WAITING.
THE two months' imprisonment was over at last, and Ailie knew that on the evening of this frosty November day, with its slippery pavements and misty air, she might expect to meet her mother once more.
She had divided feelings on the subject. She wanted to see her mother again, but she did not want to leave her adopted grandfather. The one would bring about the other, and whether to be most glad or most sorry was a puzzle to Ailie. She wavered to and fro between the two feelings, but as evening drew near the sorrow rather predominated. It was very cold, and Job Kippis had lighted a good fire. Little Lettie had crept up there for warmth, knowing herself to be welcome, for the Forsyths had almost no fire that day, and as Ailie crouched down by the small grate with her tiny companion, she wondered much, in the thoughtful fashion of a child who has seen little of careless childhood, where she would be at that time on the morrow, for "mother" would be penniless and friendless, without work and without a home. What was to become of them she did not know.
"'Tis a bitter night for her, ain't it?" said old Job presently, breaking a long silence. He was working hard by the waning light, and a candle stood beside him ready for use when necessary, for Ailie's presence had indented on his little savings, and made needful harder toil than usual on his part. "The frost in the streets is that bad, ye can't hardly get along. We'll give her supper, an' warm her up, Ailie?"
"Where'll she sleep, gran'father?" asked Ailie.
"Mother said somebody 'd lend her a bed for one night," said Lettie. "Don't you think she'll live here, Ailie?"
"I dunno one bit," said Ailie; "'cause mother hadn't no work for ever so long, an' she'd ha' moved, she said, if father hadn't been too ill. Dunno where she'll go, though."
"All big London afore her, an' ne'er a home for her, poor thing," sighed Job. "It's a great babel of a place, ain't it? To think o' thousands o' houses, an' not a spot as she can call her own. Ah me, if she had but a Home above, it'd matter little then."
"Gran'father, I'll tell to mother all you've teached me," said Ailie, looking up at him, "an' I'll say my texes every day, an' 'Our Father' too, an' 'Please wash away my sins for Jesus Christ's sake.' Will that do?"
"Sure, deary, if you says it from your heart," said Job, wiping his sleeve across his eyes. "It's sorely I'll miss ye; but sure I'm glad I didn't send ye off to the work'us."