Transcriber's note: Unusual and inconsistent spelling is as printed.

[Illustration: "What is it? Haven't you got anything to eat?"
 she asked.]



                         SAVED BY LOVE

                  A Story of London Streets.


                              By

                         EMMA LESLIE.


[Illustration]



                           London:
              T. NELSON AND SONS, PATERNOSTER ROW.
                EDINBURGH; DUBLIN; AND NEW YORK.

                            1913



                           Contents.

CHAPTER

   I. ALL ALONE IN LONDON

  II. GETTING A LIVING

 III. OUR FATHER

  IV. ELFIE'S SIXPENCE

   V. SAVED BY LOVE

  VI. WILL SHE CONQUER?

 VII. CONCLUSION



                         SAVED BY LOVE.

CHAPTER I.

ALL ALONE IN LONDON.

THERE are some places in London where King Dirt holds a carnival all
the year round—narrow back streets, where the tall houses, almost
meeting at the top, shut out every gleam of sunlight, except during
the longest and hottest days of summer; and then only a narrow rift
of golden glory lights up a strip in the centre, and makes the shady
corners look more dark and desolate than ever.

In one of the shadowed nooks of such a street sat a little girl, her
head leaning against the brick wall for a pillow; and you might have
thought her fast asleep, but for an occasional sob. She had cried so
long that her eyes were swollen and heavy; and even the faint light of
Fisher's Lane made them ache so much that she was glad to close them.

No one noticed her for some time, but at length a girl about her own
age stopped and looked at her, and at last spoke.

"What's the matter?" she said, touching her shoulder.

With a sob and a start the girl opened her eyes.

"O Elfie, is it you?" she said; and then her tears broke out afresh.

"What is it? Haven't you got anything to eat?" she asked.

"I shall never want to eat anything again," sobbed the other. "O Elfie,
mother's dead!"

"Dead, is she?" said Elfie, but looking as though she could not
understand why that should cause any one to cry.

"I shall never be happy again, Elfie. O mother, mother, why didn't you
take me with you?" wailed the poor little orphan.

"Just because she didn't want you, I guess," said Elfie, but at the
same time sitting down to soothe the grief she could not understand.
"There, don't cry," she went on in a matter-of-fact tone. "My mother's
gone away, but I don't cry after her; not a bit of it; I know better
than that, Susie Sanders."

Susie shrank from her companion's touch as she said this, and thought
of what her mother had said about making companions of the children
in the street, and half regretted having spoken to Elfie. There was
a great difference in the two girls, any one could see, though both
might be equally poor. Elfie was unmistakably a street child, ragged,
dirty, sharp-looking, with bright cunning eyes shining out of a
good-tempered-looking face; while Susie, in her patched black frock and
tidy pinafore, and timid, shrinking ways, showed unmistakably that,
poor as she might be, there had been some one to love and take care of
her. Alas for her, poor child! Her only friend in the wide world had
died that morning, leaving her alone in the streets of London.

It was the old, old story: a widow striving to work for herself and her
only child, and sinking at last beneath the stroke of disease, after
giving up one by one every article of furniture, and moving from place
to place, until at last she was glad to find a refuge in the garret of
one of these gaunt houses, where she had not lived many weeks before
God called her to the mansion he had prepared for her.

She had talked to Susie of this, and tried to prepare the child's mind
for the coming of the sad trial; but the little girl had hoped that her
mother would get better "by-and-by." And so, when at last she woke up
that morning and leaned over her mother, and found that she could not
speak, nor even return the caresses lavished on her cold lips and brow,
she grew frightened at the unwonted stillness, but yet could not think
her mother was dead, until some of the neighbours came in and told her
so.

Mrs. Sanders had not made friends with her neighbours, and they had
thought her proud, because she did not talk to them of her affairs.
And so, beyond telling Susie to go to the overseer of the parish, and
ask him to send some one to bury her mother, they did not trouble
themselves.

Susie had just been on this errand, and had wandered out again into the
street to cry there, when Elfie saw her. They had spoken to each other
before, but there had not been much acquaintance, for Mrs. Sanders kept
her little girl in-doors as much as possible. But Elfie had taken a
fancy to Susie, and resolved to befriend her now; so instead of moving
away when she was repulsed, she put her bare grimy arms round Susie's
neck, and said—

"Tell us all about it, Susie; the boys shan't hit you while I'm here."

To tell "all about it" was just what Susie wanted. No one else had
asked about her mother, except the few hard questions put by the
overseer, and so she gladly nestled close up to Elfie, and told of her
waking that morning to find her mother cold and dead.

A grief like Susie's was quite beyond Elfie's comprehension. Her mother
had left her six months before—gone off no one knew where, and no one
cared—at least Elfie did not. No one beat her now, she said; and if she
was hungry sometimes, it was better to be hungry than bruised, and no
one dared to do that now, so that she was rather glad to be left free
to do as she pleased. But Susie shook her head very sadly when told she
ought to be glad.

"I can't," she said, "though mother told me that God would take care of
me when she was gone. I wanted to go with her; and be happy in heaven
now."

"And why didn't she take you?" said Elfie, whose ideas about heaven
were not at all clear.

"She said I must stay here a bit longer, and do the work God meant me
to do."

"What work's that?" asked Elfie.

Susie shook her head. "I don't know, unless it's sewing shirts like
mother did," she said.

"Sewing shirts!" repeated Elfie; "People starve at that, and have to
sit still too. I'd rather go about and see places, and starve that way
than the other," she added, shrugging her shoulders.

"You don't like sewing, then," said Susie. "What do you do, Elfie, to
earn money?"

Elfie laughed. "Oh, it ain't much money I earns; but I manage to get
something to eat somehow, and that's what you've got to do now, I
suppose."

Again the tears came into Susie's eyes. "I don't know what I'm going
to do," she said. "Mother told me to read last night about the ravens
taking food to Elijah, and she said God would send his angels here to
take care of me."

"Then that shows she knew nothing about this place," said Elfie in her
hard, matter-of-fact tone. "Angels don't come down Fisher's Lane—at
least I never see 'em, and I'm out pretty near all hours, night and day
too."

Susie sighed. "I don't think it was quite an angel with white wings
mother meant, but somebody who would be kind and take care of me—a lady
or gentleman perhaps," she said.

Elfie laughed. "Catch a lady or gentleman coming down here!" she said.

And the idea of such a thing seemed so ridiculous that she burst into a
second peal of laughter, until Susie looked offended.

And then she said more gravely, "It's all a mistake, Susie, about the
angels or anybody else caring for you. I know all about it, for I've
lived in Fisher's Lane ever since I was born, and people have got to
take care of themselves, I can tell you."

"But how shall I take care of myself?" asked Susie. "I know there's
some money to pay the rent next week, but when that's gone what am I to
do?"

"Get some more," said Elfie shortly. "I'll help you," she added.

"Thank you. Will you come home with me and stay to-night? I'm dull by
myself," said Susie with a deep sigh.

Her companion joyfully assented, and went off to the market in search
of some stale fruit to share with Susie at once. Then they went back
together to Susie's home, and, going up the stairs, overheard two of
the women talking to the man who had come to see about the funeral.

Susie was too much overcome with grief to pay any attention to what was
said; but Elfie had had all her wits sharpened, and she laid her hand
on Susie's arm and made her sit down on the stairs, while she listened
to the conversation going on just above them.

When they reached the garret, and Elfie had shut the door and glanced
round the room, she said, "Look here, Susie, which will you like
best;—to stop here and work for yourself, and go out when you like; or
have somebody come and shut you up in a horrible place, with high walls
like a prison, and make you work there?"

Susie shivered. "Nobody would do that to me," she said, looking across
at the bed where her mother lay covered with the sheet, and thinking
what she had said of God caring for her.

"But they will, though, if you don't look sharp, for I heard the woman
say you'd better go to the work-house," replied Elfie.

She had heard the work-house spoken of very often, but did not know
what it was like, or that the life of children there was far less
hard than hers. She only knew they were not allowed to run about the
streets; and the idea of being shut up in any place was dreadful to
Elfie, and must be to everybody else, she thought.

She succeeded in making Susie dread being taken there.

"But what shall I do to pay the rent here?" she asked.

"Well, it would be nice to stop here," said Elfie; "but I manage
without paying rent anywhere and that's a saving of money."

"But where do you go to bed?" asked Susie.

"Well, I ain't been to bed in that sort of bed for nearly six months,"
she said, pointing towards the corner. "I sleep under a cart, or on a
heap of straw, or anywhere I can find a nice place; it don't matter
much when you're asleep where you are, so long as you're out of the way
of the rats."

Susie shook her head. "I shouldn't like that," she said.

"Well, no, I suppose you wouldn't," said Elfie, again looking round the
room. "People that's always been used to tables and chairs, and them
sort of things, like you've got here, wouldn't like to sleep out under
a waggon, I guess."

"How can people do without tables and chairs?" said Susie. "How can
they live?"

"Oh, pretty well! Lots of us have to do without them, and other things
besides," said Elfie carelessly; "but you couldn't, I suppose, and so
we must try to keep these."

"How shall we do it?" asked Susie.

"Well, you can sew shirts, and I can get a job now and then at the
market, and sometimes I clean steps for people, and that all brings
money. How much do you pay for this little room?" she asked.

"A shilling a week," answered Susie. "Mother's put the shilling away
for next week, and she paid the landlord yesterday."

"All right. Have you got any shirts to sew?" asked Elfie.

Susie opened her mother's bundle of work, and took out two that were
unfinished.

"I'll finish them and take them home, and ask them to give me some,"
she said.

Elfie took one and examined it. "Well, I shouldn't know how to put all
them bits in the right places," she said.

This was a difficulty that had never struck Susie. She had helped her
mother to make these coarse blue shirts—sewing, hemming, and stitching
in turn; but she had never put one together entirely by herself. She
looked up in a little dismay.

"I don't think I know how to do it either," she said in a tone of
perplexity.

But Elfie turned and turned the shirt about, and at last she said,
"Look here, Susie; you'll have to keep one of these back when you take
the others home, and then we'll find out how they're to be done between
us."

Susie began to think Elfie almost as wise as her mother. She seemed to
know how to manage everything, and before evening came she began to
look up to her as a friend as well as a companion.

Elfie hardly liked sleeping in the room with that long stretch of
whiteness at the farther end. She had never seen Susie's mother while
living, and would not have raised the sheet now to look at the still,
calm face for anything. She would rather have gone out to sleep in
one of the holes or corners of the Adelphi arches, even risking an
encounter with the rats, than sleep there; but for Susie's sake she
determined to stay.

The next morning she persuaded Susie to sit down to her sewing, while
she went out to look for something to eat. Meals taken in the ordinary
way Elfie had no idea of; she was used to look about the streets for
any scraps of food she could pick up, in the same way that a homeless,
hungry dog might do, and so it was no hardship for her to go without
her breakfast. Susie had often had to wait for it lately—wait all day,
feeling faint and hungry, but obliged to sew and stitch on still, that
her mother might get the work home in time. She had to do this to-day,
and then could not finish all. But she tied up her bundle, leaving the
unfinished one out for a pattern; and then put on her bonnet to go
forth to tell the sad story to another—that her mother was dead, and
would never sew shirts any more.

