t
nearer Caryll Place they did not think worthy of the name, and reach the
Crags' cottage more quickly than it could be got to by the road.

He ran, steadily and not too fast, for he had a good deal of common
sense and did not want to exhaust his 'wind' before he had reached his
goal. And well it was that he kept his pace moderate and was able to
look about him as he ran, for it was lighter out here and he had good
eyes. What was that? A dark thick clump of--of what? No, there was
something different about this object, and, eager as he was to get to
his destination, the boy slackened his pace, hesitated, then dashed off,
at full speed this time, in the direction of the something that had
caught his sight.

Some snow had fallen, and now again flakes began to show themselves on
his jacket. There were white dashes, too, on the strange, motionless
shape he was making for. Was it setting in for a snowstorm? the boy
asked himself with a curious anxiety, for there are times at which our
thoughts seem to run before our reason. If so--and if--no, he would not
think of such dreadful things; he would first--he was running now too
fast to think--and--a minute more and he was stooping over the silent,
dead-still figure of the faithful little girl. For it was Miss Mouse,
her face as white as the snow, which, had it fallen already, as it was
now beginning to do, would have covered her more completely than the
robins covered the long-ago baby pair in the old forest; would have
hidden her till it was indeed too late.

'Thank God,' whispered Justin, as he thought this; and perhaps it was
the very first time he had _felt_ what these two words mean. But then
terror seized him again, was it already too late?

He rubbed her little hands, he called her by name, his hot boy's tears
fell on her cold white face. He did not yet understand how it had all
come about, but something seemed to tell him that his selfish
thoughtlessness had to do with it. But there was no answer, no movement.

'She will die,' he thought, 'if she is not dead. I must carry her.'

He lifted her, though with difficulty, and glanced about him. Oh, joy!
they were nearer Bob's cottage than he had thought; he stood still and
whistled, the peculiar 'call' his brothers and he used for each other,
and that Bob, too, knew. Then he moved on again, though but slowly--now
and then it seemed scarcely more than a totter, his legs trembled so,
and Rosamond was so strangely heavy. B