Sue thought for a minute.
"Is Father John looking for her too?" she said.
"W'y, yus—of course he be. I'm to meet the perlice again this afternoon, an' we'll—we'll make a rare fuss."
"Yer'll find her, in course," said Sue. "W'y, there ain't a doubt," she continued.
"Wot do yer mean by that?"
"There couldn't be a doubt," continued the girl; "for God, who brought her back to us all, 'ull help yer if yer ax 'Im."
"Do yer believe that, Sue?"
"Sartin sure I do—I couldn't live if I didn't."
"You're a queer un," said Harris, he felt a strange sort of comfort in the rough little girl's presence. It seemed to him in a sort of fashion that there was truth in her words. She was very wise—wiser than most. He had always respected her.
"You're a queer, sensible gel," he said then—"not like most. I am inclined to believe yer. I'm glad I met yer; you were always Connie's friend."