L. T. Meade

“ Dear, kind, splendid Father John! What would she not give to hear his magnificent voice as he preached to the people once again? Would not her own father search heaven and earth to find his only child? He was so good to Connie when he was not drunk—so proud of her, too, so glad when she kissed him so anxious to do the best he could for her! Would he give her up for ever? "Oh dear, dear!" thought the poor child, "if it was not for the Woice I believe I'd go mad; but the Woice—it holds me up. I'm 'appy enough w'en I 'ears it. Oh, little Giles, thank yer for telling me o' the wonnerful Woice!" ”

“ Then and there in the dismal attic Father John spoke out his heart in the following simple words. Even Sue never forgot those words to the latest day she lived:
"Lord God Almighty, look down upon this dying woman. Thy Son died for her and she knows it not. Lord, she is in great darkness, and she is so near death that she has no time to learn the truth in its fullness; but Thou who art in the light can show some of Thy light to her. ”

“ I know father so well, I don't believe he could do that kind of thing."
"Oh, but you can't say," answered Connie. "Certain sure, it seemed as though Agnes spoke the truth."
"I thought that too; only father's a very refined sort of man, and he'd never, never chuck Mrs. Warren under the chin."
"Agnes might have invented that part," said poor Connie. But in her heart of hearts she had long ago given up all hope of Ronald's father coming to fetch him.
"She might," said Ronald; "that is quite true; and he might have had to go to the country—perhaps to rescue some one in great danger. ”

“ Nothing more could be gained from Connie at present; and by-and-by Father John and the two detectives left her alone with Harris. When the door closed behind the three men a timid expression came into Connie's gentle eyes. Beyond doubt her father was sober, but he looked very queer—fearfully red in the face, nervous, trembling, bad in his temper. Connie had seen him in many moods, but this particular mood she had never witnessed in him before. He must really love her. ”

“ But the firemen of the London Brigade are very careful to ascertain for themselves whether there is any likelihood of loss of life.
"Has any one come down from the top floor?" asked a tall young man. He had a splendid figure—broad, square shoulders, and a light and athletic frame—which showed at once that he was the very best possible sort of fireman.
Just then the flames burst out more brightly than ever, and Connie, with her fair hair surrounding her little face, and Ronald clinging to her hand, were both distinctly seen. ”

“ Simeon Stylites himself helped the little girl to the choicest pieces of bacon, to delicate slices of white bread, and to any other good things which were on the table. As he did this he did not speak once, but his eyes seemed to be everywhere. No one dared do a thing on the sly. The rough-looking men, Corkscrew and Nutmeg, were desired in a peremptory tone to take their mugs of tea to another table at the farther end of the great room. One of them ventured to grumble, and both cast angry glances at Connie. ”

“ I guess, somehow, that the next best person to your father to come to see you now is your little friend Connie."
"Yes, yes!" said Ronald. "I've missed her dreadful. Mrs. Anderson is sweet, and Nurse Charlotte very kind, and I'm beginning not to be quite so nervous about fire and smoke and danger. It's awful to be frightened. I'll have to tell my father when he comes back how bad I've been and how unlike him. But if I can't get him just now—and I'm not going to be unpatient—I want Connie, 'cos she understands."
"Of course she understands," said the preacher. "I will try and get her for you." ”

“ Pickles stayed in until noon; then he also went out. He had cheered himself until this hour with the hope that Sue had only gone out for a walk. Notwithstanding all the improbabilities of his poor, frightened Cinderella venturing to show herself in the street, he had clung firmly to this idea; but when the neighboring clock struck twelve he was obliged to abandon it. He was obliged to admit to his own little puzzled heart that it was on no ordinary walk that Sue had gone. Remorse now seized him in full measure. He could not bear the house; he must vent his feelings in exercise. ”

“ At the hour of release to-day it still snowed fast, but Sue with considerable cleverness, had managed to hide Mary Jones in the warm room, and now ran fast through the blinding and bitter cold to see where she could get something hot and nourishing to bring back to her. Her own dinner, consisting of a hunch of dry bread and dripping, could be eaten in the pauses of her work. Her object now was to provide for the sick girl.
She ran fast, for she knew a shop where delicious penny pies were to be had, and it was quite possible to demolish penny pies unnoticed in the large workroom. ”

