'La, bless me!' said Betsey Ann; 'what do you say?'

'I'm going away to-morrow, dear!' whispered Rosalie; 'so come into my attic, and I'll tell you all about it.'

The two girls sat down on the bed, and Rosalie told Betsey Ann what her stepmother had said to her, and how she could not make up her mind to go into the workhouse, but had settled to leave the lodging-house before breakfast the next morning, and never to come back any more.

'But, Rosalie,' said Betsey Ann, 'whatever will you do?

You can't live on air, child; you'll die if you go away like that!'

'Look here,' said Rosalie, in a very low whisper, 'I can trust you, Betsey Ann, and I'll show you something.'

She put her hand in her bosom, and brought out a little parcel, and when she had opened it she handed the locket to Betsey Ann.

'La, how beautiful!' said the girl; 'I never saw it before.'

'No,' said Rosalie. 'I promised my mammie I would never lose it; and I've been so afraid lest some one should see it, and take it from me.'

'Whoever is this pretty little lady, Rosalie?'

'She's my mammie's sister. Oh, such a good, kind lady! That is her picture when she was quite young: she is married now, and has a little girl of her own. So now I'll tell you all about it,' said Rosalie. 'Just before my mammie died, she gave me that locket, and she said, if ever I had an opportunity, I was to go to my Aunt Lucy. She wrote a letter for me to take with me, to say who I am, and to ask my Aunt Lucy to be kind to me.

'Here's the letter,' said the child, taking it out of the parcel; 'that's my mammie's writing.

"MRS. LESLIE, Melton Parsonage."

Didn't she write beautifully?'

'Well, but Rosalie,' said Betsey Ann, 'what do you mean to do?'

'I mean to go to my Aunt Lucy, dear, and give her the letter.'

'She'll never let you go, Rosalie; it's no use trying. She said you should go to the workhouse, and she'll keep her word!'

'Yes, I know she'll never give me leave,' said Rosalie; 'so I'm going to-morrow morning before breakfast. She doesn't get up till eleven, and I shall be far away then.'

'But, Rosalie, do you know your way?'

'No,' said the child wearily; 'I shall have to ask, I suppose. How far is Pendleton from here, Betsey Ann? Do you know?'

'Yes,' said Betsey Ann; 'there was a woman in the workhouse came from there. She often told us of how she walked the distance on a cold, snowy day; it's fourteen or fifteen miles, I think.'

'Well, that's the town,' said Rosalie, 'where the old man gave me my picture; and it was the first village we passed through after that where my Aunt Lucy lived. Melton must be about five miles farther than Pendleton.'

'Oh, Rosalie,' said Betsey Ann, 'that's near upon twenty miles! You'll never be able to walk all that way!'

'Oh yes,' said the child; 'I must try; because if once I get there--oh, Betsey Ann, just think--if once I get there, to my own dear Aunt Lucy!'

But Betsey Ann buried her face in her hands and began to sob.

'La, bless you, it's all right!' she said, as Rosalie tried to comfort her; 'you'll be happy there, and it will be all right. But, oh dear me! to think I've got to stay here without you!'

'Poor Betsey Ann!' said the child, as she laid her little hand on the girl's rough hair; 'what can I do?'

'Oh, I know it's all right, Rosalie; it's better than seeing you go to the workhouse; but I didn't think it would come so soon. Can't you tell the Good Shepherd, Rosalie, and ask Him to look after me a bit, when you're gone?'

'Yes, dear,' said the child; 'let us tell Him now.'

So they knelt down, hand in hand, on the attic floor, and Rosalie prayed--

'Oh, Good Shepherd, I am going away; please take care of Betsey Ann, and comfort her, and help her to do right, and never let her feel lonely or unhappy. And please take care of me, and bring me safe to my Aunt Lucy. And if Betsey Ann and I never meet again in this world, please may we meet in heaven. Amen.'

Then they rose from their knees comforted, and began to make preparations for Rosalie's departure.

She would take very little with her, for she had so far to walk that she could not carry much. She filled a very small bag with the things that she needed most; and wrapped her little Testament up, and put it in the centre, with the small pair of blue shoes which had belonged to her little brother.

Her picture, too, was not forgotten, nor the card with the hymn upon it.

When all was ready, they went to bed, but neither of them could sleep much that night.

As soon as it was light, Rosalie prepared to start. She wrapped herself in her mother's warm shawl, for it was a raw, chilly morning, and took her little bag in her hand. Then she went into Betsey Ann's attic to say good-bye.

'What am I to tell the missis, when she asks where you've gone?' said the girl.

'You can say, dear, that I've gone to my mother's relations, and am not coming back any more. She won't ask any more, if you say that; she'll only be too glad to get rid of me. But I'd rather she didn't know where my Aunt Lucy lives; so don't say anything about it, please, Betsey Ann, unless you're obliged.'

The girl promised, and then with many tears they took leave of each other.

Just as Rosalie was starting, and Betsey Ann was opening the door for her, she caught sight of something very black and soft under the child's large shawl.

'La, bless me!' she cried; 'what's that?'

'It's only the poor little kit,' said Rosalie; 'I couldn't leave her behind. She took a piece of fish the other day, and the mistress was so angry, and is going to give her poison. She said last night she would poison my kit to-day. She called out after me as I went out of the room, "Two pieces of rubbish got rid of in one day. To-morrow _you_ shall go to the workhouse, and that wretched little thief of a kitten shall be poisoned." And then she laughed, Betsey Ann. So I couldn't leave my dear little kit behind, could I?' and Rosalie stroked its black fur very lovingly as she spoke.

'But how will you ever carry it, Rosalie? It won't be good all that way, rolled up like that.'

'Oh, I shall manage, dear. It will walk a bit when we get in the country; it follows me just like a dog.'

'And what are you going to eat on the way, Rosalie? Let me fetch you a bit of something out of the pantry.'

'Oh no, dear!' said Rosalie decidedly; 'I won't take anything, because it isn't mine. But I have a piece of bread that I saved from breakfast, and I have twopence which my father gave me once, so I shall manage till I get there.'

So Rosalie went out into the great world alone, and Betsey Ann stood at the door to watch her go down the street. Over and over again did Rosalie come back to say good-bye, over and over again did she turn round to kiss her hand to the poor little servant-girl, who was watching her down the street.

And then when she turned the corner, and could no longer see Betsey Ann's friendly face, Rosalie felt really alone. The streets looked very wide and dismal then, and Rosalie felt that she was only a little girl, and had no one to take care of her. And then she looked up to the blue sky, and asked the Good Shepherd to help her, and to bring her safely to her journey's end.

It was about six o'clock when Rosalie started, the men were going to their work, and were hurrying quickly past her. Rosalie did not like to stop any of them to ask them the way, they seemed too busy to have time to speak to her. She ventured timidly to put the question to a boy of fifteen, who was sauntering along, whistling, with his hands in his pockets; but he only laughed, and asked her why she wanted to know. So Rosalie walked on, very much afraid that after all she might be walking in the wrong direction. She next asked some children on a doorstep; but they were frightened at being spoken to, and ran indoors.

Then Rosalie went up to an old woman who was opening her shutters, and asked her if she would be so very good as to tell her the way to Pendleton.

'What, my dear?' said the old woman. 'Speak up. I'm deaf.'