"We will not leave you to starve," said Leveson. "I think we shall find some means of helping you. Now, what will you do first? I would rather see you in another room before I go. Is there any vacant in the house, Ailie?"
"Please, sir, next door garret. Mr. Sloane went away yesterday," said Ailie, "an' nobody hasn't took it yet."
"Then I think that had better be your home for a few days, until we can arrange something more definite."
He placed five shillings in Mary Carter's hand as he spoke, and she faltered tearful thanks. There were a few words more about arrangements. Then he walked to the bedside, and stood looking down—not sadly. It was not a sight to look upon sadly—that face of happy rest.
"Fought a good fight, kept the faith, finished the course," he murmured. "Poor old Kippis! Oh, what a change to step from such a spot as this into the infinite glory! Ailie,—" and he laid his hand on the little girl's head,—"never forget all that he taught you. Never forget to pray that your last end may be like his."
And Leveson went home. But all the way he had ringing in his head the words of a hymn, which seemed strangely applicable to old Job:—
"Safe home, safe home in port!
Rent cordage, shattered deck,
Torn sails, provisions short,
And only not a wreck.
But oh! the joy upon the shore,
To tell our voyage perils o'er.
"The prize, the prize secure,
The athlete nearly fell,
Bare all he could endure,
And bare not always well;
But he may smile at troubles gone
Who sets the victor garland on."
[CHAPTER XXVII.]
A NEW HOME.