oke more than words.

"I've thought dozens of times of that poor little child," the woman
remarked next day to one of the porters; "the man looked so cruel and
horrid, and the child so frightened. I should like to know the truth
about them. I am sure he was unkind to her."

Once inside the railway carriage, Jessie's father put her to sit in
the corner by the window, and seated himself next to her. He was so
anxious that no one should speak to her that he even gave up the
comfortable corner seat himself, and sat bolt upright beside her, a
bit of self-denial which did not improve his temper, which was at no
time a sweet one; and when at last Waterloo was reached, it was with
no gentle hand that he shook and roused her from the kindly sleep
which had fallen on her again, and blotted for the time all her woes
from her memory.

With a shock Jessie started to her feet, staring about her with wide,
dazed, sleep-filled eyes. "Wake up, can't you? I can't stay here
all night while you has your sleep out!"

No one else ever spoke to her in that tone and manner. In a moment
poor Jessie's eyes and brain were as wide awake and alert as fear
could force them. That dreaded voice would rouse her from the sleep
of death almost, she thought. Shaking with cold and dread, she
followed him along the lighted platform, and out into the gloom and
squalor of the streets.

A heavy rain was coming down in sheets, driven in their faces by a
cold, gusty wind. It hit the pavement and splashed up against her
cold little legs and ankles until they were soaked through; it beat
on her face until she was nearly blinded; and, bewildered by the
bright lights, and the deep shadows, and the glitter of the wet
streets in the light of the lamps, she would soon have been lost
indeed, had her father not caught her by the hand.

On they went, and on and on, an endless distance it seemed to Jessie.
Her father never once spoke to her, and she was afraid to speak to
him. At last, though, she summoned up courage. "Where are we going,
father?"

"Home."

"Are we nearly there?"

"You'll know in time, so hold your noise."

She "held her noise." At least she did not venture to speak again,
and "in time" she did know, but it was a long time first.

Jessie had long been too tired to notice anything that was passing,
and when at last they did stop before a house, and went up to the
door of it, she was too exhausted to notice the place or the house,