâ€™t think
Lever understood how much He has blessed
me until I heard that poor child talk of His
love. You know how discontented I am
sometimes. Good-night! Oh, I do so hope
we shall find a nice home for poor Jack and
that droll little Mag.â€
The next morning, long before Laura was
stirring, Mr. Hartley, walking briskly along
his well-kept garden paths, suddenly be-
thought him of his little daughterâ€™s idea,
and coming presently upon one of the men,
he paused a moment to ask, â€˜â€˜ Where is An-
â€˜In the camellia-house, sir, I expect. He
told me thatâ€™s where heâ€™d be when I'd taken
up these dahlias, and ve most done.â€
To the camellia~-house Mr. Hartley accord-
ingly turned his steps, and there, busy among
the plants, he found the solemn-faced gar-
dener, who, in response to his cheerful
â€œâ€˜good-morning,â€ touched his cap, but said
He was a tall spare man with sharp features,
The Orphansâ€™ Tale. 45
grizzly hair, and thin lips that always seemed
after speaking to close with a snap, as though
they had intended to say more, but all at once
thought better of it.
â€˜*Â«T suppose you heard of our adventure last
â€œYes, sir. Found two of the new shrubs
broke by Miss Lauraâ€™s window,â€ said Andrews,
his tone suggesting that he considered it a
personal and premeditated injury, and that
he was greatly annoyed.
â€˜Dear me, unlucky that,â€”however, they
can be replaced. But, Andrews, I wanted to
speak to you about the children: we find they
belong to your country. Now it occurred to
Miss Laura that you might know something
of the part they came from.â€
â€œT know little beyond my own part, sir,
except it is Edinburgh.â€ He spoke less
abruptly this time, for he was fond of his
young lady, and flattered to hear she had
thought of him.
*T imagined as much, and the youngsters
speak of a village near Kilmarnock. But you
46 The Runaways.
have a brother, I believe, in Glasgow. Now
if he â€
Mr. Hartley paused, quite at a loss to
account for the effect of his words. Andrewsâ€™
thin lips were trembling, and his grey eyes
looked harder and colder than ever.
â€œTf your brother â€ yesumed Mr. Hart-
â€˜â€œNo brother of mine, sir! The long and
short of it is, we're ill friends. I vowed Iâ€™d
have nothing more to do with him, and Ill
keep my word!â€
â€œWhy, Andrews, Iâ€™m sorry to hear this.
If I remember rightly, he is your only
â€œâ€˜ Ay, sir, I have no other kith or kin; but
I was treated badly through him, and Iâ€™m not
the one to forget it.â€
â€œWell, well, Iâ€™m sorry I broached a subject
so unpleasant to you. I will say no more
about it, except to remind you of the old
saying, Forgive and forget; and of one still
older. I believe you to be a God-fearing man,â€
pursued Mr. Hartley gravely, â€œand therefore
The Orphansâ€™ T'ale. 47
Iam sure you will take it in a right spirit
when I remind you that we read in our Bibles :
â€˜Forgive, if ye have ought against any; that
your Father also which is in heaven may
forgive you your trespasses.â€™â€â€™
Andrews had not learned the great fact of
Divine love, that while we were yet sinners
Christ died for us; and because of this, we
ought to forgive as freely and fully as we
have been forgiven. It needs the light of the
Holy Spirit to be shed abroad in our hearts
to make us see and feel our duty and privilege,
first.to trust and love our Saviour, and then
to love others as ourselves.
Ã© Word in Season,
â€™ pitneR Andrews nor his
master did say any more
at the time; but they
each thought a great deal
in the course of the
morning of what had
passed. Mr. Hartley,
having found a clue to
Andrewsâ€™ altered demean-
our of late, was no longer
unable fe: esane for many things that had
cherishing a feeling of malice towards his
only brother was a likely subject to fall a prey
to the fits of gloom and the ill-temper which
had made the gardener so unpopular with his
A Word in Season. 49
fellow-servants. â€˜â€œâ€˜It isa pityâ€”a great pity!â€
thought Mr. Hartley. â€˜I quite believe the
man is fighting against his conscience.â€
He was right. Andrews was fighting against
his conscienceâ€”fighting hard. And he had
an extra sharp tussle with that patient monitor
when he was left alone in the camellia-house.