As the man counted the shirts over, she said, "Please, sir, I've left
one at home, it ain't quite finished; but mother—"

"There, there, child, I can't listen to tales about your mother,"
interrupted the man; "she's always been honest, and I won't grumble
about the shirt this time; but it must not occur again. I can't give
you so many either this time, trade is getting dull now."

And pushing Susie's bundle towards her, he turned to another workwoman,
and Susie went out wishing she had had the courage to say her mother
was dead; for she felt as though she was deceiving him, taking this
work to do by herself.

As she went back, Elfie met her. "I've got a nice lot of cold potatoes
at home," she said, "and a big handful of cherries that I picked up in
the market; and I've seen the work-house man, and told him you ain't
going with him."

"What did you say?" asked Susie.

"I told him somebody was coming to live here and take care of you. It's
just what I mean to do, Susie," she added; "for I like you, and it'll
be fair, you see, if I comes to sleep here when it's cold and wet; for
it ain't nice out-of-doors then, I can tell you."

So the compact was formed between these two, and they agreed to help
each other and live together, if only the neighbours and work-house
people would leave them alone.

They need not have troubled themselves very much about this. The
neighbours thought they had done enough when they told the man he had
better take Susie to the work-house; while he evidently thought the
parish need not be troubled, if she had some one to come and live with
and take care of her.

And so, after the coffin was taken out and carried to its lowly
resting-place, no one troubled himself to visit the little garret, or
look after the lonely orphan. Elfie did not stay in-doors much; but
whenever she found anything extra nice, she always ran home to share it
with Susie, and faithfully brought in every penny she earned, to put
into the tin box where the rent money was kept. Susie succeeded in her
shirt-making better than she expected; but life was very hard, and she
sorely missed her mother, and shed many bitter tears when she thought
of her.



CHAPTER II.

GETTING A LIVING.

AFTER Mrs. Sanders was buried, people seemed to forget all about Susie.
The landlord called for his rent, and Susie paid him; which was all he
wanted, so he did not trouble himself to inquire whether she was living
alone or had any one to take care of her; and Elfie had told her not to
say anything about it unless she was asked.

Elfie was rather proud of her new mode of living—having a roof to
shelter her at night, a little spot she could call home—and she
honestly believed Susie could not get on without her; and the feeling
that she had some one to take care of, made her more careful of the
things which were placed under her charge in the market.

But in spite of her care, and the extra employment it often brought
her, the rent money could only be made up sometimes by Susie going
without food the day before, for she could not eat the rubbish and
refuse Elfie seemed to enjoy. A breakfast or dinner of raw pea-shells
Susie could not eat above once or twice; and the stale fruit that Elfie
brought home for her often made her ill, so that if she could not
afford to buy a loaf, she often preferred being hungry to the chance of
being ill and unable to work.

But the greatest trouble of all to Susie was the different way in which
she spent Sunday. She missed her mother more on that day than any
other; for poor as Mrs. Sanders had been, she had always contrived to
go to church and take Susie with her, until she came to Fisher's Lane,
and was unable to go out on account of illness. Elfie, however, had
no other idea of Sunday than of a day to play more and eat less; for
as there were no steps to clean nor baskets to mind, and very little
refuse to be found about the market, she generally lay down to sleep,
feeling very hungry on Sunday night.

Susie always folded up her work and put it away early on Saturday, that
she might have time to clean the room, just as her mother had done. And
so Elfie, finding her companion was not going to do any needlework on
Sunday, persuaded her to come out to play; and for the sake of pleasing
her Susie went. But the rough, noisy games of Elfie's companions,
Susie could not enjoy, and she was glad to sit down in a quiet corner
and think of her mother and the bright home she had gone to. Then she
thought of their walks to church, and what she heard there, and how
grieved her mother would be if she could see her now playing with these
children, until she felt strongly inclined to run off to church now if
only she knew her way.

She resolved not to go out to play again on Sunday; and when the next
came round, she said, "Do you know your way to church, Elfie?"

"To church!" repeated Elfie. "They won't let us play there."

"No, I don't want to play," said Susie, looking down at her shabby
frock, and wondering whether that was fit to go to church in. "I want
to do as mother did, and she always went to church on Sundays."

Elfie looked puzzled. "Church ain't for poor people like us," she said.

"Oh yes, it is. Mother used to say she could never bear the trouble at
all, if she could not go to church and get some help from God for it on
Sundays."

"Eh? It's all along of the tables and chairs, and sleeping in beds, I
suppose," said Elfie, a little disdainfully.

"Church has nothing to do with tables and chairs," said Susie. "We go
there to hear about God and the Lord Jesus Christ."

"Well, there ain't no God for poor people that don't have tables and
chairs," said Elfie.

"O Elfie, don't say that; God loves you, and wants you to know and love
him."

"What! Wants me to go to church?" asked Elfie.

Susie nodded. "Come with me, will you?" she said eagerly.

Elfie laughed. "Catch me trying it, won't you; and there's a policeman
walking up and down in front all the time."

"But the policeman is not there to keep people from going in," said
Susie.

"What does he walk up and down there for, then?" asked Elfie quickly.

Susie could not answer this question, but she said, "Well, I know he
don't keep people out."

"Not fine people that's got tables and chairs at home. God wants them
in there perhaps, and so he gives the police orders to let 'em in. I
know all about it, you see," she added triumphantly.

But Susie shook her head. "No, you don't," she said. "God wants us to
know and love him—you and me, Elfie."

"I know them police that stands at the door, and that's enough for me,"
said the girl. "You can go if you like. Church, and tables, and chairs,
and eating off plates, and sleeping in beds, is all one, I guess; and
them that gets used to it can't do without it. But I can, and I shan't
run to the police for that."

But although Elfie would not go with Susie, she willingly consented
to show her the way; for she had not been to a church in this
neighbourhood, and only knew the road to take the work backwards and
forwards. So, after carefully washing her face and brushing her hair,
and making herself as tidy as possible, Susie went out, carrying her
prayer-book in her pocket-handkerchief, and trying to fancy that her
mother was with her still.

Elfie would not come near the church; but after pointing it out,
and watching Susie go in, she ran back to play with her companions,
wondering all the time what could be going on inside the church to make
Susie so anxious to go there. This was her first question when she met
her as she came home.

"What do you look at—what do you do," she asked, "when you go to
church?"

"We pray and sing, and hear what the minister says," answered Susie.

"What does he say?" asked Elfie.

Susie thought for a minute, and then answered, "Well, he reads out of
the Bible, and says, 'Our Father.' You know that, don't you?"

But Elfie shook her head. "Who is 'Our Father'?" she asked.

"God, who lives up in heaven, where mother's gone," answered Susie.

"He's your Father, then, I suppose," said Elfie.

"Yes, and yours too," said Susie quickly.

"No, he ain't; I don't know him," said Elfie, shaking her head with a
little sigh.

"But he knows you, Elfie—knows you, and loves you, and wants you to
love him."

But Elfie shook her head persistently. "I don't know nothing about him,
and nobody ever loved me," she' said.

And to end the conversation, she ran away to finish her game of
buttons, while Susie walked quietly home.

She ate a slice of dry bread for her dinner, and saved one for Elfie;
and then took her mother's Bible out of the little box, and sat down to
read a chapter just as she used to do before her mother died. But the
sight of the familiar old book upset all her firmness, and she sat down
with it in her lap, and burst into tears. She was still crying when
Elfie came rushing in to ask if she would not come out and join their
play.

"What's the matter?" she exclaimed when she saw Susie in tears. "Are
you so hungry?" she asked—for hunger seemed the only thing worth crying
for to Elfie; and then, seeing the slice of bread on the table, and
guessing it had been left for her, she put it on the Bible, saying,
"You eat it, Susie; I've had some cold potatoes, and I ain't very
hungry now."

But Susie put it back into her hands. "No, no, Elfie; you must eat
that," she said. "I'm not crying because I'm hungry."

"What is it then?" said Elfie.

Susie looked down at the book lying in her lap. "I was thinking about
mother," she said.

"Are you getting tired of living with me?" asked Elfie quickly.

"Oh no; you're very kind. I don't know what I should do without you,
Elfie; but I do want my mother," said Susie through her tears.

Elfie looked puzzled. She was beginning to understand that all the
mothers in the world were not like hers—that Susie's was not; and she
could not understand why Mrs. Sanders had gone away and left her.

"What made her go away?" she asked.

Susie left off crying to look at her companion in surprise. "Don't you
know God took her to heaven?" she said.

"Yes, I know, you said that before," answered Elfie impatiently; "but
what made him take her?"

"Because he loved her," said Susie.

"But you said just now he loved you; why didn't he take you up there as
well?"

"I asked mother about that one day, when she was telling me she should
have to go away; but she said she thought God had some work for me to
do in the world first before he took me home." And Susie dried her
tears, and tried to be brave and choke back her sobs as she spoke.

"What work will you have to do?" asked Elfie, sitting down on the floor
close to Susie's stool. Elfie always preferred rolling on the floor to
sitting on any kind of seat; and she greatly enjoyed questioning Susie.

"Mother said God would teach me that if I asked him," answered Susie.
"I don't know yet what it will be."

"Then why don't you ask him?" said Elfie in her straightforward fashion.

"I do," whispered Susie. "I ask him every night; because I want to do
it, and then go home to mother."

"Is that what you do when you kneel down before you get into bed?"
asked Elfie.

Susie nodded. "God hears what I say, too," she answered.

"Well, then, why didn't your mother ask him to let her stay and help
you to do the work, if she didn't want to go away?" said Elfie sharply.

Susie knew not what to answer. The question puzzled her not a little;
and to escape from Elfie's saying any more, she proposed reading a
chapter from the Bible.

Elfie had grown tired of playing, and was quite willing to listen. She
could not read herself, and was full of wonder that Susie could; and
for some time she chattered and questioned so much about this that
Susie could not begin; but at last she grew quiet, and Susie turned to
her favourite verses in St. Matthew—the story of young children being
brought to Jesus.

"That was kind of him to say, 'Let the children come to me,'" said
Elfie when Susie paused.

"Yes; the Lord Jesus is always kind," said Susie.

"I wish he was here in London; I'd go to him," said Elfie. "It's nice
to have anybody speak kind to you."

"You can go to him, Elfie," said Susie. "The Lord Jesus has gone up to
heaven again now; but he'll hear you just as plain as though he was in
the room here."

Elfie stared. "You don't think I'm going to believe that, do you?" she
said sharply.

"Why not? It's the truth," said Susie.

"Maybe it is for fine folks that wants a lot of things to live, but not
for a poor little street girl like me," answered Elfie.

"Why don't you think it's for you, Elfie?" asked her companion.

"Because I know what I am, and I guess he'd soon find out I was street
rubbish, as the fine folks call me in the market." And Elfie clenched
her fist angrily as she spoke.

"O Elfie, Jesus don't think you're street rubbish!" said Susie. "I
think he cares for people all the more when he knows they're poor,
because he was a poor man himself once."

"A poor man!" exclaimed Elfie. "Why, you said he was God's Son, and all
the world was his."

"So it is; but when he came down here, the people wouldn't believe he
was God's Son, and so he lived like a poor man—as poor as you and I, I
think, Elfie."