“ Warren's knock at the cottage door was answered by a kind-looking, pale-faced woman, Connie raised her bright blue eyes to the woman's face and listened with deep interest when Mrs. Warren inquired how the poor little boy was.
"Is it Ronald?" said the woman, whose name was Mrs. Cricket. "He's ever so much better; he's taken kindly to his food, and is out in the woods now at the back of the house playing all by himself."
"In the woods is he, now?" said Mrs. Warren. "Well, I ha' come to fetch him 'ome." ”

“ It was sweet of him to think of bringing Giles to Connie's home, where Connie could look after him and give him the best food, and perhaps save his life. Children as inexperienced as Connie are apt to take a cheerful view even when things are at their lowest. Connie instantly imagined that Giles in his new and far more luxurious surroundings would quickly recover. ”

“ Uncle Stephen is a splendid man," continued Ronald. "It was after him my darling V. C. father took when he became so great and brave and manly, and I love Uncle Stephen better than any one except father. Father hasn't come home yet, and perhaps I won't see him until Giles sees his father. ”

“ But I can't remember where the country is—can you, Connie?"
"We got out at a plice called Eastborough, an' the cottage wor a ivy cottage down a lane."
"Ivy Cottage—of course!" said Ronald. "How stupid of me to have forgotten! Now it's all right, and dear Mrs. Cricket will get her money."
When Ronald had told all his story Connie told all hers. In especial she told about Giles, and about poor Sue, who had vanished just as suddenly and completely as she (Connie) and Ronald himself on a certain day had disappeared from their friends.
"It's very, very queer," said Ronald. ”

“ Anderson could never forget: the dying boy, with his radiant face, lying on the bed half-supported by pillows, the crimson and gold coverlet making a wonderful patch of color; and Ronald, the tears still wet on his cheeks, but his eyes very bright, his lips firm, his whole attitude that of a soldier's child.
The moment he saw Mrs. Anderson he went up to her.
"I am ashamed," he said. "Giles has told me the son of a V. C. man should not be a coward. ”

“ Sue has nothing to do with you from this time out."
"Oh dear! oh dear!" said Connie. "But I don't want to give up Sue and Giles. You ha' never seen little Giles Mason?"
"No," replied Agnes, "and don't want to. Wot be Giles to me?"
"Oh," said Connie, "ef yer saw 'im yer couldn't but love 'im. He's the wery prettiest little fellow that yer ever clapped yer two eyes on—with 'is delicate face an' 'is big brown eyes—and the wonnerful thoughts he have, too. Poetry ain't in it. Be yer fond o' poetry yerself, Agnes?" ”

“ Warren had taken him out in the snowstorm. He was always rather a delicate child, and after his bad fever he was not fit to encounter such misery and hardship.
"Connie," he said after a time, "it's the worst of all dreadful things, isn't it, to pretend that you are what you aren't?"
"What do yer mean by that?" asked Connie.
"Well, it's this way. You praise me for being brave. I am not brave always; I am very frightened sometimes. I am very terribly frightened now, dear Connie."
"Oh Ronald!" said Connie, "if you're frightened hall's hup." ”

“ In particular she told him about Big Ben, and little Giles, and the wonderful, most wonderful "Woice." After that the children had a sort of play together, in which Ronald proved himself to be a most imaginative little person, for he invented many fresh stories with regard to Big Ben, assuring Connie that he was much more than a voice. He would not be at all surprised, he said if Big Ben was not a great angel who came straight down from heaven every hour to comfort the sorrowful people in Westminster. ”

“ Connie, I 'ate beyond all things on 'arth to fright yer or say an unkind thing to yer; but to me, Connie, you're a star that shines afar. Yer'll fergive the imperence of my poetry, but it's drawn from me by your beauty."
"Don't talk nonsense now, Pickles," said Connie. "Things are too serious. We must find Sue—I must keep my promise."
"Can you bear a bit o' pine?" said Pickles suddenly.
"Pain?" said Connie. "I've had a good deal lately. Yes, I think—I think I can bear it."
"Mind yer," said Pickles, "it's this w'y. I know w'y Sue left yer, and I know w'y she ain't come back. ”

“ The man was to meet more detectives again that same afternoon, and meanwhile a sudden gleam of hope darted through Father John's brain.
What a fool he had been not to think of it before! How glad he was now that he had insisted on getting the name and address of the brave fireman deliverer from Connie on the previous night!
He went straight now to the house in Carlyle Terrace. He stopped at No. 12. There he rang the bell and inquired if Mrs. Anderson were within.
Mrs. Anderson was the last woman in the world to refuse to see any one, whether rich or poor, who called upon her. ”

