CORRIE was breathing softly in a sound sleep long before Robin followed her into dreamland. He had so much to think about: first, it was mother sitting there so patiently beside the dimly-burning candle, stitching on another patch to the jacket he had just taken off. Dear mother! What a sad patient look sat on her peaceful face! That look had never gone away since the night strange feet were heard on the threshold, and husky voices told the tale, the mournful tale, of the hungry sea: "All hands gone down—a total wreck!"
"'God is our refuge and strength, a very present help in trouble,'" was heard above the agony of that night of weeping. "'Therefore will not we fear, though the earth be removed, and though the mountains be carried into the midst of the sea. Though the waters thereof roar and be troubled, though the mountains shake with the swelling thereof. There is a river, the streams whereof shall make glad the city of God, the holy place of the tabernacles of the Most High. God is in the midst of her; she shall not be moved! God shall help her, and that right early.'" (Ps. xlvi.).
Robin always called it father's psalm after that, and often used to repeat part of it to himself and Corrie; for mother had told him there was "no more sea" now for father! He had sailed away to the river of life—"the river that makes glad the city of God, proceeding out of the throne of God and of the Lamb," where neither storm nor tempest can ever come.
Robin was thinking about the golden city to-night; and its brightness seemed to come down to him as he lay planning his happy schemes. "The angels sang about 'goodwill towards men,'" thought he; "so I know Jesus means us to be very glad." And his thoughts drifted on till he dreamed a happy dream.
His one sound sleep came to an end earlier than usual, for he had gone to bed with the determination to be up and stirring betimes. Robin, like other busy happy people, found there was nothing like the prospect of having plenty to do, to arouse the desire for a long day and put sloth and idleness to shame.
The boy rose softly so as not to disturb mother and Corrie in the next room, and peeped out in the cold dim dawn of that December day.
"I must be sharp," he said, hastily dressing himself, "or I shall not catch old Jonathan. Oh, dear! I forgot to bring in the sticks last night to dry, and they're ever so wet in the yard. Mother must find a good fire this cold morning."
Robin did not forget to kneel down and speak to God, to ask His help and guidance before beginning his duties for the day. If he had not done this, he would not have got on at all, for the provoking sticks hissed and refused to light until his patience had been sorely tried for a very long time. However, all was at length finished, and the newly-filled kettle set on the stove. Then Robin fetched his truck from the outhouse, and, having placed the large empty flasket upon it, started off.
He had two miles to go beyond the town before he could reach the large old-fashioned house called Oaklands, that stood within its high shrubberies and well-kept grounds. The sun's face was rosy red, as if he was quite ashamed of getting up so late; but as the clouds and mists dispersed, bright golden rays came shooting down between the bare branches that stood up straight and tall above the hedges, making the more lowly leaves and grasses glitter with a bright diamond tracery.
Robin enjoyed the crackling noise his feet made as he stepped into one iced pool after another, or trod on the firmly-edged ruts of that roughly-kept country road. When the robins sang, he whistled, and the blackbirds and thrushes did not mind hopping quite close to him as he trudged along so cheerily to the rattle of his one-wheeled barrow. Through the belt of firs that skirted the grounds of Oaklands, Robin could see blue smoke rising from the gardener's cottage.