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| 1 | 133 | 265 | 398 | 530 |
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cold and damp, ill in body, and sick to death at heart, the child
needed her utmost firmness and resolution even to creep along.
Why had they ever come to this noisy town, when there were peaceful
country places, in which, at least, they might have hungered and
thirsted, with less suffering than in its squalid strife! They were but an
atom, here, in a mountain heap of misery, the very sight of which
increased their hopelessness and suffering.
The child had not only to endure the accumulated hardships of their
destitute condition, but to bear the reproaches of her grandfather,
who began to murmur at having been led away from their late abode,
and demand that they should return to it. Being now penniless, and
no relief or prospect of relief appearing, they retraced their steps
through the deserted streets, and went back to the wharf, hoping to
find the boat in which they had come, and to be allowed to sleep on
board that night. But here again they were disappointed, for the gate
was closed, and some fierce dogs, barking at their approach, obliged
them to retreat.
'
We must sleep in the open air to-night, dear,' said the child in a weak
voice, as they turned away from this last repulse; 'and to-morrow we
will beg our way to some quiet part of the country, and try to earn our
bread in very humble work.'
'
Why did you bring me here?' returned the old man fiercely. 'I cannot
bear these close eternal streets. We came from a quiet part. Why did
you force me to leave it?'
'
Because I must have that dream I told you of, no more,' said the
child, with a momentary firmness that lost itself in tears; 'and we
must live among poor people, or it will come again. Dear grandfather,
you are old and weak, I know; but look at me. I never will complain if
you will not, but I have some suffering indeed.'
'
Ah! poor, houseless, wandering, motherless child!' cried the old man,
clasping his hands and gazing as if for the first time upon her anxious
face, her travel-stained dress, and bruised and swollen feet; 'has all
my agony of care brought her to this at last! Was I a happy man once,
and have I lost happiness and all I had, for this!'
'If we were in the country now,' said the child, with assumed
cheerfulness, as they walked on looking about them for a shelter, we
should find some good old tree, stretching out his green arms as if he
loved us, and nodding and rustling as if he would have us fall asleep,
thinking of him while he watched. Please God, we shall be there soon -
to-morrow or next day at the farthest - and in the meantime let us
think, dear, that it was a good thing we came here; for we are lost in
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