Conscience said, â€˜The words your master
uttered are the very words I have been
whispering to you day and night. You
stifled me, but you can no longer deny you
have heard them.â€
Conscience asked, â€˜â€˜ Were the few extra
pounds that found their way into Donaldâ€™s
pocket by your old fatherâ€™s will worth the ill-
feeling, the covetous spirit they awoke?â€
Lastly murmured the still, small voice, â€˜â€˜ Are
you not resisting the Holy Spiritâ€™s influence
in your resolution to crush the wish that still
springs up and makes you live in perpetual
warfare with yourselfâ€”the wish to take your
brotherâ€™s proffered hand and be at peace
with all men once more?â€
â€œNay,â€ muttered Andrews, â€˜but I said I'd
50 The Runaways.
haâ€™ no more to do with him, and when I say
a thing I stick to it.â€
Foolish Andrews! Was King Herod right
when for his oathâ€™s safe he put to death good
John the Baptist? Should he not rather
have repented his rash oath? If we are
betrayed into a hasty speech, an unkind
resolve, it is surely nobler to acknowledge our
error than to make of our first fault a peg
whereon to hang graver ones.
Something like this Mr. Hartley said to
Andrews when the gardener came to the house
late in the day, and asked to see him. All
the morning, while he had gone about his
work, a little more taciturn, or as Tim said
a little more â€œgrumpyâ€ than usual, the
battle had been paging in his breast, and not
yet was the victory won. He had suffered
the bitter plants of selfishness and resentment
to grow too long to be able to uproot them as
easily as he uprooted his flowers and shrubs.
So he thought to himself he would compromise
the matter; he would give his brotherâ€™s
address, and have no more to do with it. But
A Jord in Season. 51
Mr. Hartley was not the man to miss an
opportunity of using his influence for good,
nor to think an hour wasted if devoted to the
welfare of the humblest. And long before the
hour was over, Andrewsâ€”closeted with him
in his studyâ€”felt the last bulwarks of his
pride give way, and, listening to his masterâ€™s
kind and friendly advice, promised to write
to Donald himself that same evening.
â€œTâ€™m noâ€™ sure,â€ he admitted, speaking of
the money which was the cause of their
separation, â€˜â€˜ Iâ€™m noâ€™ sure but Donald had the
best right to it, seeing he had a wife and
bairns to keep. But it angered me mightily
at the time.â€
â€œAh!â€ said Mr. Hartley, â€œthat anger in
the heart is like a thorn in the finger, that
festers and inflames the whole. Pull it out,
and the sore will heal so quickly that it well
repays you for the wrench. You pushed your
thorn in, Andrews, and, I dare say, thought
to hide it; yet you must know yourself you
have been a very different man since. Now,
even if your brother refuse to make it up,
52 The Runaways.
depend upon it you will be happier because
you have done your duty.â€
Pondering over this last sentence as he
walked homewards, Andrewâ€™s rough cheek
reddened a little as he remembered sundry
letters bearing the Glasgow postmark which
he had ruthlessly put into the fire, unopened,
at different times. There was not much
danger that Donald would refuse to make it
up. And he was glad to think so when he
met Miss Laura in her garden chair, and she
said in her clear young voice,
â€œThank you, Andrews, for promising to
writeâ€”thank you very much.â€
Miss Laura was bound on a mournful
errand. Tim had dug Punch a grave in her
own garden, and was now wheeling -his
mistress thither to assist at the ceremony of
interment. Jack and Mag, looking all the
better for their nightâ€™s rest, and bearing
evidence of Mrs. Bartonâ€™s kindness in their
tidier appearance, were already on the spot,
and two more sincere mourners never attended
A Word in Season. 53
Afterwards, when at Miss Hartleyâ€™s invita-
tion they walked by the side of her little
carriage round the grounds, Mag whispered
to Jack, â€˜1 didnâ€™t know poor Miss Laura was
so lame she could never walk, when I wished
I was her that time at the circus.â€
64 Lhe Runaways.
- Mag was beginning to realise what her own
case had also taught her richer friendâ€”the
truth of the old proverb, â€˜ All is not gold that
That night Andrews walked into Mossbrook
and posted his letter ; and the orphans slept
at the lodge, where it was decided they should
remain with the lodge-keeperâ€™s wife until
further arrangements could be made.
