[CHAPTER XVIII.]
LETTIE'S FRIGHT.
AILIE walked home slowly after her interview with Josie Therlock,—slowly, and with failing limbs, though her heart felt lightened and more hopeful. Only a few more hours, and then—
Job was lying on the bed when she went in. The little garret looked desolate, stripped of all its belongings, save the one bed, the one chair, and the carefully kept print over the fireplace. Everything else had gone in the struggle for subsistence. And though unruffled in expression, Job had a shrunken appearance.
Ailie did not bound into the room as she had once been wont to do. She came in with a dragging step, and sat down on the floor, saying merely—
"I think we'll have some'at to eat to-morrow."
"So do I, deary,—at the work'us. It's come to that now, an' nothin' else."
"Not the work'us, gran'father. I've seen the little lady again, as spoke to me once before, an' she's telled me to go to her in the mornin',—an' she'll help us, if I've told her truth."
Job's smile was pleasant to see.
"Didn't I say the Lord 'ud not forsake us?"