But Elfie shook her head. "I'm street rubbish, but you ain't," she said.

"I found a verse about it," said Susie, "where Jesus says how poor he
was—'The foxes have holes, and the birds of the air have nests, but the
Son of man hath not where to lay his head.' There; that means Jesus had
no home or comfortable bed, he was so poor," said Susie.

Elfie sat looking at her in dumb surprise.

"He was just as poor as me," she said. "Why didn't he go away, and
leave the people, if he was God's Son?"

"Because he loved them, and he wanted them to know it; and to know that
God loved them too, and wanted them to love him and be happy."

Elfie had never had any one to love her in all her life, and she
could but dimly understand what Susie meant; but she did understand
it a little, and all the vain longings she had felt when looking at a
mother kissing her child sprung up in her heart now, as she said, in a
subdued, gentle voice, "I wish he'd love me just a little."

"He does love you," said Susie, "not a little, but a great deal."

"Did he tell you to tell me so?" asked Elfie eagerly.

Susie knew not what to reply to this; but the thought stole into her
heart—Was this the work her mother had spoken of—was she to tell Elfie
of the love of God, try to make her understand it, and lead her to love
him?

But her silence made Elfie think she had no message for her, and she
said, "You need not be afraid to tell me, Susie; nobody ever did love
me, and nobody ever will; and I don't want any love either." But in
spite of these words, so sharply and angrily spoken, Elfie burst into
tears.

Susie had never seen her cry before, and for very sympathy she burst
into tears herself, as she threw her arms round her companion's neck,
and drew her closely towards her. "Don't cry, Elfie; I'll love you,"
she said. "I'll love you ever so much; and you'll believe God loves you
too; won't you?" she added coaxingly.

Elfie clung to Susie, and held her in a passionate embrace. "Say it
again—" she whispered, "say you love me, Susie; it's what I've been
wanting ever so long, I think."

"Everybody wants it," said Susie. "God puts the feeling in our heart,
mother said; and then he gives us people to love us, just that we may
know how he loves us himself."

"Tell me some more about it," said Elfie, still in the same subdued
voice, and clinging fast round Susie's neck, her dirty tangled head of
hair resting on her shoulder.

"I don't know how to tell it, Elfie, but just as the Bible tells it.
Mother made me learn a good many verses about the love of God. I'll
tell you some of them. 'God is love'; 'Like as a father pitieth his
children, so the Lord pitieth them that fear him'; 'God so loved the
world, that he gave his only begotten Son, that whosoever believeth in
him should not perish, but have everlasting life.' Now, don't you see
God must love you, for you're in the world, and God so loved the world
that he sent Jesus Christ to die that we might be saved?"

"Saved?" repeated Elfie.

"Yes; saved from our sins—the wicked things we do that make God sorry,
and angry too," said Susie.

But Elfie did not care to hear about this; she wanted to know whether
it was possible for God to love her—whether he had told Susie, he would
love her.

"I'd do anything for that," she said, pushing back her tangled hair.
"Do you think he'd like me better if I was to keep my face clean and
comb my hair like you do?" she asked.

Susie smiled. "I think God does like people to be clean," she said;
"and I'd like it, Elfie."

"Then I'll do it," said Elfie in a determined tone. "I've thought it
was no good. Before, I was just street rubbish, and nobody cared for
me; but if you do, and God will, I'll wash my face; and perhaps he will
by-and-by, as the Lord Jesus his Son was a poor man himself."

And Elfie went at once to fetch some water to wash her face, and Susie
promised to help her to do her hair.



CHAPTER III.

OUR FATHER.

FROM this time Elfie began to pay some attention to her personal
appearance. She washed her face and hands, and combed her hair every
morning, before she went out, and, of course, looked less wild; but
her rags, poor child, were past mending, and there seemed no hope of
ever being able to replace these with better clothes now. New ones—new
frocks, new shoes, that gave other little girls so much pleasure—Elfie
had never had. Sometimes she wore a pair of old shoes or boots picked
up in the street, and sometimes she went barefoot. And it was much the
same with frocks and bonnets: sometimes she picked up a rag that would
cover her, or had one given her, and she wore it until it dropped to
pieces. She had never been quite naked; but many times she had been
almost so, until some one had given her something to put on.

She began to wish now that some one would do so again; and formed all
sorts of plans for saving enough money to buy herself a frock at a
second-hand clothes' stall—plans that always failed, for winter was
drawing near, and the two girls found it harder work than ever to pay
the rent and buy bread to eat.

"The rent must be paid," Elfie said over and over again, as if to
convince herself of a fact she half doubted.

Susie said nothing, but stitched away as fast as she could, and always
contrived to have the shilling for the landlord when he called; for she
knew if it were not paid, they would be turned into the street, and
for Elfie's sake, as well as her own, she did not wish this to happen.
Elfie said she did not care, she had always been used to a street life,
but that it would never do for Susie; and so for her sake—to keep
Susie's home for her—she grew more careful and steady, that she might
be trusted by people to do odd jobs for them, and thus bring in a few
pence to add to the weekly store.

But with all Elfie's care and steadiness, and Susie's close stitching,
they had a hard time of it to make ends meet; and Susie grew pale and
weak, and often suffered from pain in her side. She went regularly to
church on Sunday, but she could never persuade Elfie to do so. Church
was for decent folk, not for her, she said; but she looked forward to
sitting down with her arms round Susie's neck, to listen to her reading
from the Bible, on Sunday afternoon.

Sometimes they contrived to have a fire on Sunday, but it was not
often they could have one all the week, except to boil the kettle
occasionally; for Susie still kept up the habit of having regular
meals, and was gradually winning Elfie to like this plan too.

People began to notice the pale, pinched little face under the shabby
black bonnet, that was seen so regularly every Sunday in a quiet corner
of the church; and at length, a lady spoke to her as she was coming out
one day.

"Where do you live, little girl?" asked the lady kindly.

It was very cold, and the lady could not help shivering in her warm
furs, and she noticed that Susie had only a thin cape on.

"In Fisher's Lane, please, ma'am," answered Susie, dropping a courtesy
and blushing.

But the lady did not know Fisher's Lane. "Do you go to the Ragged
School?" she asked.

Susie shook her head. "I don't know where it is," she said.

"That is a pity," said the lady, "for there is a Sunday school there
afternoon and evening, in a nice, warm room, and the teachers would be
glad to see you, I am sure."

"Would they?" said Susie. "I used to go to Sunday school before we came
to live here. Perhaps Elfie knows where it is, and maybe she'll come
with me."

"Ask her," said the lady; "we shall be very glad to see you both."

She did not stay to ask who Elfie was; but she looked after Susie
as she ran down the street, and was surprised to see her join poor,
ragged, neglected-looking Elfie—for Susie still contrived to keep a
decent appearance, although her clothes were so thin and old.

The lady's invitation was repeated to Elfie; but to Susie's surprise
she did not look at all pleased.

"Do you know where the school is?" asked Susie.

Elfie nodded. "Yes, I know where it is, but I shan't go."

"O Elfie, do," said Susie coaxingly.

"No, I shan't. You may, if you want to leave me all alone on Sunday
afternoons," said Elfie sulkily.

"But I don't want to leave you, Elfie; want you to come with me," said
Susie.

"I don't want to come," said Elfie doggedly.

"Why not?" persistently asked Susie.

"I don't like schools, nor them that go to 'em." And to end all further
discussion on the subject, Elfie ran home, leaving Susie to follow more
leisurely.

There was nothing for her to hurry home for. The room looked cold,
bare, and desolate, for they could not indulge in a fire to-day; they
had not been able to make up the rent money, and the thought of this
had troubled Susie until she went to church. There, however, she had
heard the message bidding her to cast her care upon God; and she came
home to the cheerless room, and her dinner of dry bread, feeling as
blithe as a bird.

"Why, what's come to you, Susie?" asked Elfie. "You was crying and
fretting about the rent money before you went out, and now you look as
though you'd got it all safe in the tin box."

The mention of the rent brought a little cloud into Susie's face, but
it was quickly dispelled as she answered, "O Elfie, I wish you could
have heard the minister to-day, and what he said about God taking care
of us."

"It don't seem as though he took much care of you and me," said Elfie
sulkily, as she looked at the empty grate, and tried to draw her rags
over her bare shoulders.

"Are you very cold, Elfie?" asked Susie tenderly.

"I shouldn't think you was very warm," said Elfie crossly. "Your frock
ain't in rags perhaps, but it's as thin as mine."

"Yes, it is thin," said Susie, "and I'm cold; but it seems to me God
does care even for our being cold, for he's sent to tell us we may go
where there is a fire this afternoon."

"Where's that?" asked Elfie sharply.

"At the school the lady told me about," answered Susie. "She said there
was a fire there, and that they would be very glad to see us."

"Well, I shan't go," said Elfie. "I'd rather stop here in the cold."

This seemed unreasonable to Susie. "Do tell me why you won't go?" she
said.

"No, I shan't. And if you go, don't you tell anybody you know me," said
Elfie.

"Why not? Have you been to the school before?" asked Susie.

"I shan't tell you, and I won't go," said Elfie doggedly.

Susie was puzzled. She hardly knew what to do, for she did not like
to leave Elfie, and yet she wanted to go to school. But at length she
decided to stay at home and read to her companion, and go to the school
in the evening, if Elfie would show her the way; for they had no fire
and no candle to burn to-night, and it would be very dull to sit there
in the dark listening to the noises in the other lodgers' rooms, for
there was rarely a Sunday evening passed without a quarrel in the
house. Elfie would go out to play with some of her companions as soon
as it grew dusk; but Susie had given up going out to play on Sunday.

After a little persuasion, Elfie agreed to take Susie to the corner of
the street where the school was; but she would not go any further, and
she promised to meet her at the same corner when she came out after
school.

"But I don't know what time the school will be over," said Susie.

"I do," said Elfie with a short laugh; "but mind you ain't to tell any
of 'em who showed you the way," she added in a more serious tone.

Susie promised not to mention her name, and she hoped the lady who had
invited her would forget that she had said she would bring Elfie with
her; but she could not help thinking it very strange that Elfie should
dislike the idea of coming so much.

The children had begun to assemble when she reached the school; and
hardly knowing where she was going, Susie went into the large, light,
warm room, and looked round for the lady whom she had seen in the
morning. She was not there, but another teacher came forward and asked
her name, and where she lived; and on hearing she could read put her
into the Bible class at once.

Susie looked shyly at her companions, who were, of course, looking
at her, but not very shyly, for many of them looked as though they
were used to a street life, and most of them were older than herself.
What a treat it was to these poor girls to sit down in a warm, light
room, Susie could only guess. To her it was very delightful—the mere
sensation of light and warmth; and the only drawback to her enjoyment
was the thought that poor Elfie was not sharing it.

She could join in singing the opening hymn; and then, when the books
were given out, she found her place more quickly than the rest, and
ventured to lift her eyes to the teacher's face for a minute, and then
saw that the lady was looking at her.

"You have not been to the school before, have you, my dear?" she said
in a gentle voice.

"No, ma'am," answered Susie.

"I hope we shall see you very often now. Can you come every Sunday?"
said the lady.

"Yes, ma'am," replied Susie.

