old her
story, with many gaps and pauses.

"You see," said Father John when she had finished, "that when you took
the management of your own life into your own hands you did a very
dangerous thing. God was guiding you, and you thought you could do
without Him. You have been punished."

"Yus," said Connie. "I'll niver be the same again."

"I hope, indeed, that you will not be the same. You have gone through
marvellous adventures, and but for God Himself you would not now be in
the world. It is not only your pain and misery that you have to
consider, but you have also to think of the pain and misery you
inflicted on others."

"No," said Connie defiantly, "that I won't do. I thought father 'ud
care, but he turned me from 'ome."

"He did care, Connie. I never knew any one so distracted. He cared so
terribly, and was so sore about you, that he took to drink to drown his
pain. In the morning, when he is sober, you will see what a welcome he
will give you."

"No," said Connie, shaking her head.

"But I say he will. He will help you, and he will be a father to you. I
will take you to him myself in the morning."

Connie did not say anything more. When she had finished her coffee, the
preacher suggested that he should take her to Sue and Giles. The girl
looked at him wildly. In telling her story, she had never mentioned the
name of the lady who had taken her in, nor the name of the brave fireman
who had befriended her. But now Father John boldly asked her for these
particulars. Her little face flushed and she looked up defiantly.

"I dunnut want to give 'em," she said.

"But I ask you for them, Connie," said the preacher.

Connie could no more withstand Father John's authoritative tone than she
could fly. After a minute's pause she did tell what she knew, and Father
John wrote Mrs. Anderson's address down in his note-book.

"Now then, Connie," he said, rising, "you're better. Sue and Giles will
be so glad to see you once more! Come, dear; let me take you to them."

Connie stood up. There was a curious, wild light in her eyes; but she
avoided looking at the street preacher, and he did not observe it. Had
he done so he would have been more careful.

The two went out into the street together. It was now getting really
late. The distance between the preacher's room and the humble lodgings
where Sue and Giles lived was no great way, but to reach the home of the
little Giles they had to pass some very ill-favored court