& Home for the Homeless,
wn the meantime, the
sudden and unac-
ance of the juvenile
created great con-
2 sternation among
the rest of the com-
pany. Some pitied,
Re a and some blamed
them; but all, I think, secretly hoped that,
having taken so bold a step, they would make
good their escape. For Foxey was furious;
and if he only fulfilled half the threats he
uttered in his first wild burst of passion, the
objects of his wrath would find themselves
56 The Runaways.
without a whole bone in their bodies when
once he should lay his hands on them. Un-
doubtedly they would have met with very
He was the more exasperated, since he
knew quite well that he had no right to
their services, and that his claim to them
would soon be dismissed if brought before
a magistrate. This consideration prevented
him from sending to the local papers an
advertisement, which in the heat of the
moment he had drawn up, relative to the
runaways. Also, he would have scoured the
countryâ€”at least, he said he wouldâ€”the
morning after the occurrence, but that he was
due on the following day at the large town be-
fore mentioned. It was there that he received
a communication from Mr. Hartley, briefly
informing him of the childrenâ€™s whereabouts.
Of this communication Foxey thought proper
to take no notice. So, after all his protesta-
tions, his threats, and his invectives, he was
obliged to content: himself with simply altering
his programme, and erasing therefrom, to his
A Home for the Homeless. 57
intense mortification, the names of young
Marguerite and Jacomo, who thus retired for
ever from public life.
How happy they wereâ€”these poor little
morsels of humanityâ€”to bid farewell to the
gay trappings that had concealed so much
discomfort and neglect, Miss Hartley had
many opportunities of finding out; and she
also discovered, to her great amusement, how
she and Mag had been envying each other.
â€œYou do not envy me now, do you?â€ she
said, rather sadly, when her laugh was over.
Magâ€™s honest brown eyes drooped. She
stood in a puzzle. How could she say â€˜â€˜Noâ€™â€™?
Miss Laura was so rich; she had such lovely
toys and things! How could she answer
â€œYes,â€ remembering the glorious scamper
she and Jack had just been having round and
round the shrubberyâ€”a pleasure which Laura
could never share? Mrs. Fenwiek guessed
her perplexity, and came to the rescue.
She bade Laura take her Bible and teach
Mag the verse she would find in the fifth
chapter of Saint Paulâ€™s Epistle to the Gala-
58 The Runaways.
tians, â€˜â€˜ Let us not be desirous of vain glory,
provoking one another, envying one another.â€
Mag could not read; and in saying the
words over and over again, for her benefit,
Laura also learnt the text, as her governess
Donald met his brotherâ€™s advances very
cordially, answering his letter by return of
post, and promising to do all he could to
ascertain if the Reeds were still at Kildon.
Mr. Hartley had intimated that if he could
afford time to do this, he should lose nothing
by it; for it might naturally be supposed it
would put him to some inconvenience. But,
as it happened, he was a tanner, and his
business took him occasionally to Kilmarnock,
where a good trade is done in saddlery and
leather. He would be going, he said, at the
end of the week, and would then visit Kildon,
and make his inquiries.
The intervening time was by no means
unprofitable to the young people. Kind Mrs.
Fenwick, in the daily chats she permitted
between her pupil and the orphans, generally
A Home for the Homeless. 59
found a way of turning them to good account;
and if Laura learned no other lessson than
to be more contented in her one affliction, her
fatherâ€™s kindness to the strangers had already
brought a blessing.
Andrews thought so, certainly, as he went
about his daily work with a lighter heart and
more cheerful face than he had worn for many
The tannerâ€™s report was awaited with much
anxiety; but when it came it put a eee
upon their expectations.
The only family of the name of Reed he
had found at Kildon was that of a widow lady
who lived in a smart new house on the out-
skirts of the village. The widow lady, on being
applied to, had been very indignant, speaking
of her wealthy friends, and repudiating with
unnecessary vehemence any connection what-
ever with â€˜circus people.â€
â€œTell the little folks not to be downhearted,â€â€™
wrote Donald. â€˜â€œâ€˜ Kildonâ€™s a straggling bit of
a place, and I'll be running down again before
the weekâ€™s out.â€
60 The Runaways.
â€œWhat a time to wait!â€ said impatient
Laura. But while she was bemoaning the
delay, Donald found a clue to the object of
his search without running down again. He
received a letter from a person at Kildon who
had heard of his inquiries, and who told him
that the right Reeds had moved to Kilmarnock,
and were people in the gasfitting line. There-
upon, the tanner, armed with a directory,
confined his next researches to that town,
and after some little trouble unearthed the
mysterious uncle in one of the smaller streets.
