particulars afterwards, and therefore
will relate them as they occurred, as though myself present. He did not
find her sitting outside the tent as before, and hesitated whether to
remain or go away, when a low moaning inside determined him to enter.
He pushed aside the blanket, and saw her lying upon an old mattress on
the ground; beside her was a dark object, which he could not at first
distinguish plainly. It was her grandfather, and he was dead. The
moaning came from the living orphan, and piteous it was to hear her. It
took Frank but a few minutes to ascertain all this, and then he gently
let down the blanket, and hastened to the butcher's shop I have already
mentioned. He learnt all that there was to know: that she had no
friends, no relatives, and that nothing but her own labour, and
the kindness of others, had kept them from starvation through the
winter. Frank left a small sum in the butcher's hands, to have the old
man buried, as best could be, in so wild and unnatural a place, and
then returned to the mourning child. When he looked in, she was lying
silent and senseless beside the corpse. A gentle breathing--a slight
heaving of the chest, was all that distinguished the living from the
dead. Carefully taking her in his arms, he carried her to our tent. As
I saw him thus approaching, an idea of the truth flashed across me.
Frank brought her inside, and laid her upon the ground--the only
resting-place we had for her. She soon opened her eyes, the quick
transition through the air had assisted in reviving her, and then I
could tell that the whole sad truth returned fresh to her recollection.
She sat up, resting her head upon her open hands, whilst her eyes were
fixed sullenly, almost doggedly, upon the ground. Our attempts at
consolation seemed useless. Frank and I glanced at one another. "Tell
us how it happened," said he gently.

Jessie made no answer. She seemed like one who heard not.

"It must have been through some great carelessness--some neglect,"
pursued Frank, laying a strong emphasis on the last word.

This effectually roused her.

"I NEVER left him--I NEVER neglected him. When I waked in the morning I
thought him asleep. I made my fire. I crept softly about to make his
gruel for breakfast, and I took it him, and found him dead--dead," and
she burst into a passion of tears.

Frank's pretended insinuation had done her good; and now that her grief
found its natural vent, her mind became calmer, and e