But though Rosalie stood on tiptoe to reach up to her ear, and shouted again and again, she could not make the old woman hear, and at last had to give it up, and go on her way. She was feeling very lonely now, poor child, not knowing which way to turn, or to whom to go for help. True, there wore many people in the street, but they were walking quickly along, and Rosalie was discouraged by her unsuccessful attempts, and afraid to stop them. She had come some way from the street in which she had lived with her stepmother, and had never been in this part of the town before. She was feeling very faint and hungry, from having come so far before breakfast; but she did not like to eat her one piece of bread, for she would need it so much more later in the day. But she broke off a small piece and gave it to the poor hungry little kit, which was mewing under her shawl.

'Oh,' thought Rosalie, 'if I only had some one to help me just now-some one to show me where to go, and what to do!'

There was a story which the child had read in her little Testament, which came suddenly into her mind just then. It was a story of the Good Shepherd when He was on earth. The story told how He sent two of His disciples into the city of Jerusalem to find a place for Him and them, where they might eat the Passover. The two men did not know to which house to go; they did not know who, in the great city of Jerusalem, would be willing to give a room. But Jesus told them that as soon as they came inside the city gate they would see a man walking before them. He told them the man would be carrying a pitcher of water; and that when they saw this man, they were to follow him, and go down just the same streets as he did. He told them that by and by the man would stop in front of a house, and go into the house, and then, when they saw him go in, they were to know that that was the right house, the house in which they were to eat the Passover.

Rosalie remembered this story now, as she stood at the corner of a street, not knowing which way to turn. How she wished that a man with a pitcher of water would appear and walk in front of her, that she might know which way to go! But though she looked up and down the street, she saw no one at all like the man in the story. There were plenty of men, but none of them had pitchers, nor did they seem at all likely to guide her into the right way.

But the Good Shepherd was the same, Rosalie thought, as kind now as He was then, so she spoke to Him in her heart, in a very earnest little prayer.

'Oh, Good Shepherd, please send me a man with a pitcher of water to show me the way, for I am very unhappy, and I don't know what to do. Amen.'

CHAPTER XVIII

THE LITTLE PITCHER

Rosalie had shut her eyes as she said her little prayer; and when she opened them she saw before her a little girl about five years old, in a very clean print frock and white pinafore, with a pitcher in her hand.

Rosalie almost felt as if she had fallen from heaven. She was not a man, to be sure, and the pitcher was filled full of milk, and not water; yet it seemed very strange that she should come up just then.

The little girl was gazing up into Rosalie's face, and wondering why she was shutting her eyes. As soon as Rosalie opened them, she said--

'Please, will you open our shop-door for me? I'm afraid of spilling the milk.'

Rosalie turned round, and behind where she was standing was a very small shop. In the window were children's slates and slate-pencils, with coloured paper twisted round them, and a few wooden tops, and balls of string, and little boxes of ninepins, and a basket full of marbles, and pink and blue shuttlecocks. It was a very quiet little shop indeed, and it looked as if very few customers ever entered it. The slate-pencils and battledores and marbles looked as if they had stood in exactly the same places long before the little girl was born.

Rosalie lifted the latch and opened the door of the little shop for the child to go in. And the little pitcher went in before her.

Rosalie felt sure she must follow it, and that here she would find some one to tell her the way.

'Popsey,' said a voice from the next room--'little Popsey, is that you?'

'Yes, grannie,' said the child; 'and I've not spilt a drop--not one single drop, grannie.'

'What a good, clever little Popsey!' said grannie, coming out of the back parlour to take the milk from the child's hands.

'Please, ma'am,' said Rosalie, seizing the opportunity, 'would you be so very kind as to tell me the way to Pendleton?'

'Yes, to be sure,' said the old woman. 'You're not far wrong here; take the first turn to the right, and you'll find yourself on the Pendleton road.'

'Oh, thank you very much,' said Rosalie. 'Is it a very long way to Pendleton, please, ma'am?'

'Ay, my dear,' said the old woman; 'it's a good long step--Popsey, take the milk in to grandfather, he's waiting breakfast--it's a good long way to Pendleton, my dear, maybe fourteen or fifteen miles.'

