ll us--do tell us!" said Connie.

"'The peace of God which passeth all understanding.'" said Giles. "Ain't
it fine?"

"Oh yus," said Connie--"yus! Giles--little Giles--'ow I ha' missed yer!
Oh Giles, Giles! this is the peace o' God come back to me again."

Giles did not answer, and Connie had time to watch him. It was some
weeks now since she had seen him--weeks so full of events that they were
like a lifetime to the child; and in those weeks a change had come over
little Giles. That pure, small, angel face of his looked smaller,
thinner, and more angelic than ever. It seemed as if a breath might blow
him away. His sweet voice itself was thin and weak.

"I did miss yer, Connie," he said at last. "But then, I were never
frightened; Sue were--over and over."

"And w'y weren't yer frightened, Giles?" said Connie. "You 'ad a reason
to be, if yer did but know."

"I did know," said Giles, "and that were why I didn't fret. I knew as
you were safe--I knew for sartin sure that Big Ben 'ud talk to
yer--_'e'd_ bring yer a message, same as 'e brings to me."

"Oh--he did--he did!" said Connie. "I might ha' guessed that you'd think
that, for the message were so wery strong. It were indeed as though a
Woice uttered the words. But oh, Giles--I 'ave a lot to tell yer!"

"Well," said Giles, "and I am ready to listen. Poke up the fire a bit,
and then set near me. Yer must stop talking _w'en 'e_ speaks, but
otherwise you talk and I listen."

"Afore I do anything," said Connie--"'ave you 'ad your tea?"

"No. I didn't want it. I'll 'ave it w'en Sue comes 'ome."

"Poor Sue!" said Connie. "I'm that longin' to see her! I 'ope she won't
be hangry."

"Oh, no," said Giles. "We're both on us too glad to be angry. We missed
yer sore, both on us."

While Giles was speaking Connie had put on the kettle to boil. She had
soon made a cup of tea, which she brought to the boy, who, although he
had said he did not want it, drank it off with dry and thirsty lips.

"Dear Connie!" he said when he gave her the cup to put down.

"Now you're better," said Connie, "and I'll speak."

She began to tell her story, which quickly absorbed Giles, bringing
color into his cheeks and brightness into his eyes, so that he looked by
no means so frail and ill as he had done when Connie first saw him. She
cheered up when she noticed this, and reflected that doubtless Giles was
no worse. It was only because she had not seen him for so long that she
was really