erstand. No one understands in the
house how 'portant it is for me to go. I have to take the apples to
Dan Scott. I promised, you know, and it would not be right to break my
promise, would it, Johnson?"

Johnson scratched his head.

"I guess not!" he said.

"If I don't take them, he'll fret and fret," said Sibyl; "and he'll
never trust me again; and the curse of God is on them that neglect the
poor. Isn't it so, Johnson? You understand, don't you?"

"A bit, perhaps, Missy."

"Well, I am very much obliged to you," said the little girl. "Here's
two apples, real beauties, and here's my new penny. Now, please lead
pony out, and help me to mount him."

Johnson did so. The hoofs of the forest pony clattered loudly on the
cobble stones of the yard. Johnson led the pony to the entrance of a
green lane which ran at the back of Silverbel. Here the little girl
mounted. She jumped lightly into her seat. She was like a feather on
the back of the forest pony. Johnson arranged her skirts according to
her satisfaction, and, with her long legs dangling, her head erect,
and the reins in her hands, she started forward. The basket was
securely fastened; and the pony, well pleased at having a little
exercise, for he had been in his stable for nearly two days, started
off at a gentle canter.

Sibyl soon left Silverbel behind her. She cantered down the pretty
country road, enjoying herself vastly.

"I am so glad I did it," she thought; "it was brave of me. I will tell
my ownest father when he comes back. I'll tell him there was no one to
go with me, and I had to do it in order to keep my promise, and he'll
understand. I'll have to tell darling mother, too, to-night. She'll be
angry, for mother thinks it is good for me to bear the yoke in my
youth, and she'll be vexed with me for going alone, but I know she'll
forgive me afterward. Perhaps she'll say afterward, 'I'm sorry I
forgot, but you did right, Sibyl, you did right.' I am doing right,
aren't I, Lord Jesus?" and again she raised her eyes, confident and
happy, to the evening sky.

The heat of the day was going over; it was now long past six o'clock.
Presently she reached the small cottage where the sick boy lived. She
there reined in her pony, and called aloud:

"Are you in, Mrs. Scott?"

A peevish-looking old woman wearing a bedgown, and with a cap with a
large frill falling round her face, appeared in the rose-covered porch
of the tiny cottage.

"Ah! it's you, Missy, at