This of course they could not allow.  They could never send such a child as Huldah out into the world, with only a dying woman as companion and protector, to live where and how she could, in nobody knew what dreadful haunts.  So it was decided between them that Emma Smith was to settle down amongst them, and Huldah must leave Mrs. Perry and go to live with her.  No lodgings could be found for her, for in that village the houses were not big enough to hold in comfort even the families that lived in them, and there was certainly no room for a lodger.  And houses were as scarce as lodgings.

At last a brilliant idea came to Miss Carew, and with her father’s permission she hurried off with the good news.

“You shall have the two rooms over our coach-house,” she cried, delightedly, for it was a real relief to her to feel that Huldah would be so near her, and under her own eye.  “They are a good size, and dry and airy; and we must all pull together to get what furniture we can.”

Huldah’s face grew brighter and brighter with every word Miss Rose uttered, for she had begun to fear that they would have to go elsewhere.

To be near Miss Rose, too, would help to make up for the pain of leaving Aunt Martha and Dick and the cottage, a parting which had been weighing on her more heavily than she would have liked anyone to know.  Dick, it was decided, was to remain with Mrs. Perry, for without him she declared she could not live on in the cottage when Huldah was gone.

As soon as the rooms had been cleaned and papered, the furnishing began, and that was really rather fun.  No one was rich, and no one could give much, but what they gave they gave with a will.  Miss Rose turned out some sheets and pillow-cases, a table and a chair, the vicar ordered in half a ton of coal, the doctor’s wife gave them a bed, some pieces of carpet, curtains, a kettle and an old basket chair.  Mrs. Perry gave a teapot, cups and saucers, and a rag-rug of her own making.  The doctor sent in some pots and pans, and meat and other food to put in them, and the folks in the village, who had come to know Huldah’s story, turned out something, and sent, a jug, a brush, a sack of firewood, a bar of soap, and all manner of odds and ends, every one of which came in usefully.  Huldah’s own little bed and looking-glass and odds and ends came from her bedroom in the cottage, and all together helped to make the two bare rooms look home-like and comfortable.

The furniture was scanty and shabby, but to anyone accustomed to rough it as Emma Smith had done, the place was beautiful, and full of comfort and rest.

When it was ready, and she was first taken into it, she dropped into the basket chair by the fire, and burst into grateful tears.  It was the first time she had shown any gratitude or pleasure in what was being done for her.

“It’s like ’ome,” she sobbed, weakly, “and I’ve never had one since I got married, till now,—­and now—­how I’m ever going to thank everybody, I don’t know.  I never seem able to do any good to anybody, I don’t.  ’Tis all take, with me, and no give, and I’m ashamed of it.”