come in and kiss him, and
see that he is safe.'

'O, Auntie Daisy, have you got your hat?'

Wan, tear-stained, dishevelled, Gertrude bit her lip to save an
outburst, gave the stipulated kiss, and retreated to Mary, who stood in
the doorway like a dragon.

'Auntie Daisy has been crying,' said Dickie, turning his eyes back to
Ethel. 'Please tell her I shall be well very soon, and then I'll go up
again and try to get her hat, if I may have a hook and line--I'll tell
you how.'

'My dear Dickie, you had better lie down, and settle it as you go to
sleep,' said Ethel, her flesh creeping at the notion of his going up
again.

'But if I go to sleep now, I shall not know when to say my prayers.'

'Had you not better do so now, Dickie?'

Next came the child's scruple about not kneeling; but at last he was
satisfied, if Aunt Ethel would give him his little book out of the
drawer--that little delicately-illuminated book with the pointed
writing and the twisted cipher, Meta's hand in every touch. Presently
he looked up, and said: 'Aunt Ethel, isn't there a verse somewhere
about giving the angels charge? I want you to find it for me, for I
think they helped me to hold on, and helped Leonard upon the narrow
place. You know they are sure to be flying about the church.'

Ethel read the ninety-first Psalm to him. He listened all through, and
thanked her; but in a few minutes more he was fast asleep. As she left
the room she met Leonard coming down and held out her hands to him with
a mute intensity of thanks, telling him, in a low voice, what Dickie
had said of the angels' care.

'I am sure it was true,' said Leonard. 'What else could have saved the
brave child from dizziness?'

Down-stairs Leonard's reception from Dr. May was, 'Pretty well for a
nervous man!'

'Anybody can do what comes to hand.'

'I beg your pardon. Some bodies lose their wits, like your friend
Aubrey, who tells me, if he had stood still, he would have fainted
away. As long as nerves can do what comes to hand, they need not be
blamed, even if they play troublesome tricks at other times, as I
suspect they are doing now.'

'Yes; my face is aching a little.'

'Not to say a great deal,' said the Doctor. 'Well, I am not going to
pity you; for I think you can feel to-day that most of us would be glad
to be in your place!'

'I am very glad,' said Leonard.

'You remember that child's parents? No, you have grown so old, that I
am always forgetting