she had been leading in the wards of the workhouse.

"Do you know anything about Duncan?" she asked, eagerly. "Did they
really take him to the hospital? she didn't turn him into the streets,
did she? Oh! I have been so frightened about it. They said they didn't
know anything about it in there. You know, don't you?"

"Yes, I know," the man said, gravely.

Elsie looked up in his face questioningly. It was very grave. "Is he--is
he--dead?" she gasped.

"Not as far as I know," the man replied; "and he did go into the
hospital right enough; but he was as near dead as possible when your
mother found him there. I don't think it's certain now whether he'll
recover."

"Mother found him!" Elsie cried. "Then--then she knows where we are?"

"Yes, she knows," the man replied.

Elsie involuntarily drew a long sigh of relief. It was only afterwards
that she began to be worried with doubts as to what her mother would say
or do. In that first moment her first instinct was that being found by
her mother was the end of all trouble, and that was, no doubt, a true
and natural instinct.

But the after feeling of fear and doubt soon came to cloud Elsie's joy
at what seemed such good news. How glad she would be once more to be
back in the clean, sweet cottage on her native moor. She had thought
that life hard, and so wanted to be a little lady, but it was a perfect
paradise compared with her present life; and as for care, which is the
greatest enemy to happiness that we can have, she had not known what it
meant before she ran away. Food and clothes, and warm, comfortable
shelter, were all hers without a thought on her part, and yet she had
been so discontented and cross and disagreeable to everybody because she
had not dainty food and nothing to do. But she had found out what it
felt like to be without a home or a friend, with coarse food, and
nothing but harsh words; and she had been continually told that that was
far more than she deserved, and was given to her only out of charity,
for which she ought to be most grateful.

If only Mrs. MacDougall would let her go home and things be the same as
before, she would never be discontented or ungrateful any more, but she
could hardly believe that she would ever get back again to that old
happy life.

And Duncan? He might die! Then it would never be the same again. Dear
little Duncan, who did not want to come away, and had always been
contented, but would not forsake his sister. But for