"It seemed very strange at first," Felicia said seriously.
"It must have. And you've not forgotten us! Well!"
"I shall never forget you, dear Mrs. M'Cosh—never!"
They had a long chat, during which Felicia told her companion every detail of her life at the Priory which she thought would interest her, and was listened to with the greatest attention. Tea-time arrived before they were aware, bringing Mr. M'Cosh, who was no less surprised than had been his wife at the sight of the visitor, and quite as pleased. Then the trio had tea together, and soon afterwards Mr. Renford arrived to fetch his grand-daughter, and Felicia took a smiling good-bye of her friends, the good couple being cheered by the assurance that, all being well, she would come to see them again. As the little girl walked to the railway station by her grandfather's side, she was very quiet, and Mr. Renford rightly guessed her thoughts were busy with the past.
"Do you remember your first evening at the Priory, and how you begged to be allowed to return to Mr. and Mrs. M'Cosh?" he asked abruptly at length.
"Yes," Felicia answered gravely; "but I—I felt so lonely, and I did not understand you then, grandfather, and I did not know there was such a person as Uncle Guy." She paused, thinking how her world had widened of late, and of the many new interests which had come into her life. "I should have liked to have seen the old attic," she added; "but it wouldn't have seemed like home without mother, so perhaps it's just as well I did not."
The journey by train—which was a fast one—was soon over, and they were met by a carriage at N— station, which in less than ten minutes conveyed them home, where Mr. Guy was eagerly waiting their arrival, curious to learn how Felicia had fared during the day. After supper, which the travellers had found in readiness for them, Felicia had a little chat with her uncle before going to bed.
"It seemed so natural to be in Bristol again," she informed him; "and I almost felt once as though, if I left Mrs. M'Cosh's kitchen and walked upstairs, I should bear the 'whirr-whirr' of mother's sewing machine, and find her sitting at the table at work, and it comforted me to remember she would never be tired or overworked again. And where she's gone, I expect she knows why God let her be so dreadfully poor, and—oh heaps of things which are so difficult to understand! Mother always trusted in God even when things were very, very hard."
"Ah! that's when comes the trial to faith, Felicia—when life is dark and gloomy, and one is tempted to think that a good and loving God would have spared us sorrow and pain."
The little girl's face was very grave for a moment, then it brightened, and slowly and softly she quoted—