are plenty of us, now
bright and gentle and happy, who in Sandy Ferguson's place would have
been no better than he; and I wonder whether we always remember that
God judges every one, even His little ones, according to the
opportunities they have had?

Sandy had no thought of injuring the children any more than of
assisting them; but his wife, who was cleverer, and had therefore
become cunning and shrewish under the sordid cares of her life, saw
directly that she might gain something by keeping them.

She had taken away their clothes, partly because it angered her to
see these ungrateful runaway children warmly clothed while her own
were shivering in their rags, but far more with the idea of
preventing their escape. Their friends would come after them, and it
would be her own fault if she didn't see some of their money, she
told herself. Five of her children had died from illness, caused by
want and cold and misery; it was little wonder that she had grown
grasping and cruel.

Yet she, too, meant them no harm. She was anxious enough to get rid
of them, for the miserable food that she gave them had to be stolen
from their own portions. She looked out eagerly for passers-by, in
the hope that the children's friends would overtake them, yet
jealously kept her secret, for fear that others might outwit her and
reap the reward.

On that day when she had been occupied in listening to a long account
of a neighbour's affairs, and had, as she supposed, got the children
doubly safe, by virtue of the watch she had set over them as well as
the safe custody of their clothes, she had been startled by hearing
from this very neighbour an account of how two children had been lost
off the moor, and a reward offered for them. She kept her countenance
admirably, and pretended to be most astonished and interested, but
she sat on thorns, fearing Sandy would betray her. The neighbours
stayed long, having much to talk of, and when at last they departed,
Mrs. Ferguson went on cleaning, satisfied that the children were
safe, since they were all together, and Sandy with them.

[Illustration: THE SONG OF A LITTLE BIRD (_p. 267._)]

By-and-by Sandy came in, and stood staring hopelessly. Then he began
to scratch his head, and looked altogether so stupid that Mrs.
Ferguson administered him a good shaking, and demanded of him what he
meant by it.

"Where be the bairns?" Sandy asked, in his rough Gaelic.

Then Mrs. Ferguson flew out, and when sh