Richard Everidge had been married for three years now, and had a little girl.

She clasped her hands with one quick cry of pain. What must he have thought of her all these years? Her friend, who had always been so kind!

so kind!

'Pawliney!' called her father, in the querulous accents of one whose brain is weakening. 'Pawliney, I wish you'd come down and sing a little, the house is terrible lonesome since mother's gone.'

And Pauline sang, in her full, sweet tones:--

'"G.o.d moves in a mysterious way His wonders to perform."'

'G.o.d is good, Pawliney?'

'Yes, father.'

'He never makes mistakes?'

'Oh, no, father.'

'You believe that, Pawliney?'

'Yes, yes, I know it, father.'

And her voice rang out triumphantly in another stanza:--

'"Judge not the Lord by feeble sense, But trust Him for His grace: Behind a frowning providence He hides a smiling face."'

_Chapter X_

THE ANGEL OF PATIENCE

'Here's the mortgage money, Pawliney,' said Stephen, as he handed her a roll of bank-notes. 'It's not due for a month yet, but I'll be away for a week at the Bend, and if father gets hold of it he'll take it to make matches of, as like as not. You'd better stow it away somewheres till the time comes.'

'Very well, Stephen, I'll put it in my strong box, and carry the key in my pocket. You won't be away at the Bend any longer than you can help, Stephen? It's such a comfort to have you in the house.'

They were standing by the light waggon, which Lemuel had brought round from the barn, ready for Stephen's journey.

'Don't know about the comfort part, Pawliney,' said Stephen, with a queer choke in his voice. 'Seems like as if we all depended on you for that commodity. But I'll be as quick as I kin. Good-bye, all of you. Git along, Goliath.'

Three days had pa.s.sed since his departure, and Pauline stood in the doorway feasting her eyes on the lights and shadows which grouped themselves about the distant hills, when Lemuel brushed past her, clad in his Sunday best.

'Why, Lemuel!' she cried astonished, 'you haven't had your supper yet.

Where are you going?'

'To China,' was the brusque response. 'I've hed enuff of Sleepy Hollow, an' bein' ordered round by an old man with his head in the moon. It's "Lemuel, do this," an' before I git started it's "Lemuel, do the t'other thing." You kin stand it ef you're a mind ter; I won't.'

'But, Lemuel!' gasped Pauline, 'what will Stephen say?'

'I don't care what he says,' said the boy roughly. 'Stephen ain't my boss.'

'Oh, Lemuel, you can't mean it!' cried Pauline, as she followed him down the path to the main road.

'See if I don't!' And he strode away from her, and vaulted over the gate.

'But what will father do?'

'Git somebody that's ez loony ez himself. I ain't,' was the jeering reply.

'Lemuel, you mustn't go, it will kill father!' and Pauline stretched out her hands to him appealingly.

A mocking laugh was the only reply as he disappeared round a bend of the road.

Pauline went slowly back to the house feeling bruised and stunned.

'Pawliney,' piped her father in his shrill voice, 'where's Lemuel? I told him to take the horse to the forge, and hoe the potatoes, and weed the onions, and go to the woods for a load. I don't see how I'm to get through with such a lot of heedless boys around. What hev you done with him? You just spoil them all with your cossetin'.'

'It will all come right, father,' said Pauline soothingly. 'Lemuel has gone away for awhile.'

'Away!' echoed the old man suspiciously. 'Away, Pawliney? Did you know he was going?'

'Yes, father; he will be back by-and-by, and Stephen will be home next week.'

She paced her room that night with a heavy heart. There was no way to hinder the misguided boy. Before Stephen could follow him he would be on the sea. He had often declared he meant to be a sailor. Suddenly she stopped, thunder-struck. The lid of her strong box had been forced open!

With an awful dread at her heart she lifted it and looked in. The money was gone!

With a bitter cry she fell upon her knees. 'A thief!' Her Lemuel. The boy that she had borne with and prayed over all these years! And the money was due in a month! What should she do? Stephen must never know--Stephen, with his stalwart honesty and upright soul. His anger would be terrible, and she must shield Lemuel all she could. Poor Lemuel!

All night long she pondered sorrowfully. When the morning came she went to Deacon Croaker.

'I hear you are behindhand with your wool,' she said, in her straightforward way. 'I will spin it for you if you like, and, Deacon, may I ask you as a favour to let me have the money in advance?'

The deacon looked at her curiously.

'Hard up, air ye, Pawliney? Well, well, don't colour up so, we all hev our scarce times. I ain't partial to payin' forehanded, but you was awful kind to Mis' Croaker when her rheumatiz was bad on her, an' I ain't one ter forgit a favour. c.u.m in, Pawliney, while I git the money.

Mis' Croaker will be rale pleased; she thinks you're the best spinner in the valley.'

'No, thank you, I will wait out here.'

The old man hobbled into the house, and she stood waiting, clothed in her sorrow and shame.

'So Lemuel's ben an' tuk French leave?' he said, as he handed her the money. 'Well, well, I allers did say that boy'd be a heart break tew ye, Pawliney. Well, what's gone's forgot. Don't fret over him, Pawliney, he was a bad lot, a bad lot. Ye'er well rid of him, my dear.'

'I never shall forget him,' Pauline said gravely, 'and he can't get away from G.o.d, Deacon Croaker.'

She counted the bills as she hurried along. It would just make enough, with the b.u.t.ter money. That was all she had for clothes for herself and Polly--but Polly had enough for a while, and she could go without.