"Well, I should like to hear it," was the reply. "Suppose we go and sit on Waterloo Bridge—it's nice and quiet there—I'll pay the toll."
Pollie, however, would not consent to her friend's extravagance on her behalf, so the two children paid each their halfpenny and passed on to the Bridge.
It was a lovely evening, and though April, yet it was not too cold, so they seated themselves in one of the recesses, and for a time were amused by watching the boats on the river, chatting merrily, as only children can.
"Now, then, tell me yer pretty hymn," said Sally, when at last they had exhausted their stock of fun, and putting her arm around her little friend's neck, they cuddled up lovingly together—the gentle little Pollie, and sturdy, rugged Sally. Then the child repeated to her listening companion—
"Abide with me! fast falls the eventide; The darkness deepens; Lord, with me abide," &c.
She went on unto the end, the bigger girl listening the while with almost breathless eagerness, and when it was finished they both remained silent. Evidently those beautiful verses had struck a chord hitherto mute in the heart of the poor untaught London waif.
"Oh, but that's fine!" she murmured at last in hushed tones. "Tell me something else, Pollie."
However, just at that moment the attention of the children was arrested by a young woman who came and sat down in the recess opposite them. They had both noticed her pass and repass several times, but as they were almost hidden by the stone coping of the bridge, she had not observed them.
With wild gestures she threw herself upon the stone seat, and imagining she was alone, burst into piteous moans, alternately clasping her hands tightly together, as though in pain, then hiding her pale but lovely face, which showed traces of agony; swaying backwards and forwards, but with ever the same ceaseless moaning cry.