And then, the others having found their places, the reading commenced.
The lady explained the meaning of each verse as they went on, but spoke
more particularly of God's care for his children.

When school was over, and Susie met Elfie, she told her of the evening
lesson, and how like it was to what she had heard in the morning; but
Elfie answered, "I'm going to take care of myself now, and then perhaps
God will do it for me by-and-by."

"I think we need God's care now," sighed Susie, thinking of the
deficient store of halfpence in the tin box at home.

"Well, we don't get it," said Elfie defiantly; "and going to that
school won't bring it neither. Don't go again, Susie," she added.

"But I like it; and I must go now, because I've promised," said Susie.
"I do wish you would go with me, it is so nice, Elfie. We sing, and
read, and pray to God; and the room is so beautiful with the fire and
the gas."

"I know all about it," said Elfie sulkily; "and I know just what you'll
do too: you'll go to that school, and then you won't like me. Some of
'em 'll tell you I'm a bad girl, and then you won't speak to me." And
the thought of this so overcame poor Elfie that she burst into tears.

Susie put her arm round her neck, and drew her own thin cape over her
shoulders. "Nobody shall make me say that about you, Elfie," she said.
"Don't cry. I'll love you always; and you shall come to school with me,
and learn to read."

But Elfie still shook her head about going to school. "I can't go
there," she said.

"Yes, you shall, Elfie. I know why you don't like to go; it's because
your frock is so old. But we'll try and make another this week. I think
mother would like you to have her frock to go to school in," she added.
"And there's her shawl; perhaps we could make two of it; and I don't
think she'd mind, as we are so cold."

Susie was determined that nothing should damp her happiness to-night,
and she would not listen to Elfie's refusal to go to school. She felt
brave, too, or she could not have spoken about cutting up her mother's
dress and wearing her shawl as she did. Yes, the little girl was brave
and hopeful. What she had heard of God's care and tender love to-day
had brought back all the lessons of her childhood; and she could
believe that God was her Father, and cared—really cared for and loved
her.

When they reached home she said, "I wish you'd kneel down and say 'Our
Father' of a night, like I do, Elfie."

"But I don't know it," said Elfie.

"Well, I'll teach you, shall I? You can say it after me in bed until
you know it by yourself; only, I'd like you to kneel down and say it
first, like I did to mother."

Elfie was generally willing to do anything to please her companion,
and she very readily consented to this. And so, after shutting the
door, the two girls knelt down in the pale moonlight beside a chair,
and Elfie repeated the words slowly and reverently as Susie uttered
them—the divine words that make all men brothers and all women sisters.

There must have been some such thought as this in Susie's mind, for as
she crept into bed after Elfie she said, "I did not think of it before,
but you are my sister, Elfie, so I shall never forget to love you;" and
she kissed her as she spoke.

Elfie threw her arms round her. "Say you'll love me always," she
whispered; "for there's nobody else in all the world if you don't."

"I do love you," said Susie. "But oh, Elfie, I wish you'd believe God
loves you too—that he is our Father."

"I don't know nothing about fathers; I never had a father," said
Elfie. "But if you'll love me, perhaps I shall believe that God does,
by-and-by—especially as the Lord Jesus was a poor man. I like to hear
about that, because, you see, it makes it seem somehow that he knows
all about poor people—even street rubbish like I am, if he had no bed
and no home."

Before they went to sleep that night, Elfie had learned to repeat the
Lord's Prayer almost perfectly (she could learn quickly if she liked);
and at last dropped to sleep murmuring the words, "Our Father—our
Father." And Susie thought over all she had heard that day of the
heavenly Father's love; and at last fell asleep, to dream that her
mother had come back to lift all the care off her shoulders, and
shelter her from every rough wind that blew.

But Monday morning brought the every-day anxiety with it; and Susie's
first thought was of the landlord, and what he would say when he came
in the afternoon and found she had only tenpence of the rent saved up
in the tin box. She tried to recall something of what she had heard the
previous day—tried to cast her care upon God; but it was very hard;
and it was not until she had knelt down and prayed, ay, and sobbed out
her trouble before him, that she could believe any of it this morning,
although she had felt so sure of it the day before.

Elfie had woke up first and gone out. She often did this if there was
only a small piece of bread in the house, because then she could leave
the bread for Susie, and pick up her breakfast at the market, or about
the streets.

So, after eating her bread, Susie took out her work, sitting upon
the low stool, with the blanket of the bed wrapped round her, for it
was bitterly cold this morning, and they had no fire. They had been
afraid to buy coals or wood, as they could not make up the rent. This
was Susie's great anxiety this morning. What the landlord would say,
she did not know. He was a gruff, cross man; and Susie dreaded his
visit—sat trembling with fear at the thought of hearing him come up the
stairs; and again and again lifted her heart in asking that they might
not be turned out of their home.



CHAPTER IV.

ELFIE'S SIXPENCE.

SUSIE'S suspense as to the result of the landlord's visit came to an
end sooner than she expected. He called earlier than usual to-day,
and the poor girl's last faint hope that Elfie would be able to earn
twopence and get back before he came was cut off as she heard his
halting footsteps coming up the stairs. He knocked at the opposite door
first, and Susie hoped he would be detained there, and she crept to the
top of the stairs and looked over, in the hope of seeing Elfie coming
up.

But Elfie was not to be seen; and with a sinking heart, Susie went
back and took down the tin box, and then sat down to her work again,
waiting for the door to open and Elfie to come in, for somehow she had
persuaded herself that she would come in yet. But in a minute or two,
the opposite door closed, and then there was a knock at her own. Susie
could hardly walk across the room to open it, she trembled so violently.

"Good morning," said the landlord pleasantly, as he stepped in and
looked round the room. "You keep the place nice and clean," he said
approvingly. "But why don't you have a fire, child? It's cold to-day,
and you sitting at your sewing."

"Yes, sir," said Susie meekly, glancing at the empty grate, and hardly
knowing how to tell him she had not been able to make up the rent.

"You ought to have a fire," went on the man, not noticing her
confusion, and wishing to say something kind to the poor little orphan.
"You ought to have a fire this cold day; every other room in the house
has one."

"Have they, sir?" said Susie, thinking the man was displeased. "I'm
very sorry I can't get one too; but I don't think the place will get
damp—we have one sometimes."

"The place get damp!" repeated the landlord. "What do you mean, child?"

"Please, sir, I thought you was afraid the room would spoil," said
Susie, still dreading to make the revelation that she had only tenpence
of the rent.

"Spoil!" repeated the man. And he looked round on the patched,
discoloured walls, and laughed. "Why, child, you keep your room nicer
than any other in the house. I was thinking you must be cold."

"I don't mind that much, sir, if I can only stay here," said Susie;
"but—but please, sir, I've only got tenpence of the rent to-day. I hope
you won't turn us out for the other twopence. I'll try and pay it next
week, sir," she added.

The man took the halfpence and counted them, and then looked at the
little pale, pinched face before him. He loved money, and was used to
scenes of misery, but was not quite without human feeling, and Susie's
mute distress was almost more than he could look upon unmoved. "Who
told you I should turn you out, child?" he said.

"No one, but—but I was afraid you would if I didn't keep the rent
paid," said Susie.

"Yes, to be sure—of course I should—I can't do without my rent," said
the landlord; "but still, in the case of a little girl that's honest
and tries to do her best, I shouldn't be hard on her for twopence. But
you mustn't let the others know I said this," he added quickly.

"No, sir; and I'll try to pay it next week," answered Susie with a sigh
of relief; as the man turned towards the door.

"Good-bye, child," said the man, still toying with the halfpence he
held in his hand. Susie thought he had gone, and took up her work
again, but the next minute he was back.

"Never mind about the twopence next week," he said in a hurried
whisper: "and look here, child; I don't like to think of you sitting
here without a fire: go and buy some wood and coals with this." And as
he spoke he laid fourpence on the table, and then hurried to the door
again.

Susie could not thank him, she could only look her dumb surprise, and
then burst into tears. While he stumped downstairs, wondering what
could have made him give back to the girl half a week's rent.

Susie knew how it was, although her landlord did not, and still
sobbing, she knelt down to thank God for his loving care of her. As
soon as her tears had subsided a little, and she could smile at the
thought of her anticipated trouble that never came, she got up and went
out to buy some wood and coals to light a fire; for she ought to do
this, she thought, as the money had been given her for that purpose.
She wanted to surprise Elfie, too, by getting up a bright blaze before
she came in; so that she was rather disappointed, when she returned
with her load, to see Elfie sitting down by the empty grate.

The coals were heavy, although there was only a small quantity, and
Susie was panting for breath as she pushed open the door; but Elfie did
not lift her head from her knees, where she had buried her face, as she
sat crouching on the floor.

"What's the matter?" asked Susie in some alarm, as she lifted the coals
on to the hearth.

"Nothing," replied Elfie, without raising her head.

Susie thought she knew what it was. "Look up, Elfie," she said, in a
tone of gladness: "the landlord's been here, and it's all right now;
and see what I've got."

Elfie slowly raised her head, but did not look at Susie or the bag of
coals. "The landlord's been here," she slowly repeated; "then I'm too
late after all;" and her head went down lower than before.

Susie was puzzled, until looking round she saw a little pile of
halfpence on the table. "O Elfie, where did you get all that money?"
she said in a tone of joyful surprise, as she sprang over to count it.
"Sixpence! O Elfie, how rich we are! And I've just been to buy some
coals to make a fire. But why don't you look up?" she added, as she
noticed that her companion's head was still bowed upon her knees.

But Elfie did not move, did not attempt to lift her head, but grumbled
out something Susie could not understand.

"Are you ill, Elfie?" asked Susie in alarm.

"No, no; leave me alone, and light the fire," said the girl, shaking
off the hand that had been laid upon her shoulder.

"I know what it is: you're sorry you did not get home in time to pay
the landlord. But it doesn't matter one bit; he was very kind, and
won't turn us out, and we ain't to pay the twopence next week. Wouldn't
you like to know how I got the coals?" said Susie.

"How did you get 'em?" said Elfie, just lifting her head for a minute.

"Hold your head up, then, and tell me how you got all that money on the
table first," said Susie laughing.

But Elfie's head went down again at once. "I don't want to know about
the coals," she said; "you can keep your secret and I'll keep mine."

"But it isn't a secret, Elfie. I'll tell you all about it," said Susie,
beginning to place the wood in the grate, for she could not afford to
waste her time.

"I don't want to know," replied Elfie. "Perhaps the angels your mother
talked about brought you the money," she added.

"Did the angels bring yours?" asked Susie.

For answer, Elfie started from her seat, gave Susie a violent blow on
her back, and rushed downstairs and out into the street.

As soon as Susie could recover from the blow, she ran out of the room
calling, "Elfie! Elfie!" But Elfie was half-way up the lane by that
time, and did not hear the call; and if she had, she would probably
have run away the faster. When Susie went back she looked at the money
that still lay on the table, wondering what could have made Elfie so
cross. She could not understand this sudden change in her behaviour at
all; she had always been so kind to her before, and it seemed hard to
believe that it was Elfie who had struck her now.

