There was not much daylight; for the window opened upon a narrow passage between two of the high buildings which overshadowed the small grave-yard, and only a strip of sky could be seen beyond their tall roofs. But one did not miss the daylight whilst the fire burned so clearly, and Mrs. Shafto's beaming face smiled upon every one who came within sight of her. Her face was better than the sun, at least in John Shafto's eyes.
"Father's not come home?" he said, glancing at the empty easy-chair.
"No, Johnny, it's not time yet," she answered, placing a chair in the very front of the fire for Sandy, and bidding him put his cold bare feet on the shining fender. He dared not look her in the face yet; but he could not help watching her when she was not looking at him.
"First of all," she said, "we must have something to eat. Eating before talking is my rule, Johnny."
Sandy watched her with hungry eyes as she went to the cupboard, and cut two slices from a loaf, one large, thick, and substantial, the other thin and delicate, but both well spread with treacle. It took him quite by surprise to have the large slice given to himself, and the little one to John Shafto. This was treatment he could not understand, nor could he speak about it. All he could do was to sit still in blissful silence, feeling the glow of the pleasant fire through all his veins; and discovering how hungry he had been by the delight of devouring his substantial slice of bread.
"Now, then!" said Mrs. Shafto, when he had eaten the last crumb. She had seated herself in a low wooden rocking-chair, opposite to the easy-chair in the corner, and was looking at Sandy with kindly eyes, as if she had known him a long while, and was an old friend of his.
He felt as if he could tell her anything, and could never wish to hide a thing from her. With great eagerness, he told her all his story about little Gip. While John Shafto listened, nodding from time to time, as having heard most of it before.
Mrs. Shafto also shook her head now and then, and cried, "Well, well, poor fellow! poor little Gipsy!"
Until Sandy's heart grew warm, and almost happy, with her sympathy, before he ended all he had to say.
"Poor little Gip!" repeated Mrs. Shafto, wiping the tears from her eyes. "Have you looked for her in every place that she'd be likely to be, Sandy?"