It was a humble abode, very different to the
widow ladyâ€™s villa; and no less different was
the reception Donald met with when he made
known his business. The gasfitter was over-
come with surprise and emotion. He could
not doubt but the children were his sisterâ€™s,
Their nameâ€”Garfordâ€”was the name of her
husband. He had heard nothing of her
widowhood nor of her death. â€˜â€œ Poor lassie!â€
said he, â€˜I never set eyes on her since the
day she married that play-acting chap. And
to think what her bairns must have suffered !
A Home for the Homeless. 61
But, please God to spare us, they shan't
want bite nor sup while [ and my missus live.â€
His â€œ missus,â€ a buxom woman of forty or
thereabouts, chimed in with a hearty assent.
â€œWe've no children of our own,â€ she added;
â€œwe'll eâ€™en do our best by these, and bring
"em up decently.â€
Donald drank tea with the homely couple
in the little parlour behind the shop, and
returning to Glasgow, sent joyful word to
Holly Lodge of the manner in which his quest
had ended. He considered there was every
prospect of comfort and happiness in a quiet
way for Mag and Jack, as Reed bore an
excellent character among his neighbours, and
was quite ready to welcome his newly-found
By the same post came a letter from Reed
himself, thanking Mr. Hartley for all his
kindness to the little ones, and asking his
advice about their removal to Scotland.
â€˜T think,â€ said Mr. Hartley, when he read
this, â€˜I shall make a bargain with Andrews.
If he likes to take charge of the youngsters,
62 The Runaways.
I will give him a weekâ€™s holiday and pay his
It is needless to say that Andrews thoroughly
appreciated this arrangement, which would
complete the reconciliation between himself
And so it came about that on a snowy day
in December the small adventurers started on
their travels once more ; a happy warmly-clad
little pair, under the care of the solemn-faced
but changed gardener, who had quite forgiven
them the damage they did one night not very
long ago to the new shrubs by Miss Lauraâ€™s
Tears stood in that young ladyâ€™s eyes as
she bade good-bye to â€˜â€˜ poor Jackâ€ and â€œ that
droll little Mag.â€
â€œYou must learn to write,â€ she said, â€œ and
tell me all about Scotland, and how you like
itâ€”and you must not forget me.â€
â€œWe shall neverâ€”never forget you!â€™ they
both cried in a breath. And Mag added,
very fervently, â€˜â€˜I will learn to write so soon
â€”s0 soonâ€”on purpose to tell you everything,
A Home for the Homeless. 68
dear Miss Laura! And I shall always think
of you when I say the Bible texts you have
Mag kept her word. Growing sturdy and
strong in her Scotch home, growing too in
heavenly wisdom that served to deepen her
old childlike trust and confidence in God,
64 The Runaways.
she ever cherished a deep thankfulness for
the kindness which she and her brother had
received in their time of need. The heavenly
Father who had heard their prayer in the
time of trouble, was ever the object of their
loving trust; the Saviour who had died for
their sins, and who in heaven watched over
the lambs of His flock, was always felt to be
their dearest friend; and the Holy Spirit who
had won them to seek for heavenly wisdom,
led them on from grace to grace, till they
both became ripe and joyour followers of the
meek and lowly Jesus.
For many years Magâ€™s cheerful and loving
letters helped to brighten Lauraâ€™s somewhat
monotonous life, and to keep alive her affec-
tionate remembrance of the runaways. So
she had her reward for her deed of kindness
to Mag and Jack.
LONDON; KNIGHT, FRINTER MIDDLE STREET, E.C.
Florence & her Friends.
The Two Roses.
Six China Teacups.
His Own Enemy.
Three Firm Friends.
The Empty Jam-pot.
â€œsay Patty and Brownie.
|.A lwo Weeks withthe Greys.
\| A Tale of Three Weeks.
My Brother and |.
The Blessed Palm.
_, Huberts Temptation
F Pretty Miss Violet.
The Queen's Jak.
The Story of a Yellow Rose.
The Blacksmiths Daughter. |
Jack Silverleighâ€™s Temptation Â¥
The Captain of the School.
THE RELIGIOUS TRACT SOCIETY,
56, PATERNOSTER Row, LONDON.
each with a
#8 fe ye