a basket in his
hand.

"I hope Mr. Fax has wood in his house, so that you can keep a
fire,--but you are not likely to find anything else there. You'll want
everything that is in this, Endy--please remember."

"I will not forget," he said, as he gave her his thanks. "But what did
that exclamation mean, before tea?"

"What exclamation?--Oh--" said Faith, smiling somewhat but looking
down, "I suppose it meant that I was disappointed."

"My dear little child--you must try not to feel disappointed, because I
am quite sure you ought not to go; and that must content both you and
me. So good night."--

Faith tried to be contented, but her little scholar lay on her heart.
And it lay on her heart too, that Mr. Linden would be watching all
night and teaching all day. He did not know how much he had
disappointed, for she had laid a fine plan to go by starlight in the
morning to take his place and send him home for a little rest before
breakfast and school. Faith studied only one book that night, and that
was her Bible.

It was a night of steady watching,--broken by many other things, but
not by sleep. There was constantly some little thing to do for the sick
child,--ranging from giving him a drink of water, to giving him "talk,"
or rocking and--it might be--singing him to sleep. But the restless
little requests never had to wait for their answer, and with the whole
house sunk in stillness or sleep, Mr. Linden played the part of a most
gentle and efficient nurse--and thought of Faith, and her
disappointment. And so the night wore away, and the morning star came
up, and then the red flushes of sunrise.

"Who turneth the night into day"--Mr. Linden thought, with a grave look
from the window to the little face beside him--and then the words
came,--

"In the morning, children, in the morning;
We'll all rise together in the morning!"

It was very early indeed, earlier even than usual, when Faith came down
and kindled her fire. And then leaving it to burn, she opened the
curtains of the window and looked out into the starlight. It was long
before the red flush of the morning; it was even before the time when
Faith would have gone to relieve the guard in that sick room; her
thoughts sped away to the distant watcher there and the sick child.
Faith could guess what sort of a watching it had been, and it was a
comfort to think that Johnny had it. But then as she looked out into
the clear still starlight, something brough