“Jesus is our Shepherd,
Wiping every tear,
Folded in His bosom,
What have we to fear?”
When the class was dismissed, Susan called the little strangers to her, and asked them their names, and where they lived, and if they would like to come to the school again. The elder one answered:
“I’m called Polly, and that’s Lizzie. We don’t live nowhere. This is a rare nice place; we’d like to come again.”
“And have you no father or mother?”
“Please, ’m, mother’s dead, and father went away to sea long ago, and we’ve nobody to look after us.”
“And where are you going now?”
“We shall walk about till it’s dark, and then creep under one of the arches, or on to a doorstep, if nobody don’t turn us away; but most often we get turned away from one house after another, or the police sees us, and then we has to hide away as fast as we can. It’s not as bad now as in the winter. Lizzie gets a cough then; and I don’t know how to keep her warm; we often shiver all night long. Arches is draughty; but sometimes we find an old barrel, and creep into that; that’s the best place.”