s the
broad expanse, blazed from the very zenith, and sped with incredible
velocity down, down, till it disappeared in the depths of the ravine.
"Ah," said she, with eyes still fixed upon the spot whence had gleamed
the meteor, "p'rhaps it was an angel flying down to me! I won't be
afraid, 'cause I know God will take care of me." Drawing the small
plaid shawl from her shoulders, she spread it over herself like a
blanket; sparing a corner for Fudge, however, who stationed himself
upon it, prepared to ward off all dangers from his charge. And thus
she fell asleep, cheered by the presence and warmed by the breath of
the faithful little dog, her sole protector, humanly speaking, in that
lonely wilderness.

* * * * *

During the long night, while the searching party was scouring the
country, Mrs. Prentiss remained at home, keeping a bright light in the
window, a fire on the kitchen hearth, the kettle on the crane, and
everything ready to gladden and revive her darling in case, as she
persisted in hoping, the dear little rover should, with the aid of
fudge, find her way back of her own accord. How many times she started
up, thinking she heard the patter of childish feet! How many times she
rushed to the door at some sound which to her eager heart seemed like a
cry of "Mother!" But Joan, who now kept as close to her as Tilderee
was accustomed to do, would murmur sadly, after they had listened a
while: "It is only the wind or the call of a bird." At which the
unhappy woman, with a great effort to be calm, would sigh: "Let us say
the Rosary again." Joan, whose face was stained with tears, and her
eyes swollen and red from weeping, responded as best she could between
her sobs.

Poor Joan learned in those hours what a terrible punishment is that of
remorse. Amid all her thoughts of Tilderee one scene was ever before
her: the picture of a rosy culprit, with tangled curls and beseeching
eyes, grieved at the mischief she had done, and stammering, "I'm so
sorry, Joan!" And then herself, as she snatched up the doll and
answered harshly: "You naughty girl! I wish you didn't live here! I
wish I hadn't any little sister at all!" Well, her wish had come true:
Tilderee was gone. Perhaps she would never live in the log house
again. There was no "little plague" to vex or bother Joan now. The
lighter chores, which were her part of the housework, could be finished
twice as soon, and afterward she wo