real good fur me, though, Connie. I used to pine sore fur the
country; but it have come hover me lately that in winter it 'ud be
dull--scarcely any flowers, and no birds singing, nor nothink. Now, in
heaven there's no winter. 'A land o' pure delight,' the hymn calls it,
'and never-withering flowers.' So you see, Connie, heaven must be a
sight better than the country, and of course I'd rayther go there; only
I'm thinking as 'tis sech a pity 'bout Sue."

"Yes, I wish as Sue was home," said Connie.

"Connie dear, couldn't we send her a message to come straight home to me
now? I'm so feared as she'll fret real hard ef she comes wid news of
that cottage and finds me gone."

"I'll look fur her; I will find her," said Connie with sudden energy.
Then she rose and drew down the blinds.

"I'll find Sue ef I can, Giles; and now you will go to sleep."

"Will you sing to me? When you sing, and I drop off to sleep listening,
I allers dream arterwards of heaven."

"What shall I sing?"

"'There is a land of pure delight.'"

CHAPTER XXXVI.

A CRISIS.

Connie went downstairs and stood in the doorway. She had gone through a
good deal during these last adventurous weeks, and although still it
seemed to those who knew her that Connie had quite the prettiest face in
all the world, it was slightly haggard now for a girl of fourteen years,
and a little of its soft plumpness had left it.

Connie had never looked more absolutely pathetic than she did at this
moment, for her heart was full of sorrow for Giles and of anxiety with
regard to Sue. She would keep her promise to the little boy--she would
find Sue.

As she stood and thought, some of the roughest neighbors passed by,
looked at the child, were about to speak, and then went on. She was
quite in her shabby, workaday dress; there was nothing to rouse jealousy
about her clothes; and the "gel" seemed in trouble. The neighbors
guessed the reason. It was all little Giles. Little Giles was soon
"goin' aw'y."

"It do seem crool," they said one to the other, "an' that sister o' his
nowhere to be found."

Just then, who should enter the house but kind Dr. Deane. He stopped
when he saw Connie.

"I am going up to Giles," he said. "How is the little chap?"

"Worse--much worse," said Connie, the tears gathering in her eyes.

"No news of his sister, I suppose?"

"No, sir--none."

"I am sorry for that--they were such a very attached pair. I'll run up
and see the boy, and