Sandy's heart gave a great bound of relief. All his fear and dread were gone in an instant. Little Gip was safe now for evermore. From this time both she and himself would belong to Mrs. Shafto only, and could call her mother, with no one else to have any claim upon them.
Yet the next minute he felt a sort of sorrow, very faint and fleeting, as if, after all her wickedness, there was a little natural love for his mother lingering in his heart. He knelt down by her, and drew the old shawl more closely round her, as though she could even yet feel the east wind blowing coldly about her.
"Don't let little Gip see her," he said, mournfully; "don't let little Gip ever know. I'll run and fetch Mr. Mason, and he'll know what to do. But I'd liked to have told her as she might come after us to Canada, if she'd only give up the drink."
———◆———
[CHAPTER XIX.]
THE END.
NEXT day the Shaftos, with Sandy and little Gip, left London for Liverpool, whence their ship was to sail. There were a hundred other children, from the streets of our large cities going out to settle in new homes in Canada. And Mrs. Shafto found so much to do among these little ones, that she had not time to fret over the thought of Johnny's grave, which she was leaving farther and farther behind her.
Mr. Shafto also had a good trial as to whether he was really conquering his old besetting sin of selfishness and idleness, and he passed through it triumphantly, to his own secret delight and the great gladness of his wife.
Gip was the life of the party, growing prettier and merrier every day, and Sandy's happiness was complete. A farm had been found and bought for Mr. Shafto, by a friend of Miss Murray's; and before the autumn came, they were settled in a log-house of their own, within sound of the lapping of the waves of the Lake Huron.
The last time Sandy was seen by any of his English friends, he was driving a yoke of oxen in a strong substantial waggon, with Mrs. Shafto and little Gip seated comfortably in the back of it. He and Mr. Shafto were taking it in turns to walk at the head of the oxen, and urge them on over the rough roads. It was Mr. Shafto's turn to walk, and he was striding along cheerfully, as though he had been used to hard work all his life; his face was brown and sun-burnt, and the palms of his hands were hard.