ome you again, master, and tell us the
blessed truth."

This decided Atkins. He went to his parish clergyman, an overworked and
badly paid man, and told him the incident. He also spoke of his own
resolve. He would go to these sheep who acknowledged no Shepherd, and
tell them as best he could of a Father, a Home, a Hope. The clergyman
could not but accept the services of this fervent city missionary.

"Get them to church if you can," he said.

"Aye, if I can," answered Atkins; "but I will compel them to enter the
Church above--that is the main thing."

Soon he began to know almost all the poor folks who crowded to hear him.
In their troubles he was with them; when joy came he heard first about
it, and rejoiced most of all; and many a poor face of a tired woman or
worn-out man, or even a little child, looking into his, grew brighter in
the presence of death.

CHAPTER VI.

DIFFERENT SORT OF WORK.

Connie was a very pretty girl. She was between thirteen and fourteen
years of age, and very small and delicate-looking. Her hair was of a
pale, soft gold; her eyes were blue; she had a delicate complexion, pink
and white--almost like a china figure, Sue said; Giles compared her to
an angel. Connie was in the same trade that Sue earned her bread by; she
also was a machinist in a large warehouse in the City. All day long she
worked at the sewing-machine, going home with Sue night after night,
glad of Sue's sturdy support, for Connie was much more timid than her
companion.

Connie was the apple of Harris's eye, his only child. He did everything
he could for her; he lived for her. If any one could make him good,
Connie could; but she was sadly timid; she dreaded the terrible moments
when he returned home, having taken more than was good for him. At these
times she would slink away to visit Giles and Sue, and on more than one
occasion she had spent the night with the pair rather than return to her
angry father. Some months, however, before this story begins, a terrible
misfortune had come to Peter Harris. He had come home on a certain
evening worse than usual from the effects of drink. Connie happened to
be in. She had dressed herself with her usual exquisite neatness. She
always kept the place ship-shape. The hearth was always tidily swept.
She managed her father's earnings, which were quite considerable, and
the wretched man could have had good food and a comfortable home, and
been happy as the day was long, if onl