After watching the fire for a minute or two, she washed her hands
and sat down to work again, feeling very sad and uncomfortable, and
wondering when Elfie would come back. Then she wondered whether she had
had anything to eat to-day; she herself was hungry, and yet she had
eaten a slice of bread, and had not been running about the streets as
Elfie had.

"Oh, that has made her cross. She was so hungry, and yet she would not
spend any money till she had brought it home, and then it was too late
for the landlord. Poor Elfie! But never mind, we'll have a nice, real
tea to-day." And as she spoke, Susie put on the tea-kettle, and then
went out to buy the things for the real tea.

Just as it was getting dusk she got the tea ready, and then sat down to
wait for Elfie's coming. But an hour passed and no one came; and then,
feeling faint and almost sick with hunger, she took her tea by herself,
feeling sadly disappointed that Elfie had not come home.

Elfie did not make her appearance until bed-time, and then she crept
in, looking as cross and sullen as when she went out. Susie had
forgotten her unkindness of the afternoon, and jumped up at once to
meet her.

"O Elfie, why didn't you come before?" she said. "I got such a nice tea
ready for you. But never mind; I've kept the teapot on the hob, so it's
hot now, I daresay;" and she went to pour it out.

"I don't want any tea," said Elfie. "Where's the money I left on the
table?"

"Did you want it? O Elfie, I've spent it," said Susie in dismay.

"Oh, it don't matter," said Elfie carelessly, beginning to take off
some of her clothes, ready to go to bed.

"Won't you have some tea? Oh, do, Elfie," said Susie. "I'm sure you
must be hungry. See, I've cut some bread for you, all ready."

But Elfie shook her head. "I don't want it," she said; "I'm not
hungry." And in spite of all Susie's coaxing, she went to bed without
touching a bit.

Susie had a great mind to cry. She felt so vexed; and she thought Elfie
was cross now because she had spent the sixpence. She could not work
any longer; so, putting out the candle, she undressed and crept into
bed beside Elfie, who pretended to be fast asleep.

Susie found out, at last, that she was awake, and creeping closer to
her she said, "I'm so sorry I spent the sixpence, Elfie; it seems so
greedy of me."

"Bother the sixpence! Don't talk about that any more," said Elfie
crossly.

"What shall we talk about?" said Susie. "I'm not at all sleepy, and I
wanted to talk to you, to tell you how good 'our Father' had been to us
to-day," she added in a whisper.

Elfie flounced herself over, pulling all the bed-clothes off Susie.
"You're always talking about that," she said crossly.

Susie did not know what to say, and she felt so hurt that she burst
into tears.

For a few minutes Elfie lay quite still; but at length she turned round
and put the clothes over Susie's shoulders, saying, "There, don't cry,
Susie. I'm such a wretch. I'll go away to-morrow."

But Susie's tears only fell the faster. "O Elfie, what have I done? I'm
so sorry I spent the sixpence; but don't go away to-morrow, and I'll
work and get you another." And she threw her arms round her companion's
neck, and kissed her.

Elfie was crying too now. "I'd better go away, Susie," she said. "I'm a
bad, wicked girl, and you'd better not love me any more."

"But I do love you," sobbed Susie. "O Elfie, don't go away and leave
me!"

"But you can't love me now, Susie! I hit you this afternoon," said
Elfie through her tears.

"I made you cross first. O Elfie, I did not think you wanted that
sixpence for anything, and it was greedy of me to spend it!"

"No, it wasn't," said Elfie; "but don't talk about that any more. I
want to forget all about it."

"Why?" asked Susie. "I like to think how I get my money, 'specially
when somebody's kind, like the landlord was to-day. Don't you think it
was God put it into his heart to give me fourpence, and not be cross
about the rent?"

"I suppose it was," assented Elfie; "but I don't want to think about
God any more, so don't talk about him."

"Don't want to think about God!" repeated Susie. "O Elfie, and you'd
begun to say 'our Father,' and liked to hear me talk about the Lord
Jesus being a poor man."

"Well, I don't want to hear any more about him; and I shan't say 'our
Father' any more. He ain't my Father now," said Elfie doggedly.

"Why not? O Elfie! And he's been so good to us to-day," said Susie.

"Yes, I suppose he is good; and he makes me feel bad, and I never did
feel so till to-day, so I'm going to forget him."

"O Elfie! And make him feel so sad and sorry about you," said Susie.

"Now, don't talk like that, or else I shall cry," said Elfie with a
stifled sob. "I don't want you to love me now."

"But I can't help loving you—I will love you," said Susie passionately.

And instead of pushing her away, Elfie returned her caresses, and the
two girls cried for some time, without speaking a word to each other.

At length Elfie said, "It makes me glad and sorry too, Susie."

"What does?" asked Susie.

"That you love me so. I didn't think you would after I hit you this
afternoon. I'm so sorry I did it."

"Oh, never mind; I know you didn't mean to hurt me," said Susie
cheerfully. "I know you loved me all the time."

"Yes, I do love you, Susie; but somehow I wish you didn't love me now,"
said Elfie with a deep sigh.

"Why?" asked Susie, in a tone of surprise.

"Because it ain't no good loving me; I'm bad. I didn't know I was till
to-day; but I am, and you'd better not love me any more. God don't, I
know," said Elfie.

"Yes, he does," said Susie quickly. "He loves you, Elfie, more than I
can. He is—"

"There, hold your tongue. I don't want to hear about him," interrupted
Elfie.

Susie was puzzled, but remained silent for a minute or two, and then
asked—"Where have you been to-day, Elfie?"

"Oh, lots of places," she answered shortly. "But don't ask about that;
tell me what you've been doing."

"Working, to be sure," answered Susie. There was nothing to tell beyond
this. Her life was summed up in these words, for there was no change in
it, save the weekly walk to take her work home.

Elfie's, on the contrary, was full of change, amid all its sameness in
wandering; for there was constantly something happening, either in the
streets or the market; and wherever a crowd collected, Elfie was sure
to be; and from the remarks of the bystanders, she learned all that had
happened, and was delighted to tell Susie when she returned home, so
that her unwillingness to speak of this now was the more remarkable.

There seemed nothing they could talk about after Susie had given an
account of the landlord's visit, and so they soon dropped asleep—Susie
hoping that Ellie would tell her all about the sixpence the next day,
and Elfie wishing Susie would soon forget all about it.

A fresh disappointment as the next morning. She had resolved to get
up early, and prepare a "real breakfast," that Elfie might have some
before she went out. But Elfie woke first, and went off without waking
her, or taking any of the bread that had been cut the night before;
and, contrary to her usual practice, she stayed out the whole of the
day.



CHAPTER V.

SAVED BY LOVE.

SUSIE could not understand the alteration in Elfie, but altered she
certainly was. Sometimes she would stay away for two or three days
together, and then come home and be as affectionate as ever, and give
Susie all the money she had been able to get; but she would never tell
her how she got it or where she had been. Then, after staying about in
the same neighbourhood, she would go off no one knew where, leaving
Susie to lie listening for her to come home at night, and to feel very
dull and lonely by herself.

Poor Susie had other anxieties to trouble her, too, besides those she
suffered on Elfie's account. Work was becoming scarce; and soon after
the winter set in, she was told she had better look out for something
else to do, as they could not give her the sewing much longer.

"What shall I do—what can I do?" said Susie, when she told Elfie of
this.

"I must get some more money," said Elfie. "I daresay I can get enough
for both of us, and then you need not do this work."

"But can't I help you?" asked Susie. "I shouldn't like you to do
everything."

"You can't help me get money," said Elfie evasively.

"Oh, I won't mind going into the market with you, if you'll ask the men
to let me mind the baskets as well as you," said Susie.

Elfie laughed. "You couldn't," she said.

"Oh yes, I could—I would," added Susie. "I'd do anything to earn some
money."

"Could you fight the boys if they came to take the things?" asked Elfie.

Susie shook her head, and looked greatly disappointed. "Oh, what can I
do?" she said. "This is the last lot of shirts I shall have to make,
and I must do something to earn some money."

Elfie thought for a minute or two of all the means she had tried to
earn money, but there was only one in which Susie was likely to succeed.

"You might clean doorsteps," she said slowly.

"Oh yes; mother taught me how to clean the hearth and scrub the floor,"
said Susie quickly.

"Can you clean knives and forks as well?" asked Elfie.

Susie nodded. "I know how to do all sorts of cleaning," she said.

"I don't," said Elfie; "I can just clean steps. And so when the people
asked me to clean the knives and forks, and I couldn't, they wouldn't
let me do the steps. But if you can do all sorts of work, you can soon
get some. I'll show you how to manage."

Elfie kept her word. As soon as the last bundle of shirts was carried
home, and before the money was expended, the two girls went out
together in search of some employment for Susie.

A short distance from Fisher's Lane there was a respectable
neighbourhood, where the people seemed to pride themselves on the
neatness of their doorsteps, but where very few could afford to keep
servants to clean them. Here Elfie had often earned a few pence, and
might have gained more, if she could have done more than clean the
steps. For occasionally she had been asked to clean knives and forks,
and windows. There she brought Susie, and boldly knocked at a door,
asking if they wanted the steps cleaned.

"Not to-day," answered the woman; "and besides, the girl who cleans my
steps must do the knives and forks as well."

"She can clean knives and all sorts of things," said Elfie, pushing
Susie forward.

The woman looked at her. "Have you learned to scrub?" she asked.

"Yes, ma'am," answered Susie quietly.

"Well, then, you may come to me to-morrow and I'll give you something
to do."

Susie was delighted, and Elfie looked pleased. "You'll be sure to get
on now," she said complacently.

"Do you clean all these steps?" asked Susie, looking down the neat
quiet street.

Elfie laughed. "I don't clean steps now, I tell you," she said, rather
sharply.

"Why not?" asked Susie; "Do you get so many baskets to mind now?" she
asked.

"I don't mind baskets either," said Elfie fiercely. "I'm just street
rubbish—just what people said I was long ago; and I don't care a bit.
No, I don't care; and I won't care," she added, "though you do talk
about that school, and try to coax me to go with you."

Susie looked at her angry face in silent surprise. What could have
provoked this outbreak she could not tell, for she had not ventured to
mention the Ragged School to her for some weeks past, although she had
not given up all hope of persuading her to go with her.

"Elfie, what's the matter—what do you mean?" she asked.

Elfie looked somewhat subdued. "Why, you're not to bother me about what
I do to get the money," she said, rather more quietly. "I cleaned steps
as long as I could, but I never had anybody to teach me to do things
like you had; and then the people in the market called me a thief, and
I couldn't get the baskets to mind."

"Never mind, Elfie; I know you ain't a thief, and I love you," said
Susie, in a gentle, soothing voice.

But Elfie shrunk away from the proffered caress. "I'm bad, I tell you,
and don't want you to love me."

"Oh, but I will love you, even if you are bad," said Susie with a smile.

The altercation ended, as usual, in both girls promising they would
never leave each other; but a feeling of uneasiness was left in Susie's
mind, and she could not get rid of the wish to know more about the way
in which Elfie spent her time now. She loved her companion very dearly,
in spite of her strange behaviour sometimes, and she wished Elfie would
tell her how she got the money she brought home. It was often silver
now, as well as pence; but the possession of it never seemed to give
her any pleasure, and she was sure to be fierce and angry if she asked
where it came from, and would refuse to eat anything that was bought
with it!