“ I was quite a good man then, and a gentleman——"
"Oh, sir—ye're that now."
"No, girl—I am not. There are things that a gentleman would do which I would not do, and there are things which no gentleman would do which I do. I have passed the line; nevertheless, the outward tokens remain; and I live—well, child, I want for nothing. My profession is very lucrative—very."
Connie did not understand half the words of this strange, queer man, with a terribly stern and yet terribly pathetic voice. ”

“ I'll hide here with you, Giles."
"Will yer?" said Giles. "That 'ull be real pain to yer aunty, won't it?"
"Real pain?" said Ronald. "But Connie can tell her. Connie needn't say where I am. She can just tell that I heard Uncle Stephen's voice, and that I am hiding. I can't go back, can I, Giles—can I?"
"Dunno," said Giles; but a wistful expression came into his face.
"Why do you look like that?" asked Ronald.
"Sometimes one 'as to do things one can't do," was Giles's next rather difficult remark. ”

“ Big face; no nose to speak of; upper lip two inches long; mouth—slit from ear to ear; freckles; eyes what the boys call pig's eyes; 'air rough and coarse; figure stumpy. Now look at you. Face fair as a lily; nose straight and small; mouth like a rosebud; eyes blue as the sky. No, Connie, it can't be done; what with that face o' yourn, and that gold 'air o' yourn, you're a beauty hout and hout. Yer face is yer fortoon', my purty maid."
"My face ain't my fortune."
"Things don't fit, Connie. You ha' got to stay yere—and be a fine lydy. ”

“ But the old gentleman suddenly stopped as he uttered these words, for the hall door was slammed by some one else with violence, and Ronald turned a white face up to Connie.
"It's himself—it's Uncle Stephen. He made mother cry and cry. I won't go back to him. I won't be his boy. Hide me—hide me, Connie!"
Connie herself felt very much frightened.
"Come along 'ome with me," she said. "He can't get yer at my 'ome. Don't shrink like that, Ronald. Be a man, dear Ronald." ”

“ I confess I am sorely puzzled."
"But I ain't," said Pickles, who had knowingly brought his mother round to make this confession. "I ain't puzzled the least bit in life, fur I know who is the real thief."
"Now, Jamie, what do you mean?"
"Mother, it were the man as went with Cinderella inter the shop; it wor he wot stole the locket and then put it inter her pocket. I don't know how he did it, nor why he did it, but I do know that did do it."
"Oh! my dear boy, in your love of mystery you are allowing your imagination to run away with you. I do not think any one would be so wicked." ”

“ He was suddenly, in the full prime of his manly vigor, to leave off doing God's work down here, doubtless to take it up with nobler powers above. A fireman literally works with his life in his hands. He may have to resign it at any moment at the call of duty. This trumpet-call, which he had never neglected, came now for Giles Mason. ”

“ I do think that Peter Harris is about the meanest character I ever come across, and I'd like him to go to prison wery well indeed, mother dear."
"If he's guilty, believe me he's not a very happy man, my lad. My own feeling is that 'tis best to leave all punishment to the God against whom we sin. But about Sue? She must not sleep with the notion that she's to go to prison. ”

“ The police have great hopes that they have got a clue, but nothing is certain. Beyond doubt the child is in danger. Wake up, Harris. Think no more of that horrible poison that is killing you, body and soul, and do your utmost to find your lost child."
"God in heaven help me!" said the miserable man. "Lost—you say? And she come 'ere—and I turned her off? Oh, my little Connie!"
"Keep up your courage, man; there's not a minute of time to spend in vain regrets. You must help the police. You know nearly all the byways and blind alleys of this part of London. You can give valuable information ”

“ When any one else in all the world would have accepted Sue's guilt as beyond doubt or question, he persisted in declaring her innocent. Nay, more than that, he had even declared that the man who had gone with her into the shop was the guilty person. Harris knew there was no proof against the man. No one had seen him take the locket;128 no one had witnessed its transfer into Sue's pocket. The man was safe enough. No one living could bring his guilt home to him. ”

“ At this hour of night the slums of Westminster are not the nicest place in the world for so pretty a girl to be out. Connie, too, was known by several people, and although in her old clothes, and with her hair fastened round her head, she did not look nearly so striking as when Mammy Warren had used her as a decoy-duck in order to pursue her pickpocket propensities, yet still her little face was altogether on a different plane from the ordinary slum children.
"W'y, Connie," said a rough woman, "come along into my den an' tell us yer story." ”