"How can you tell that was what Big Ben said?"
"'Eard him," said Connie.
She unclasped Ronald's arms from her neck and stood up.
"I'm better," she said; "I'm not frightened no more. Sometimes it's 'ard to endure—Father John says it is. But ''E that shall endure to the end'—to the end—he made a great p'int o' that—'shall be saved.'"
"Then we'll be saved," said Ronald.
"Yus," answered Connie.
She looked down at the little boy. The boy was gazing into the fire and smiling. Connie put on some fresh lumps of coal, and the fire broke into a cheerful blaze. It did not matter at all to the good coal whether it burned out its heart in an attic or a palace; wherever it was put to do its duty, it did it. Now gay little flames and cheerful bursts of bubbling gas rendered even the hideous room bright.
"W'y, it's long past tea!" said Connie. "I'll put on the kettle and we'll have our tea, Ronald. Maybe Aggie'll be back in a minute, and maybe she'd like a cup o' tea."
Connie put on the kettle, and then went to the cupboard to get out the provisions. These were exceedingly short. There was little more than a heel of very stale bread, and no butter, and only a scrape of jam; but there was a little tea in the bottom of the tea-canister, and a little coarse brown sugar in a cup.
Connie laid the table quite cheerfully.