CHAPTER VII.

DOWN ON THE SHORE.

MRS. THORN had thought it more than probable that by morning Nettie might falter in her suddenly-formed determination, and she waited somewhat anxiously for the result. But when Nettie came into her room to aid her to dress, she saw at a glance that her purpose had not changed. There was no sign of indecision in that quiet, resolved face; and when she asked her if she still thought it best to go to her aunt she said, "I ought not to stay here now, dear Mrs. Thorn; indeed I ought not," so earnestly, that there could be no doubt as to her determination.

All her duties were attended to with great care, and Mrs. Thorn could not but feel touched to see with what loving thoughtfulness she tried to arrange the room so that everything which her helpless mistress might need should be within her reach, that she might miss her as little as possible. And after all was done she came and sat down in her usual seat beside the invalid's chair.

"I suppose it is time to go now," she said; "but I'd like to sit here for a few minutes, if I may."

"Yes, dear; you had better wait until Mr. Thorn comes in. He is going down with you.”

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Is he? Oh, I won't be nearly so much afraid now." It was not long before Mr. Thorn came back, and Nettie went to bring her hat and the basket of comforts which Margaret bad packed for her. That walk was a very pleasant one to her, in spite of her inability to forget what its end was to be. With her hand held fast in Mr. Thorn's, and his kind voice speaking words which cheered and strengthened her for her hard task, she went on very

happily, and it was not until she came in sight of the house, which she had not once seen since she left it, that her heart began to fail her.

So far as his being of any service to her in the meeting with her aunt and cousins was concerned, Mr. Thorn's walk to the shore was of no avail. None of the boys were to be seen, except poor Jack, the youngest, who stood beside the wretched bed on which his mother lay, crying out between his sobs, "O mamma! mamma!" in a piteous wail, of which the unconscious mother took no notice.

It was a miserable sight-the untidy room; the comfortless bed, tumbled and disordered by the sick woman's tossing; the child, with his tear-stained face, and his bosom heaving with sobs; and, worse than all, the poor sufferer, moaning and muttering in delirium, lying there in the desolate place, friendless and alone, save for the little helpless child.

Oh, I'm glad I came," said Nettie. a great deal more comfortable than this. too! Don't you know Nettie, Jack?”

"I can make her And poor Jack,

The boy stood and stared at her for a moment, and then, with a joyous cry, flung himself into her arms. He was not an attractive child. He had inherited his mother's hard, sharp features, and his temper had been ruined by alternate indulgence and tyranny; but still he was something to love and care for, and Nettie held him closely to her, and called him her dear boy, and kissed and fondled him, until the poor little fellow began to feel that he was not all alone in the world, after all and Nettie, happy in the thought that some one in the wretched place was glad to see her, hoped that her task might be less heavy than she had feared.

But when the time came for Mr. Thorn to leave her she began to tremble. All her old terror of the sea and dread of her aunt and cousins seemed to return upon her with

new force; and she clung so tightly to his hand, that he began to fear that he had done wrong in bringing her back.

"It is not too late yet, Nettie," he said, gently. "Shall I take you home with me again?"

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No; I will stay here. But, dear Mr. Thorn, don't leave me alone very long,—will you? Come to see me as often as you can."

I shall come down every day while you are here,” he said, kindly.

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Oh, I shall be so glad if you could! But that would take too much time. You could not do that."

"I can spare the time when it is to comfort my little daughter."

He had never called her by that name before; and when he bent and kissed her forehead, asking God to keep her in His tenderest care, Nettie felt as if she should never fear again.

His "little daughter!" She said the words over to herself again and again, as she went back into the house after watching him out of sight; and they rang like sweettoned bells in the air, as she set about the almost hopeless task of making the room look neat and tidy.

Mrs. Thorn had given her some instructions before she left home, and she proceeded to carry them out at once. First, she took a towel and wash-cloth from the basket which Mr. Thorn had carried down for her, and, bringing some fresh water in a basin, began to wash the flushed face which rested on the pillow. The sick woman ceased to toss and moan when she felt the cool water upon her fevered cheek, and, opening her eyes, looked at Nettie with a vague, troubled air.

"Who is it?" she asked, uneasily.

"It is Nettie, Aunt Susan," said the child, trying hard to keep her voice steady.

"Nettie ? Nettie has gone away," said her aunt; and,

after looking at her for another moment, she shook her head, as if she could not comprehend, and closing her eyes, began to mutter, as she had done before.

Just then, to Nettie's great relief, a woman came in. Mr. Thorn had stopped at her house on his way home to ask her to go to the little girl's assistance, and she had readily consented. Nettie recognized her at once, for she had often spoken kindly to the child in her friendless days, and now she proved herself a very willing helper. Her strong arms were quite able to lift the sick woman from one side of the bed to the other, while Nettie changed the soiled sheets for pure, fresh linen, and put clean cases on the heated pillows. And when Mrs. Allen was neatly and comfortably arranged, the good-natured neighbour said that she would put the room in order while Nettie washed and dressed her little cousin.

She was almost afraid to undertake this task; for, in days gone by, Jack had always rebelled fiercely against any cleansing process, and any attempt on her part to make him fit to be seen had been met by blows and cries, which brought his mother to punish his tormentor, even when the work had been done by her own order. But today he stood quietly beside her, allowing her to use soap and water to her heart's content, and to dress him in a clean frock, which she found in a bureau-drawer. And when all was done, and she had bidden Mrs. Moore goodnight, thanking her for her kindness, she sat down before the fire, with Jack on her lap, almost happy.

The appearance of the room did no violence to the ideas of neatness and order which, for the past five months, had been carefully instilled into her mind. The floor was clean; the fire burned brightly on the hearth, bringing a glow to her own face and to that of the child upon her knee; and the whole room had an air of comfort and peace strangely at variance with its morning aspect.

Nettie could not help hoping that, when her uncle and

cousins came in, the welcome of this brightened home might soften their hearts toward her. If it had not been for the roaring of the sea, and for the dread of meeting those rough, hard-hearted boys, she would have been quite content; but she could not readily conquer her old fears. She tried her best to forget them, and sang all the sweet hymns which she had learned, over and over, to drive them out of her mind, until, lulled by the music, Jack fell asleep in her

arms.

And then she sat and watched the fading light, and saw the stars come peeping out, one by one, like little messengers sent from God to point His children to their Father's home. And the trembling heart grew still, and, looking upward, waited, trusting all to that Father's love.

CHAPTER VIII.

COMING HOME.

THE evening closed in cold and windy, and the world wore a very dreary look to John Allen, as he steered his boat into the cove, and prepared to walk up to his desolate home. The summer had been an unsuccessful season for him, and he felt quite unprepared for the winter which this chilly evening heralded. His heart was heavy as he thought of his sick wife lying in that cold hut, unattended and uncared for, neglected by her children, and without a friend to look to in his necessary absence. He was not very tender with her in their daily life, but that morning, when he had left her, his thoughts had gone back to the time when he had taken her from her father's house, a young, bright-eyed bride, and his heart had been touched as he thought of the change which a hard life had wrought in her.