"You mustn't excite her any more to-night," said the nurse then, coming forward; "seeing," she added, "that you have given the poor little thing relief. You can come again to-morrow; but now she must stay quiet."

Late as the hour was when Harris and Connie left St. Thomas's Hospital, Harris turned to Connie.

"I've some'ut to do--and to-night. Shall I take yer 'ome first, or wull yer come with me?"

"Oh, I will come with you, father," said Connie.

"Wull then, come along."

They walked far--almost as far as Cheapside. Connie could not imagine why her father was taking her into a certain dingy street, and why he suddenly stopped at a door which had not yet been shut for the night.

"I thought as there were a chance of findin' him up," he said. "Come right in, gel."

Connie entered, and the next minute Harris was addressing the p.a.w.nbroker from whom he had stolen the locket.

"I 'ave a word to say with you," he remarked; and then he related the circ.u.mstances of that day, several weeks ago now.

"But we found it," said the p.a.w.nbroker, "in the pocket of the young gel."

"It was I as put it there," said Harris. "It was I--the meanest wretch on 'arth. But I've come to my senses at last. You can lock me up ef yer like. I'll stay 'ere; I won't even leave the shop ef yer want to deliver the real thief over to justice."

The p.a.w.nbroker stared at the man; then he looked at Connie. There is no saying what he might have done; but Connie's face, with its pleading expression, was enough to disarm any one.

"The fact is," he began "this sort o' thing ought to be punished, or however could poor folks live? But it's a queer thing. When the young gel vanished, as it seemed, into the depths of the 'arth, and I 'ad got my property back, I tuk no further trouble. In course, now that you 'ave delivered yerself up, it seems a'most fair that the law should take its course."

"That's wot I think," said Harris. "Make a short job of it, man. Call in a constable; 'e can take me to Bow Street to-night."

"No 'urry, man," said the p.a.w.nbroker. "I want yer to tell me some'ut more. Is that other little party alive or dead? It seems to me as though the 'arth must 'ave swallered her up."

"I will tell you," said Connie; and she did relate Sue's story--as much as she knew of it--and with such pathos that even that p.a.w.nbroker, one of the hardest of men, felt a queer softness about his heart.

"Wull," he said--"wull, it's a queer world! To think o' that child plannin' things out like that! And ef she ad come to me, I might ha'

believed her, too. Wull now, she be a fine little crittur. An'

s'pose"--he glanced at Harris--"I don't prosecute you, there's no call, to my way o' thinkin'. And the fact is, I'm too busy to be long out of the shop. Don't you steal no more, neighbor. You ha' got off dirt-cheap this time, but don't you steal no more."

CHAPTER x.x.xVII.

THE HAPPY GATHERING.

There came a day in the early spring of that year when a great many pleasant things happened to the people who have been mentioned in this story.

Connie's room was very bright with flowers--spring flowers--which had been sent to her all the way from Eastborough by Mrs. Cricket.

Quant.i.ties of primroses were placed in a huge bowl, and the sun came feebly in at the window and seemed to kiss and bless the flowers. There were also some early b.u.t.tercups and quant.i.ties of violets.

Giles was neither better nor worse, but perhaps on this day he was a little bit on the side of better. It was so beautiful to think that Sue was coming back!

Oh, this was a wonderful day! Sue was well again; Connie was happy; Harris was never tired of doing all he could both for Connie and Giles; and other people were happy too, for Sue's return was to be marked by a sort of holiday--a sort of general feast.

To this feast was invited--first, Mrs. Anderson; then Ronald, who happened to be staying in London and was deeply excited at the thought of seeing Connie once more; and also dear Father John, who would not have missed such an occasion for the wide world. Of course, Pickles could not be left out of such a gathering; but he could scarcely be considered a guest, for did he not belong, so to speak, to the family, and was not dear Sue, in particular, his special property?

Mrs. Anderson supplied the good things for the feast. This she insisted upon. So Connie spread quite a lordly board--cold meats not a few, some special delicacies for Giles, and a splendid frosted cake with the word "Cinderella" written in pink fairy writing across the top. This special cake had been made by Mrs. Price, and Pickles had brought it and laid it with immense pride on a dish in the centre of the table.

"Yus," said Connie, "it do look purty, don't it? Wot with good things to eat, and wot with flowers, it's quite wonderful."

When everything was arranged, Connie went into a little room to put on once again her dark-blue dress, and to unplait her thick hair and allow it to fall over her shoulders.

"It's for Ronald," she said. "Ronald wouldn't know me without my hair down."

Then, one by one, the visitors made their appearance--Father John, who sat down by Giles's side and held his hand, and by his mere presence gave the boy the greatest possible comfort; and Pickles, whose face was shining with hard rubbing and soap and water, and whose red hair stuck upright all over his head. Then Mrs. Anderson came in and sat down, and gave a gentle look first at Giles and then at Connie; and Connie felt that she loved her better than ever, and Giles wondered if he would meet many with faces like hers in heaven.

In short, every one had arrived at last except the little heroine. But hark! there was a sound outside as though some vehicle had stopped at the door. Giles's breath came fast. There were steps on the stairs, and two porters from the hospital carried Sue in between them.

"Oh, I can really walk," she said. "And oh, Giles--Giles!--Please put me down, porter; I really, really can walk."

"Jest as himpatient as ever, Cinderella!" said Pickles, who always tried, as was his custom, to be specially funny in pathetic times.

Sue glanced at him, but could not speak just then. There are moments in our lives when no words will come. She went up to Giles and hid her face on his pillow. Poor little Sue had a bitterly hard fight with herself, for that face, which belonged not to earth, unnerved her, notwithstanding the rapture of seeing it once again. But Giles himself was the first to recover composure.

"We are 'avin' such a feast!" he said. "An' it's all _so_ beautiful! Now then, Sue I do 'ope as ye're 'ungry."

After that Ronald spoke and made the others laugh; and Sue bustled about, just as though she were at home, and Connie helped her; and very soon they all crowded round the table, except Giles, who had his dainty morsels brought to him by Sue's own hands.

Thus they ate and laughed and were merry, although perhaps the laughter was a little subdued and the merriment a trifle forced.

It was when the feast was quite over that Father John spoke a few words--just a very few--about the love and goodness of G.o.d, and how He had brought His wandering sheep home again to the fold, and how He had helped Connie in dark times, and Ronald in dark times, and Sue in dark times.

"And He is helping Giles, and will be with him to the end," said the street preacher. "And now," he added, "I think Giles is very tired and would like to be all alone with Sue. Suppose, neighbors, we go into the next room."

The opening of the door of the next room was one of the surprises which had been planned by Connie and her father. As he was now earning such really excellent wages, and as he had taken the pledge and meant to keep it, he felt he was ent.i.tled to another room. It was neatly furnished.

There was a fire burning in the grate, and there were white muslin curtains to the windows. Connie spoke of it with great pride as the "drawing-room," and Pickles a.s.sured her that even to set foot in that room was enough to make Connie a "lydy" on the spot.

When they were alone Sue and Giles talked softly one to the other.

"The blessed Woice," said Sue, "'ave been with me all the w'y."

"And with me," said Giles.

"You won't go jest yet, Giles," said Sue.

"Wery soon--but not quite yet," he answered.

Sue smiled and kissed his hand, and they talked as those who have been long parted, and know they must be parted soon again, will talk, when heart meets heart.

In the other room people were not more cheerful, but at least more glad.