Harmer was wise and cautious in the answer she gave to the
eager boy.

"Wait yet one week longer, Joseph; for we may not presume upon
God's goodness and mercy, and adventure ourselves without cause
into danger. The city has been fearfully ravaged of late. The very
air seems to have been poisoned and tainted, and there are streets
and lanes which, they say, it is even now death to enter. Therefore
wait yet another week, and then we will consider what is safe to be
done. Right glad should I be for news of your father and mother;
but we have been patient this long while, and we will be patient
still."

"Our good aunt is wise," said Reuben, who looked wonderfully better
for his stay in fresh country air, albeit still rather gaunt and
pale. "It is like that this good news itself may lead men to be
somewhat reckless in their joy and confidence. We will not move
till we have another report. Perchance our father may be able to
let us know ere long of his welfare and that of the rest at home."

All through the week that followed encouraging and cheering reports
of the abatement of the plague were heard by those living on the
outskirts of the stricken city; and when the next week's bill
showed a further enormous decrease in the death rate, Mary Harmer
permitted Joseph to pay a visit home, his return being eagerly
waited for in the cottage. He came just as the early twilight was
drawing in, and his face was bright and joyous.

"It is like another city," he cried. "I had not thought there could
be so many left as I saw in the streets today. And they went about
shaking each other by the hand, and smiling, and even laughing
aloud in their joy. And if they saw a shut-up house, and none
looking forth from the windows, some one would stand and shout
aloud till those within looked out, and then he would tell them the
good news that the plague was abating; and at that sound many poor
creatures would fall a-weeping, and praise the Lord that He had
left even a remnant."

"Poor creatures!" said Mary Harmer with commiseration; "it has been
a dismal year for thousands upon thousands!"

"Ay, verily. I cannot think that London will ever be full again,"
said the boy. "There be whole streets with scarce an inhabitant
left, and we know that multitudes of those who fled died of the
pestilence on the road and in other places. But today there was no
memory for the misery of the past, only joy that the scourge was
abating. It is not that many