She would have the same room still, for Mrs. Lang had handed over the house and everything in it, including the lodgers, to some people who wanted a small lodging-house of the kind; but who they were, or what they would be like, was all unknown to Miss Patch.

If, though, she did not show her own feelings then, Jessie found them out a little later.  Going unexpectedly up to Miss Patch’s room to present her with a geranium which had been one of her own particular treasures, given her by Tom Salter, she found the poor old head bowed on the table, and the poor thin body shaking with sobs.  Jessie, in great distress, dropped her geranium and ran to her.

“What is it?  What has happened?” she cried.  “Oh, Miss Patch, do tell me,” and throwing her warm little arms about her old friend, she began to sob, too.

But Miss Patch’s self-control had given way at last, and recover herself she could not.  Jessie tried to soothe and coax her, but without effect, and she stood beside her at last hopeless, helpless.  Her brain was busy, though, and presently light came to her.

“Miss Patch,” she said softly, “is it because we are all going away—­ and you will be left here alone?” Her own voice quavered at the thought.

One of Miss Patch’s arms crept round Jessie and drew her close in an almost convulsive grasp.  “Yes,” she whispered in a choked voice, “I can’t—­I can’t face it—­the loneliness it—­it—­”

A sudden beautiful idea came to Jessie.  “Don’t stay!” she cried impulsively, without a thought as to ways, or means, or any of the other practical points, “come home with me, come to Springbrook,” she cried excitedly.  “Oh, do, do, Miss Patch, do.  I want you to see granp and granny, and I want them to know you, and—­and, oh, it’s lovely there, and you wouldn’t be lonely, you’d have me and granp and granny; and—­and it wouldn’t cost more, I am sure,” she added practically, “it is ever such a cheap place to live in; and—­and we would find you a nice room, and, oh, the flowers you’d have—­” She had to stop at last from sheer want of breath.  But by the time she had done Miss Patch had checked her tears and raised her head, and was staring at Jessie with wide, bright, half-frightened eyes, her face flushed and excited.

“I—­it—­oh no, it can’t be; but—­but, oh, how heavenly it sounds to a lonely body like me!” she gasped.

“But it can be,” cried eager Jessie.  “I am sure it can, and it would be lovelier even than it sounds.”

“But how could I manage?” gasped Miss Patch, looking dejected again.  “Think of my lameness—­and there’s my furniture.”

Jessie looked about her.  “There isn’t very much of it,” she said thoughtfully.  “I am sure it isn’t enough to stop your coming.”  And she was right, for, after all, there was but the old-fashioned bed and chest of drawers, a chair or two and a couple of tables, and a few boxes and other trifles.  “Would you go if your things got there without any trouble—­I mean, without any more trouble than changing houses would be?  You see,” she added wisely, “if you don’t like the new people who are coming, you may have to change, after all, and then you won’t have any one to help you.”