They were dragging themselves along through the last street, and the child now felt that the time was close at hand when she could bear no more. There appeared before them at this moment, going in the same direction as themselves, a traveller on foot, who, with a bag on his back, leaned upon a stout stick as he walked and read from a book which he held in his other hand.
It was not an easy matter to come up with him and ask his aid, for he walked fast, and was some little distance before them. But soon he stopped to look more closely at his book. Then the child shot on before her grandfather, and, going close to the stranger, began in a few faint words to beg his help. He turned his head. The child clapped her hands together, gave a wild shriek, and fell senseless at his feet.
Chapter XI.
A FRIEND IN NEED.
It was the poor schoolmaster—no other than the poor schoolmaster. Scarcely less surprised by the sight of the child than she herself had been at the sight of him, he stood for a moment without even trying to raise her from the ground.
Then he threw down his stick and book, and dropping on one knee beside her, tried to restore her, while her grandfather, standing idly by, wrung his hands and begged her to speak to him, were it only a single word.
"She is quite worn out," said the schoolmaster, glancing upward into his face. "You have tried her too far, friend."
"She is dying of want," rejoined the old man, "I never thought how weak and ill she was till now."
Without another word the schoolmaster took the child in his arms, and bidding the old man gather up her little basket and follow him, bore her away at his utmost speed.
There was a small inn within sight, towards which he hurried with his burden, and rushing into the kitchen, placed it on a chair before the fire.