This was very puzzling to Susie, and the more she thought about it, the
more unhappy did she become. And yet she was afraid to tell Elfie of
her unhappiness, for fear she should put her oft repeated threat into
execution, and never come home any more.

She was earning a little money still herself, but she could not depend
upon earning a regular amount as when she did the sewing; for people
did not want their steps cleaned every day. She managed to give
satisfaction in this new work, and the first to employ her, recommended
her to several neighbours; but it was only one or two days a week that
she was wanted, and the rest of her time passed very slowly if Elfie
did not come home all day.

One morning Susie thought she would walk a little further, and venture
to inquire in another direction if a girl was wanted to do house work.
She had heard that girls sometimes could get a place to go to every
morning, and have part of their meals each day. Now, if she could do
this it would be so much pleasanter, and she would not mind how hard
she had to work; and she made up her mind to inquire for such a place
as this before she left home.

Which way to turn she did not know, and she stood at the top of
Fisher's Lane looking up and down the road debating this point, until
at length she lifted her heart in silent prayer to God to guide her
aright. Then she walked cheerfully on down the road for some distance,
until she came to some quiet side streets, and at the corner of one of
these, she went into a grocer shop, and asked if they knew any one who
wanted a girl.

The man asked her how old she was, and what work she could do; and then
told her his wife wanted some one to help her with the work in the
morning, and asked her to step into the back parlour and speak to her.
Susie's heart beat high with hope as she went into the room, while the
grocer called his wife. Surely God had directed her steps, that she
should hear of what she wanted so soon!

The grocer's wife asked Susie a good many questions, but seemed to be
satisfied with her answers. She could not, however, quite decide about
taking her, she said; she must talk to her husband first: she did not
know what he would say about taking her without a character, and from
such a bad place as Fisher's Lane, too, and so she must come again the
next morning.

Susie promised to do so, hoping the answer would be favourable, for
she thought she should be very comfortable working under such a kind
mistress; and then the wages offered—eighteen-pence a week and her
breakfast and dinner—seemed to promise almost riches. Her heart was
light although it trembled with anxious expectation as she went through
the shop again.

Just as she reached the street she noticed there was a little commotion
lower down—a group of boys and girls, and a policeman half dragging,
half carrying somebody along. Susie's heart almost stood still as she
caught sight of the little ragged culprit, and she could only totter
forward a few steps past the grocer, who had stepped out on to the
pavement, when she became sure it was Elfie in the policeman's hands!
"O Elfie, Elfie I what is it; what is the matter?" said Susie, darting
forward.

At the sound of her voice Elfie ceased her struggles. "Go away, Susie,"
she muttered hoarsely, staring at her wildly.

"No, no, I can't go away," said Susie, trying to catch hold of her
frock. "Tell me what it is, Elfie."

"No need to ask what it is," laughed two or three boys: "she's a
regular little thief, she is; but she's caught at last, and serve her
right."

Elfie looked defiant, and renewed her kicking and struggling; but Susie
burst into tears. "Oh, don't take her away," she sobbed, appealing to
the policeman; "oh, please let her come home with me, and she'll never
do it any more."

"Home with you!" said the man roughly. "Then you're one of the Fisher
Lane thieves too, I suppose?"

Susie's pale face flushed and a look of shame stole over it; but still
she did not attempt to leave Elfie's side, although she knew all that
crowd of boys and girls were staring at her and calling her a thief as
well as Elfie.

"Why don't you go away, Susie? I don't want you; I never want to see
you any more," said Elfie, in a hard, defiant tone.

But Susie did not go away. They had got into the broad open road now,
and everybody turned to look at them—looks that seemed to crush poor
Susie and make her heart almost stand still with horror and anguish;
but still she kept on walking in the centre of the little crowd.

"If Elfie has been stealing, you must take me up too," she said to the
policeman, "for I had part of the money."

"I daresay you did. There's a nice lot of thieves round in Fisher's
Lane, I know," said the man.

And as the gates of the police station were reached, he took good care
that they should close on Susie too.

She had no wish to escape, although she trembled as they entered a room
where another man asked their names and where they lived.

While this was being done, the policeman who had brought them,
whispered to one of the others, and then they were taken to a dark room
and locked up. Elfie screamed with terror as the door closed, and they
were left standing there in the cold, dark room, with only the rift of
daylight that struggled through the grating high up in the wall. Susie
shuddered, but she was not so frightened as Elfie, who fell sobbing on
her neck.

Susie clasped her arms round her. "What is it, Elfie? What have you
done?" asked Susie in a whisper.

"Just what they said. I've done it many a time," sobbed Elfie; "but I
didn't do it to-day, for I saw somebody coming, and put the boots down."

"O Elfie! You've been stealing," said Susie sadly.

Elfie tried to twist herself away from Susie. "Why don't you say you
hate me? I know you do," she said.

"No, I don't, Elfie, or else I shouldn't have come to prison with you,"
said Susie, holding her more tightly in her arms.

Elfie yielded to the loving embrace and sobbed again. "That's the worst
of it," she said. "I shouldn't care so much for what the policemen
could do to me, if you didn't know about it."

"But God would know, if I did not," said Susie, in a gentle whisper.

Elfie shuddered. "Does God know everything?" she said.

"Yes; everything we say and do," answered Susie. "He knows how many
times you stole things, although you may forget."

"Well, I don't care," said Elfie defiantly. "He don't love me."

"O Elfie, he does; and it makes him sorry, and angry too, when we do
anything that is wrong;" and Susie burst into tears.

"Don't cry, don't cry, Susie, and I'll never do it any more. I'll try
and get some honest work, though it is so hard," said Elfie, and her
tears broke out afresh. The two sat down together on the hard, cold
floor, and with their arms round each other's necks, Elfie promised
never to steal again, if Susie would leave off crying and love her
still. "I will try to be honest, and mind the baskets, and clean
steps," she sobbed. "But they called me a thief when I wasn't; and then
when we wanted that twopence for the rent, and I couldn't get it any
other way, I thought I'd steal it, only you shouldn't know."

"O Elfie, did you steal that sixpence?" asked Susie.

Elfie sobbed. "I stole some things and sold 'em to get that," she said;
"that was the first time since I'd known you," she added.

"Did you steal before?" asked Susie.

"Yes, sometimes, when I was very hungry. And they knew it at the Ragged
School; that was why I wouldn't go with you," said Elfie, who seemed
determined to make a full confession now.

"What did you steal?" asked Susie.

"All sorts of things—anything I could see in shops and run away with.
I never felt bad about it before; but when I took the things to get
that sixpence for the rent, I felt I was wicked, and God seemed to be
looking at me all the time, though I wanted to forget all about him."

"Yes, God was looking at you," said Susie; "and he was sorry about you
too—more sorry than I can be, because he loves you more than I do."

"More than you do!" repeated Elfie. "He can't, for you've come to
prison with me, though all the people were looking at you and calling
you a thief."

"Yes, he has," said Susie. "Don't you remember I told you about the
Lord Jesus being God as well as man? Well, he came down from heaven to
die for our sins—to save us just because we had all been doing such
wicked things as stealing, and telling lies, and forgetting him. But
to do this he had to suffer a dreadful, cruel death. And he wasn't
compelled to do it either, for he did not deserve it; it was us who
deserved it, but he loved us so much that he took our punishment
instead."

"But he won't love me now," said Elfie. "It's no good telling me about
this now."

"Yes, it is. Elfie, if you will only ask him to help you to be honest
in future," said Susie.

"But I've been stealing—I've done such lots of bad things," said Elfie.

"But Jesus will forgive them all, if you ask him," said Susie quickly.
"He loves you still, Elfie; though you've been trying to forget him,
he hasn't forgot you. He wants you to believe in his love and love him
too."

"O Susie, are you sure about it? Are you sure Jesus will love me as
much as you do?" asked Elfie.

"He loves you a great deal more than I do. That's why God wishes us to
love each other, that we may understand his love," said Susie. "Mother
used to say we could never understand God's love, if it wasn't for
having father and mother or brothers and sisters to love us."

"I never had a father and mother to love me," said Elfie. "I never had
anybody but you, Susie."

"Never mind; I'll be your sister, and love you," said Susie.

"And then, perhaps, by-and-by I shall understand about God's love,"
whispered Elfie, as she laid her head Susie's shoulder.



CHAPTER VI.

WILL SHE CONQUER?

AFTER Elfie and Susie had been kept some hours in the dull, gloomy
prison cell, a policeman came and took them into another part of the
building, where a magistrate was sitting, and the policeman stated why
Elfie had been taken up. He had not seen her take the boots himself,
however, and the man to whom they belonged said he did not wish to send
the child to prison; and so the magistrate, warning her that if ever
she was taken up again, she would not get off so easily, let her go.
Against Susie there was no charge, and so the two were allowed to leave
together, the policeman telling them never to steal any more, or they
would be sent to prison for a month.

"Susie never did steal," said Elfie, indignantly turning round upon the
man as she spoke.

"Hush, Elfie, never mind," whispered Susie, who was anxious to get away
now.

"But I shall mind. You never did steal in your life, and it's a shame
to say you did," retorted Elfie.

"But don't you see I was with you, and so I mustn't mind what they
say," replied Susie.

Elfie looked at her in silence for a minute or two, and when they had
got out into the street, she burst into tears. "O Susie, you don't
deserve to be called a thief," she sobbed.

Susie tried to soothe her, but explained that she was afraid people
would think her one, if they remained together, and she did not alter.

"Oh, I will, I will," said Elfie; "I can't bear to think of you loving
me, and God loving me, and being so wicked all the while. Susie, ask
him to forgive me, and let me say 'our Father' when we go home," she
added.

As soon as they reached their room, they went in and shut the door, and
kneeled down and said the Lord's Prayer together; and then Susie prayed
in simple words that God would forgive Elfie for the sake of Jesus
Christ, and help her by his Holy Spirit to lead a new life—to be honest
and truthful, and make them both love each other, and be patient, and
gentle, and kind.

Elfie was still crying when Susie got up from her knees, and she did
not lift her head for some time—not until the fire was blazing under
the tea-kettle and Susie had begun to get the tea ready.

"Shall we go to school to-night?" asked Susie a little timidly, when
Elfie drew near the table.

"To-night ain't Sunday," said Elfie.

"No; but they have school to-night, and it would help us both to learn
a little more," said Susie in the same gentle tone.

"I don't know nothing," said Elfie with a sigh. Only a day or two
before, she had told Susie she did not want to learn any more, and
would not go to school.

"You'd like to learn to read, wouldn't you, Elfie?" said Susie; "and
it'll be nice to go to school of a night, I think."

"Yes, I'll go," said Elfie; "they'll know me there, but you won't let
'em turn you agin' me, will you?" she added.

"They won't try, Elfie, when they know you're wanting to be a different
girl," said Susie. "Come and have some tea now," she added, "and I'll
tell you how I came to be in the street where you was took up."

Elfie had forgotten to ask about this in the fright and excitement.
"How did you get there?" she asked now.

Susie thought for a minute or two, and then she said, "I think God sent
me, Elfie."

