y resign
your other little one?"

The speechless mother was hurrying away, with Mildred on her bosom, and
drawing Oliver by the hand, which she clasped convulsively, when he
said--

"Mother, help me to keep a promise I have made. Here is Roger Redfurn--
very ill. I promised we would not forsake him. Let him go with us,
till he is well."

"Whatever you will, my boy; but do not leave me, Oliver,--not for a
moment."

"Go on," said the pastor. "We are bringing Roger after you. We shall
be at home as soon as you."

"Home," was the friendly farm-house. There, before the end of the day,
had Oliver learned that his morning signal had been seen from the large
boat; and that the reason why the large boat had rowed away was, not
only that it was full, but that the waters were now too shallow about
the Red-hill for any but small craft. Before the end of the day Mrs
Linacre had been seen to look like herself once more; and Ailwin had
told to the wondering neighbours the tale of the few days, which seemed
now like years to look back upon. She told more than even Oliver had
observed of the miserable state of their place of refuge, which would
soon have been a place of death. Scarcely a breathing thing, she said,
was left alive: and, in going to the boat, she had seen the soaked
bee-hives upset, and the chilled bees lying about, as if there was no
spirit left in them. She shuddered when she thought of the Red-hill.
Then she stimulated the farm-house people to take care of Roger,--a task
in which Oliver left them little to do. They were willing enough,
however; for Ailwin told them that though Roger had been an odd boy in
his time, owing to his having been brought up by queer people, yet,
considering that those people were drowned and gone, and that Roger had
been noticed by a lord, she did not doubt he might turn out well, if it
so pleased God.

How closely did Mildred clasp her mother's neck that evening! Knowing
nothing else, and feeling very strangely, she yet understood that she
was in a place of shelter and comfort, and felt that her head rested on
her mother's bosom--on that pillow which has something so far better
than all warmth and softness. By degrees she began to be aware that
there was cool and fresh water, and sweet-smelling flowers, and that she
was tenderly bathed, and laid to rest on a bed which was neither wet nor
under a tree. There was a surprising silence all round her, she felt,
as she grew s