craped out the jam-pot and spread its contents on
the hot toast, and contrived to enjoy the slender meal to the utmost.

Ronald said nothing about breakfast the next morning; he doubtless did
not even give it a thought. But Connie remembered it well, although she
took care not to allude to it.

Ten o'clock struck, and still Agnes did not appear. Eleven, twelve--and
no sign either of Mammy Warren or the girl.

"Shall we go to bed?" said Ronald.

"Let's bring our beds and lay 'em on the floor," said Connie, "in this
room. Some'ow I don't think as Mammy Warren 'ull come back to-night. She
wouldn't 'ave tuk all her things ef she meant to come; would she,
Ronald?"

"I don't know," said Ronald. He was very sleepy, for the hour was
terribly late for so young a child to be awake.

After a little reflection Connie decided only to drag his bed into the
front room. She could lie on the floor by his side, wrapped up in a
blanket. The fire was built up with the last scrap of coal in the hod,
and then Ronald lay down without undressing. Connie begged of him to
take off his clothes, but he said to her:

"Maybe father'll come in the middle of the night. I somehow feel as if
something must happen to-night, and I don't want not to be ready."

Connie therefore only removed his shoes. She tucked the blankets round
him, and said, "Good-night, Ronnie."

"What is that verse?" asked Ronald again. "'He that shall endure to the
end'----"

"'Shall be saved,'" finished Connie.

When she came to these words she noticed that little Ronald was sound
asleep. Connie changed her mind about lying down. She sat on the floor
by the boy's side, laid her head on the pillow close to his, and also
dropped asleep.

Big Ben called out the hour but the children slept. Perhaps the Voice
spoke to them in their dreams, for they smiled now and then. Doubtless
they were far away in those dreams from the dreadful attic, from the
influence of a most cruel woman, from hunger and cold. The fire burned
to a fine red glow, and then cooled down and grew gray and full of
ashes, and eventually went out. For it had burned its heart out trying
to help the children; and without a heart, even fire cannot keep alive.

But the two children slept on, although Ronald now stirred uneasily and
coughed in his sleep. It seemed to Connie that she also was oppressed by
something, as though a great and terrible nightmare were sitting on her
chest. Ronald coughed louder and op