g of food prevented her
sharing the loaf bought with their last penny. Still she dragged her
weary feet on, and only at the very end of the town fell senseless to
the ground.

Once in their earlier wanderings they had made friends with a village
schoolmaster, and now, when all hope seemed gone, it was this
schoolmaster who brought the travellers into a peaceful haven. For it
was he who passed along when little Nell fell fainting to the ground,
and it was he who carried her into a small inn hard by. A day's rest
brought some recovery to the child, and in the evening she was able to
sit up.

"I have made my fortune since I saw you last," said the schoolmaster. "I
have been appointed clerk and schoolmaster to a village a long way from
here at five-and-thirty pounds a year."

Then the schoolmaster insisted they must come with him, and make the
journey by waggons, and that when they reached the village some
occupation should be found by which they could subsist.

They agreed to go, and when the village was reached the efforts of the
good schoolmaster procured a post for Nell. Someone was wanted to keep
the keys of the church and show it to strangers, and the old clergyman
yielded to the schoolmaster's petition.

"But an old church is a dull and gloomy place for one so young as you,
my child," said the old clergyman, laying his hand upon her head and
smiling sadly, "I would rather see her dancing on the green at nights
than have her sitting in the shadow of our mouldering arches."

It was very peaceful in the old church, and the village children soon
grew to love little Nell. At last Nell and her grandfather were beyond
the need of flight.

But the child's strength was failing, and in the winter came her death.
Dear, gentle, patient, noble Nell was dead. The traces of her early
cares, her sufferings, and fatigues were gone. She had died with her
arms round her grandfather's neck and "God bless you!" on her lips.

The old man never realised that she was dead. "She is asleep," he said.
"She will come to-morrow."

And thenceforth every day, and all day long he waited at her grave. And
people would hear him whisper, "Lord, let her come to-morrow."

The last time was on a genial day in spring. He did not return at the
usual hour, and they went to seek him, and found him lying dead upon the
stone.

They laid by the side of her whom he had loved so well; and in the
church where they had often lingered hand in hand the