"And I'll not fret about Dickie anymore. I felt so sorry, so—angry—but I've asked Jesus to forgive me. Good night, grannie dear."
So Mrs. Seymour, though she only kissed the little girl in silence, had her bit of comfort too that evening.
"Grannie," she thought; "I believe the child will be a true grandchild to me in time, and cheer up my old age when I can't so well help myself."
Early the next morning Cherry was up betimes. She dressed herself as neatly as her poor little mended clothes would allow, and, without being asked, proceeded to light Mrs. Seymour's fire before she went out.
She had often watched the thrifty woman take two or three pieces of coal, which she placed along the back of her stove, so as to form an arch for her sticks from the front bar. Then she would lay eight or ten sticks evenly from back to front across this, and eight or ten more from side to side, putting her paper lightly under the arch, and her cinders lightly over it.
"There, my dear," the old woman would say, "if you lay it like that, and your sticks are dry, you never need fear that if you turn your back your fire will be out. Those cinders will burn up hot before you have washed your hands."
All this Cherry remembered, and followed as implicitly as she could. When she had done she stood spell-bound, watching the effect. Mrs. Seymour, roused by the crackling of the sticks, opened her eyes, and startled her by calling out—
"Halloa! my dear, are you up already, and the fire lighted too?"
"Yes," said Cherry, coming forward; "I thought as you'd be glad to have it done, grannie."
"So I should, child. But look here, I've found a small apron of mine as 'ull do nicely for you to go to the doctor's with. Mind, Cherry, you never take it dirty, my dear. There it is on that chair."