Tears of repentance for her own sin, and likewise of sorrow at the recollection of poor Marm Lizy’s misspent life, rose to Nelly’s eyes, and glittered on her cheeks in the red firelight, like rubies. Johnny looked at her with redoubled interest.
“Marm Lizy,” said Nell, getting through her self-imposed confession with a little difficulty, “Marm Lizy was a—a—a sort of mother to me. She wasn’t good to me, and I wasn’t good to her. She beat me sometimes, and—and I didn’t know any better than to hate her. I wouldn’t do so now, I think. I should be sorry for her.”
“Where is Marm Lizy now, Nelly?”
The boy did not know what remembrances that simple question awoke.
Nelly did not answer, but crouched down by the fire, and buried her face in her hands.
After a long interval she started up again.
She heard shouts, faint at first, but gradually growing nearer.
She and Johnny set up a long, loud, eager cry in return, that woke a dozen mountain echoes. Then dogs barked, lanterns gleamed through the dark woods, the shouts burst forth again, and many voices were heard calling them by name!
The fire had done its work. The Lost were Found at last, for in a short time Nelly was clasped in her father’s arms.
So terminated the picnic.