After a sound night’s rest in the little cottage, Nell rose early, and was attempting to make the room in which she had supped last night neat and comfortable, when their kind host came in.  She asked leave to prepare breakfast, and the three soon partook of it together.  While the meal was in progress, their host remarked that the old man stood in need of rest, and that he should be glad of their company for another night.  It required no great persuasion to induce the child to answer that they would remain.  She was happy to show her gratitude to the kind schoolmaster by performing such household duties as his little cottage stood in need of.  When these were done, she took some needlework from her basket, and sat down beside the lattice, where the honeysuckle and woodbine filled the room with their delicious breath.  Her grandfather was basking in the sun outside, breathing the perfume of the flowers, and idly watching the clouds as they floated on before the light summer wind.  Presently the schoolmaster took his seat behind his desk, and as he seemed pleased to have little Nell beside him, she busied herself with her work, entering into conversation with the schoolmaster while the scholars conned their lessons, and watching the boys with eager and attentive interest.

Upon the following morning there remained for the travellers only to take leave of the poor schoolmaster, and wander forth once more.  With a trembling and reluctant hand, the child held out to their kind host the money which the lady had given her at the races for her flowers, faltering in her thanks, and blushing as she offered it.  But he bade her put it up, and kissing her cheek, wished her good fortune and happiness, adding, “If you ever pass this way again, you will not forget the little village school?”

“We shall never forget it, sir,” rejoined Nell, “nor ever forget to be grateful to you for your kindness to us.”

They bade him farewell very many times, often looking back, until they could see him no more.  They trudged onward now at a quicker pace, resolving to keep the main road, and go wherever it might lead them.  The afternoon had worn away into a beautiful evening when the road struck across a common.  On the border of this common, a caravan was drawn up to rest.

It was not a shabby, dingy cart, but a smart little house upon wheels, with white dimity curtains festooning the windows, and window-shutters of green picked out with panels of a staring red.  Neither was it a poor caravan drawn by a single donkey or emaciated horse, for a pair of horses in pretty good condition were released from the shafts, and grazing upon the frowzy grass.  Neither was it a gypsy caravan, for at the open door (graced with a bright brass knocker) sat a Christian lady, stout and comfortable to look upon, who wore a large bonnet, trembling with bows.  And that it was not an unprovided or destitute caravan, was clear from this lady’s occupation, which was the very refreshing one of drinking tea.  The tea things were set forth upon a drum covered with a napkin; and there sat this roving lady, taking her tea and enjoying the prospect.  As she was in the act of setting down her cup, she beheld an old man and a young child walking slowly by, and glancing at her proceedings with eyes of modest but hungry admiration.