hall tell the terrors of the
night to the young wandering child!

And yet she lay down, with nothing between her and the sky; and, with
no fear for herself, for she was past it now, put up a prayer for the
poor old man. So very weak and spent, she felt, so very calm and
unresisting, that she had no thought of any wants of her own, but
prayed that God would raise up some friend for him. She tried to
recall the way they had come, and to look in the direction where the
fire by which they had slept last night was burning. She had forgotten
to ask the name of the poor man, their friend, and when she had
remembered him in her prayers, it seemed ungrateful not to turn one
look towards the spot where he was watching.

A penny loaf was all they had had that day. It was very little, but
even hunger was forgotten in the strange tranquillity that crept over
her senses. She lay down, very gently, and, with a quiet smile upon
her face, fell into a slumber. It was not like sleep--and yet it must
have been, or why those pleasant dreams of the little scholar all night
long! Morning came. Much weaker, diminished powers even of sight and
hearing, and yet the child made no complaint--perhaps would have made
none, even if she had not had that inducement to be silent, travelling
by her side. She felt a hopelessness of their ever being extricated
together from that forlorn place; a dull conviction that she was very
ill, perhaps dying; but no fear or anxiety.

A loathing of food that she was not conscious of until they expended
their last penny in the purchase of another loaf, prevented her
partaking even of this poor repast. Her grandfather ate greedily,
which she was glad to see.

Their way lay through the same scenes as yesterday, with no variety or
improvement. There was the same thick air, difficult to breathe; the
same blighted ground, the same hopeless prospect, the same misery and
distress. Objects appeared more dim, the noise less, the path more
rugged and uneven, for sometimes she stumbled, and became roused, as it
were, in the effort to prevent herself from falling. Poor child! the
cause was in her tottering feet.

Towards the afternoon, her grandfather complained bitterly of hunger.
She approached one of the wretched hovels by the way-side, and knocked
with her hand upon the door.

'What would you have here?' said a gaunt man, opening it.

'Charity. A morsel of bread.'

'Do you see that?' returned the man ho