"Perhaps he did," said Elfie, with drooping head, "for I'd made up my
mind never to come back to you any more when the policeman took me. I
thought it was all up then, and I might as well forget all you'd told
me, for it only made me feel bad and miserable."

"Then God sent me to bring you home, Elfie; and I've got a place too, I
think," said Susie joyfully.

"Got a place!" repeated Elfie.

"Yes; I'm to go every morning, and do all sorts of work, and learn to
be a proper servant," said Susie.

"But you'll come back every night?" said Elfie.

"Oh yes, I shall come back every night," replied Susie. "I shouldn't
like to leave you now."

"No, don't leave me," whispered Elfie. "I do want to love God, but I
shall forget all about him if you go away, Susie."

"But you could go to school and learn about him there," said her
companion.

"Yes, they'd teach about him, and be kind, I know, but it ain't like
loving you," said Elfie. "I can believe about God's love now a little
because of yours, but I never had any love before, and I don't want you
to go away."

"And I don't want to go away," said Susie. "I mean to earn a lot of
money. I shall get eighteen-pence for going out every morning; and then
of an afternoon I can clean steps, and knives, and forks, at the other
places."

"And I'll get some steps to do, and mind the baskets again," said Elfie.

"Oh yes, do; God will help you, I know," said Susie.

And her heart beat high with hope as she showed Elfie how to wash cups
and saucers; for of this necessary accomplishment, Elfie was quite
ignorant.

After these had been put away, and their faces washed, they set off for
school; Elfie feeling rather shy at going there again, and Susie quite
exultant at the thought of taking her.

"Elfleda! Have you come back again?" said the teacher in some surprise,
when Elfie paused before the desk.

It was the first time Susie had ever heard Elfie's proper name, and
she hardly knew who was addressed, until she heard her companion say,
"Please, I'd like to come back, if you'll let me come with Susie."

The teacher glanced at Susie, wondering whether she would be as
troublesome.

"Have you been here to school before?" she asked.

"Not on a week-day, ma'am, but I come on Sundays," said Susie.

"Well, you must try to come regularly, on week-day as well as on
Sunday," said the teacher, looking at Susie. It was quite useless to
speak to Elfie, she thought; she had tried her so many times before,
and she did not expect she would come to school above once a week.

It was a little disappointment to Elfie that Susie was placed in a
different class; but Susie whispered that she would soon be able to
read, if she only tried to learn, and then they could be together. And
with this hope in view, Elfie began that very evening, bending all
her energies to master the difficulties of the alphabet—a task she
had never even tried to conquer before, although she had had the book
before her a good many times.

No one who had known Elfie, and the disturbance she made in the school
a short time back, could fail to notice the difference in her now. And
a few of her companions teased her about it, calling her a "little
saint," and various other names, which Elfie did not take very quietly
at first, and which would have led to a fight as soon as they got
outside again, if Susie had not interfered. Poor Elfie had a great deal
to learn. She could not understand at all, that getting into a passion
was almost as bad as being dishonest; and she was half inclined to be
cross with Susie for interfering.

But by degrees she grew more calm, as she listened to the story of
Jesus' life of patient suffering; and before she went to sleep that
night she said, "O Susie, I wish I could be like Jesus!"

"We must try to be like him," said Susie; "it's hard work sometimes,
and we don't seem to get on a bit, but mother said we must never give
up trying."

"You're trying, I know," said Elfie; "and I'll try too. I'll begin
to-morrow."

"I think you have begun, Elfie," said Susie, kissing her; "and we'll
help each other to keep on trying."

The next morning both girls were up early—Elfie to go to the market in
search of any odd job she could get; and Susie to the grocer's, to know
when she should begin her work there, for she made sure she should go.

She had not given a thought to the possibility of the man seeing her
with Elfie and the policeman, and thinking them both alike dishonest.
She had not seen him, and had forgotten all about going there in the
excitement caused by Elfie's arrest; and so she started off without the
least fear in her mind, but that she should be taken on trial at least.

When she reached the shop, the man said, "What do you want?" And did
not seem to recognize her at first.

But when he lifted his head and saw who it was, he added, "You've come
to see what you can pick up, I suppose."

"No, sir," answered Susie meekly; "the lady said I was to come to-day
about the place."

"And do you think we'd have you?" asked the grocer in astonishment.
"Well, you must have a good stock of impudence, girl, to ask such a
thing, and I saw you only yesterday as I did."

"Please, sir, I hadn't been stealing," said Susie with the tears in her
eyes.

"And the other girl had not either, I suppose you'll tell me," said the
grocer.

"Yes, sir, Elfie had," admitted Susie with a heightened colour; "but
she's very sorry now, and won't do it again."

"She won't have the chance, I suppose, for some time," said the man;
"they'll keep her in prison, I hope."

"She isn't in prison, sir," said Susie; "she's going to try and get
some work in the market, for she wants to be honest."

"Well, there, you can go; I don't want to listen to your tales about a
young thief," said the man.

"Oh, sir, won't you let me come and try to be your servant?" asked
Susie anxiously.

"Well, if ever I heard such impudence as that!" exclaimed the grocer.
"Do you think I'd have a thief to live in my house? Be off, or I'll
send for the police to you and have you locked up, and you shan't get
off so easily as the girl did yesterday."

Susie turned and went out of the shop with an almost breaking heart,
and sitting down on a door-step near, she burst into tears. Her
disappointment was the more keen and bitter because she had felt so
sure of success; and when at last, chilled and benumbed with the cold,
she turned back towards the main road, she had no heart to inquire
anywhere else. Everybody would look upon her as a thief now, because
she had been seen with Elfie and the policeman; and full of this
thought, she turned into Fisher's Lane and went home.

At dinner-time, Elfie came back from the market to know how she had got
on. She was not so surprised as Susie thought she would be, when she
heard what had happened; but she hung her head with a sense of shame
she had never felt before, when Susie told her how it was they would
not even give her a trial.

"It's my fault," said Elfie. "O Susie, what shall I do?" And then she
burst into tears.

"There, don't cry; it ain't worth crying about," said Susie, trying to
speak cheerfully. "I will go out again presently, and perhaps somebody
else will give me a trial."

"But they'll think you're a thief because you go with me," said Elfie
sadly.

"Never mind, as long as I am not one really. God knows we are trying to
be honest, and other people will be sure to know it too by-and-by.—What
have you been doing, Elfie?" she asked, by way of turning the
conversation.

Elfie's face brightened. She had been very successful at the market
this morning, and had earned sixpence, besides having a lapful of
potatoes and turnips given to her. "I didn't take one of them, Susie,"
she said, "and I've promised the man I'll never touch his things again;
and he says he'll give me a job now and then, if I keep honest."

"And you will, Elfie, even if the work don't come always?" said Susie,
speaking very earnestly.

"I'll try, Susie; I will try," said Elfie.

"And pray too; you must not forget that. God will help you if you ask
him," said Susie.

Two meals a day were all the girls could afford; and so it was arranged
that the potatoes and turnips should be boiled for tea, to save buying
bread. Susie knew how to cook them, for she had seen her mother do so
many times, and she promised to have them all ready by the time Elfie
came home; for she was going out again to try and get something else to
do.

After she was gone, the tears came into Susie's eyes again. Somehow
it seemed that she was bearing the punishment of Elfie's wrong-doing,
while Elfie herself was more than successful in her feeble attempts to
be honest. It was hardly fair, she thought, and for a few minutes her
tears flowed fast; but gradually there came into her mind some words
of her mother's, about the work God intended her to do in the world,
and she thought that this was the way He intended her to help Elfie,
perhaps; and that thought made her more calm.

At tea-time, when Elfie came in, cold, hungry, tired, and rather cross,
Susie was as cheerful and gentle as ever. She had asked God to help her
to love Elfie "through evil report," and be patient with her, and he
had answered her prayer. And it was no seeming cheerfulness, but real
and heartfelt love, that she met her with now, as she threw herself on
the floor in front of the fire.

"We shall have a dinner-tea to-day," she said, as she turned the
potatoes and turnips out into a dish. "Come along, Elfie, and let us
eat it while it's hot, and then we'll go to school."

"I'm tired, I don't want to go to school to-night," said Elfie crossly.

Susie did not take any notice of this, and before their meal was over
Elfie began to look better tempered; and by the time the things were
washed and put away, she was ready to go to school.

The teacher looked surprised to see her again so soon, and whispered
some words of encouragement when she saw how earnestly she was trying
to learn. It was not lost upon Elfie. It seemed to give her renewed
courage and hope; and the other girls, seeing she was in earnest in her
efforts, thought they might as well try too, and the whole class was
more orderly in trying to follow Elfie's example.

This evening school was really pleasant to the poor neglected little
street girl, and she overcame her habitual restlessness so far as to
sit quietly on the form as long as it was necessary; a thing more
difficult to accomplish than many might imagine. Elfie herself thought
that as she had managed to do this, the victory over all her bad habits
was gained; but she found she had been mistaken before long.

The next day she did not earn a single penny at the market, and Susie
only earned twopence, although she was walking about all day; and when
they returned home late in the afternoon, tired, cold, and hungry, and
Susie said they could only have a piece of dry bread before they went
to school, Elfie felt herself rather ill-used. She might have helped
herself to some turnips quite easily in the morning, and that would
have furnished them with a nice hot meal; but she had resisted the
temptation, believing that she should get some work and be able to buy
some.

But the work had not come, and they could only spend a penny of what
Susie had earned, for the other was needed to make up the rent. They
had got a week or two behind, in spite of all their efforts to keep it
paid; and the landlord had said they must leave, if some were not ready
on Monday. The next day was Saturday, and they hoped to earn some more;
but they could not be sure of this.

And so it was with a sad heart they went to school that evening, and
Elfie had a hard battle to fight with herself before she could sit
still and give her attention to what was being taught.



CHAPTER VII.

CONCLUSION.

ELFIE had probably never heard the maxim, "Honesty is the best policy;"
and if she had, she certainly would not have believed it. She knew how
much, or rather how little, she could earn by fair work; knew, too,
that some of her companions would laugh at her for trying to be honest;
but she did not know how hard the struggle would be until she fairly
tried it. It had been easy enough to slip into the habit of pilfering,
but it was not so easy to break it off, when once it was commenced.
Again and again did she wish that she had never taken the first wrong
step, never formed the evil habit of taking what was not her own, and
sometimes she feared she should never be able to break it off now.

Things grew worse and worse with the two girls as the winter advanced.
Often they were without fire and without food, except the market refuse
Elfie brought home. Susie had tried again and again to get a place such
as the grocer's, but no one wanted a girl, it seemed, or at least no
one wanted her. It must be that everybody believed her to be a thief,
she thought; and Elfie thought so too, and that made her so bitter that
she said one day, "I won't try to be honest any longer: everybody says
I am a thief, and so I may as well be one; it's better to steal than to
starve."

"O Elfie, don't say that!" exclaimed Susie. "We haven't starved yet,
and we've managed to keep our home too, though we have had to sell some
of the things."

Elfie looked round at the almost bare room. "It's no good trying any
longer, Susie," she said; "there's such a lot of poor girls in London,
God has forgot all about us two."

"No, he has not; I'm sure he has not," said Susie; "he is 'our Father,'
and so he can't forget us."