'Oh dear! that sounds a very long way!' said Rosalie.

'Who wants to go there, my dear?' asked the old woman.

'I want to go,' said Rosalie sorrowfully.

'You want to go, child? Why, who are you going with? and how are you going?

You're surely not going to walk?'

'Yes, I am,' said Rosalie. 'Thank you, ma'am; I must walk as fast as I can.'

'Why, you don't look fit to go, I'm sure!' said the old woman; 'such a poor little weakly thing as you look! Whatever is your mother about, to let you go?'

'I haven't got a mother!' said Rosalie, bursting into tears; 'she's dead, is my mother. I haven't got a mother any more.'

'Don't cry, my poor lamb!' said the old woman, wiping her eyes with her apron. 'Popsey hasn't got a mother neither--her mother's dead; she lives with us, does Popsey. Maybe your grandmother lives in Pendleton; does she?'

'No,' said Rosalie; 'I'm going to my mother's sister, who lives in a village near Pendleton. I was to have gone to the workhouse to-day, but I think perhaps she'll take care of me, if I only can get there.'

'Poor lamb!' said the old woman; 'what a way you have to go! Have you had your breakfast yet? You look fit to faint.'

'No,' said Rosalie; 'I have a piece of bread in my bag, but I was keeping it till I got out of the town.'

'Jonathan,' called out the old woman, 'come here.'

Rosalie could hear a chair being pushed from the table on the stone floor in the kitchen, and the next moment a little old man came into the shop, with spectacles on his nose, a blue handkerchief tied round his neck, and a black velvet waistcoat.

'Look ye here, Jonathan,' said his wife, 'did you ever hear the like?

Here's this poor lamb going to walk all the way to Pendleton, and never had a bite of nothing all this blessed day! What do you say to that, Jonathan?'

'I say,' said the old man, 'that breakfast's all ready, and the coffee will be cold.'

'Yes; so do I, Jonathan,' said the old woman; 'so come along, child, and have a sup before you start.'

The next minute found Rosalie seated by the round table in the little back kitchen, with a cup of steaming coffee and a slice of hot cake before her.

Such a cosy little kitchen it was, with a bright fire burning in the grate, and another hot cake standing on the top of the oven, to be kept hot until it was wanted. The fireirons shone like silver, and everything in the room was as neat and clean and bright as it was possible for them to be.

Popsey was sitting on a high chair between the old man and woman, and the pitcher of milk was just in front of her; she had been pouring some of it into her grandfather's coffee.

The old man was very attentive to Rosalie, and wanted her to eat of everything on the table. He had heard what she had told the old woman in the shop, for the kitchen was so near that every word could be heard distinctly.

But before Rosalie would eat a morsel herself, she said, looking up in the old woman's face, 'Please, ma'am, may my little kit have something to eat?

it's so very, very hungry.'

'Your little kit?' exclaimed the old woman. 'Why, what do you mean, child?

Where is it?'

But the kitten answered this question by peeping out from the child's shawl. They were all very much astonished to see it; but when Rosalie told its story, and the old woman heard that it was motherless, like Popsey, it received a warm welcome. The pitcher of milk was emptied for the hungry kitten, and when its breakfast was over, it sat purring in front of the bright fire.

It was a very cosy little party, and they all enjoyed themselves very much.

Rosalie thought she had never tasted such good cakes, nor drunk such delicious coffee. Popsey was delighted with the kitten, and wanted to give all her breakfast to it.

When breakfast was over, Popsey got down from her high chair and went to a chest of drawers, which stood in a corner near the fireplace. It was a very old-fashioned chest of drawers, and on the top of it were arranged some equally old-fashioned books. In the middle of these was a large well-worn family Bible.

Popsey put a chair against the chest of drawers, and, standing on tiptoe on it, brought down the Bible from its place. It was almost as much as she could lift, but she put both her arms round it, and carried it to her grandfather. The old man cleared a space for it on the table, and laid it before him. Then, looking up at the old woman, he said--