"Well, he don't mean to help us then," said Elfie. "It's all my fault,
I know; I was a thief, and that's why he won't have anything to do with
me; I'm too bad, I know."

"You're not, Elfie. Jesus died to save sinners—real sinners like you
and me, Elfie. He saved the thief on the cross, and said he should be
with him in paradise; and he will save us—save us from our sins, as
well as the punishment of them."

But Elfie shook her head. "I can't bear to see you hungry, Susie," she
said with a choking sob; "and it's hard to see the potatoes and turnips
there in the market, and hear the men say we are a set of little
thieves, and sure to help ourselves, and then come away without taking
one. You don't know how hard it is."

It was true enough. Even Susie did not know the full bitterness Elfie
was daily enduring in her efforts to do right; but that the struggle
was a hard one she fully understood, and she said, "Only Jesus knows
just how hard it is, Elfie; but he won't let it be more than you can
bear. He will send us some help soon. I'm sure he will; perhaps you'll
be able to earn a lot of money to-day."

This hope, however, was doomed to disappointment, as it had been so
many times before. Elfie came home with only a few bruised apples and a
handful of dried crusts as the reward of her day's toil; and Susie made
up her mind to speak to the teacher at the school that very night. She
had often thought of doing this, but the fear lest she should say, as
so many others had done, "I can't have anything to do with thieves,"
had made her shrink from telling even her how they were placed.

She told Elfie what she meant to do; but all hope had left Elfie now,
and she paid little attention to what was said. She divided the apples
and crusts between them, and had soon eaten her own share; but Susie's
remained almost untouched, and she could not help looking longingly
towards them.

Susie saw this, and pushed them towards her. "You eat 'em, Elfie—I
can't," she said.

"Can't eat!" exclaimed Elfie, to whom such a thing seemed almost
incredible.

"No, I'm not hungry, only sick," said Susie. And, unable to sit up any
longer, she laid herself down on the bed. Elfie waited a minute or
two, and then took the apple and crusts across to her; but Susie took
no notice of her repeated entreaties to eat, and at last Elfie grew
frightened. She put the apple down, and bent over the pale, inanimate
face, and kissed the cold lips.

"O Susie, open your eyes, or speak to me!" she said, beginning to cry.

But there was only a faint moan in response to her pleadings, and
she flew off to knock at the door of one of the other lodgers. But
the woman was not at home, and Elfie ran downstairs and out into the
street, taking the way towards the school as the only place of friendly
refuge.

Just as she was turning a corner, panting and breathless, she ran
against the teacher, which brought her to an abrupt standstill.

"You need not be in such a hurry to-night, Elfie; there's no school,
you know."

Elfie had forgotten this; but for a minute or two she could not speak,
but looked into the teacher's face.

"Don't you remember I told you there was to be a meeting of gentlemen
to talk about getting a home or refuge for some of you poor children?"
said the teacher.

Elfie nodded. "I know," she said; "but do come to Susie, teacher."

"To Susie! What is the matter with her?" asked the teacher.

"I don't know, but I think she is going to die." And Elfie's tears
broke out afresh.

At the same moment the clergyman, on his way to the meeting at the
Ragged School, stopped to speak to the teacher, and looked at Elfie.

"What is the matter, my child?" he asked.

"Susie's bad, sir; she can't eat the apple I've brought home for her."

"I am going to see what it is," said the teacher. "Susie Sanders is one
of our best scholars."

"Where is your mother, my dear?" asked the clergyman.

"Susie's mother is dead, and I ain't got one," said Elfie.

"I think I will come with you, and see about these girls," said the
minister; and he and the teacher followed Elfie to Fisher's Lane.

Poor Elfie was in a great fright, for it was quite dark, and they had
no candle, and how the visitors were to find their way upstairs, she
did not know. At the door she paused, and whispered, "We live at the
top of the house, teacher, and we can't afford to buy candles."

The clergyman overheard the whisper, and put his hand into his pocket.
"Here's sixpence, child; run and buy a candle and a box of lucifers."

Elfie darted off, but when she laid the money on the counter at the
shop, she saw that instead of a sixpence the minister had given her a
half-sovereign. What riches it seemed to her! How much she could buy
with all this money! And instinctively her hand went over it as it lay
on the counter.

A penny candle and a box of matches, she knew, cost three halfpence,
and this taken from sixpence would leave fourpence halfpenny; and this
she resolved to return to the minister, keeping the rest for herself.
He had told her it was sixpence, so this theft would never be known;
and she took the pile of silver and tied it up in a bit of rag, and hid
it in her bosom as soon as she got outside the shop, and then ran back
to where the minister and the teacher were waiting. The gentleman took
the change, and the teacher lighted the candle and went on upstairs,
followed by Elfie, who seemed suddenly to have forgotten her anxiety
for Susie, and lingered behind.

In truth, Elfie dreaded to see that white face, with this money hidden
in her bosom, and already began to wish she had not kept it, for it
made her feel so miserable.

At length the little garret was reached, and there lay Susie, cold and
insensible as Elfie had left her, with the dirty dry crusts and bruised
apple lying by her side.

The gentleman uttered an exclamation of surprise as he looked round
the room, while the teacher went across and raised poor Susie's head,
glancing at the dry crusts as she did so. "Poor girl! She seems very
ill. What has she had to eat to-day?" she asked, speaking to Elfie, who
had flung herself on the floor at Susie's feet.

"Nothing," answered Elfie through her sobs; "she couldn't eat the
crusts and apples I got."

"And is that all you have had?" asked the clergyman.

But instead of answering, Elfie buried her head in the bed-clothes,
sobbing, "O Susie, Susie, do open your eyes and speak to me once more,
and let me tell you all about this dreadful money. I won't keep it—I
hate it," she added, passionately tugging at the bosom of her ragged
frock, and at last dashing a little bundle to the floor.

The teacher had not paid much attention to what Elfie was saying, for
the clergyman was speaking to her, asking what was to be done with
Susie, who was evidently suffering from want and privation. The room
was bitterly cold, and the first thing to be done was to send Elfie to
buy some coals and wood; and then, when the fire was lighted, for some
milk and a loaf of bread. While the teacher was lighting the fire, and
the minister cutting some slices of bread from the loaf, Susie slowly
opened her eyes and looked round her. Elfie saw the change, and the
next moment was kneeling at her side.

"O Susie, Susie, I almost forgot; but Jesus saved me from being quite a
thief again. As soon as ever I saw you, I remembered what you said, and
threw the money down."

"Poor Elfie," said Susie in a whisper; and then becoming conscious of
the fire and candle light, and the presence of others in the room, said
in a frightened tone, "What is it, Elfie?"

But Elfie was pushed aside, and the teacher came forward with a little
warm milk in a cup, and gave a few spoonfuls to Susie. The first
was poured down her throat; but she took the rest eagerly, and then
whispered, "More, please."

The minister could not bear to look at that pale, famished face, and
turned away to crumble some of the bread into the milk, and urged
Elfie to eat some. Elfie, however, could talk of nothing but money,
it seemed; and so at length the minister said, "What is this you are
talking about—what money have you stolen?"

"O sir, I didn't think about stealing when you sent me for the candle.
I promised Susie I never would steal again; but when I saw what a lot
of money there was, and you thought it was only sixpence, I took it,
and here it is." And Elfie gave him the little pile of silver tied up
in a piece of dirty rag.

It was some little time before the clergyman could fully understand the
mistake he had made, and how he should make it was then a mystery to
him. And by the time this was made somewhat clear to his mind, he was
compelled to leave to attend the meeting; for it was very late now, and
what he had seen made him more anxious than ever that a refuge should
be established for the poor destitute children of this neighbourhood.

The minister had placed the money given back to him by Elfie in the
hand of the teacher, to be expended for the benefit of the two girls;
and after she had seen them both eat a basin of bread and milk, she
questioned them upon their mode of living, and asked why they had never
mentioned to her Susie's wish to get a place.

Both girls looked confused, and Susie said, "I was afraid, teacher."

"Afraid!" repeated the teacher.

"Yes, teacher; everybody said Susie was a thief," said Elfie with a
little heightened colour. "She didn't deserve to be called a thief,"
she went on; "but I did. I often used to steal things, but I don't now;
for I couldn't bear to think Susie should bear my punishment all for
nothing."

"And so this is why you gave the money back to-night?" said the teacher.

Elfie nodded. "I couldn't help it," she said, "when I saw Susie; all
she had said about our Father's love, and what the Lord Jesus had
suffered to save me from my sins, came back to my mind, and I was
obliged to throw the money down."

Susie had only dimly understood what she said before, but it was
explained to her now; and likewise that she was not to attempt to go
out the next day until her teacher had been to see her again. She was
obliged to leave them now, and giving Susie some money to buy food for
the next morning, she took her departure.

After she had gone, the two girls sat talking of all that had happened;
but it was evident Elfie was greatly bowed down at the thought of her
attempt to rob the minister.

"I shall never learn to be honest," she said; "for if I see anything I
can take, I want it directly, and I seem to forget everything else."

"But Jesus has helped you to begin, Elfie, and he'll help you to keep
on till you quite hate the sin," said Susie.

"I don't really like it now," said Elfie.

"Well, that is something, for you did love it once; you said so,"
replied Susie quickly. "Jesus has made you dislike it, and he will go
on helping you."

"But I am so wicked, I shan't mind about his help, if I have to stay
here for ever; and it's always so hard to keep honest."

This was just what the minister was saying to some gentlemen as they
walked home together. Temptations were so strong, the battle of life so
hard, for these poor little street children, that it was no wonder they
grew up to be wicked men and women.

When he saw the teacher again, he heard of Susie's wish to learn to
be a servant, and all she had told her concerning her mother, and he
resolved to befriend her if he could. It would not be easy to persuade
any one to take a girl without a character from such a place as
Fisher's Lane, he knew; but he thought his wife would do so, and could
find her some employment in helping the other servants, and a day or
two afterwards, Susie heard that she was to go to the minister's house
about this.

But, to the teacher's surprise, Susie burst into tears, and
said—"Please, ma'am, could Elfie go instead of me?"

"Instead of you!" repeated her teacher. "Why, I thought you wanted to
be a servant?"

"Yes, teacher, but so does Elfie; and—and I'm afraid Elfie would give
up trying, if I was to go away."

"But I don't think Elfie would be able to do the work required," said
the teacher.

Susie looked disappointed. "I'm very sorry," she said, "but I can't
leave Elfie."

The teacher had thought, too, it would never do to leave the poor
little friendless creature to herself; and believing there was already
a great change effected in her character, she had determined to take
charge of her. Elfie could run errands, and go to school with her all
day, and by-and-by she would learn to do things about the house and
make herself useful; and she told Susie of this plan now.

"Oh, thank you; then I shall be so glad to have this place!" said Susie
joyfully; and she went at once to prepare herself for the walk.

It was settled that she should go as kitchen maid, as soon as some
decent clothes could be made for her; and at the same time, Elfie would
take up her abode with the teacher. They would still see each other,
for Susie was to attend the Ragged School of an evening; and Elfie
promised to go to church every Sunday, that she might sit by her, and
hear from the lips of their kind friend truths which they, young as
they were, had experienced; and this above all others—"Our Father's"
love.



                             THE END.