The evening was long and gloomy, but Rosa was kept busily employed, carrying out the peremptory commands of the cripple.  She bathed and tenderly rubbed the offending ankle till her arm ached cruelly.

At last, with a sigh of relief, wrapping herself up in a blanket and lying down upon the floor, she dreamed till morning of mother, the beautiful land, and of Jesus who paid the fare.

For three weeks Mrs. Gray was unable to take a step except by using a crutch, the pain at times being so severe that sewing was out of the question.

Her slender savings not being sufficient to meet the emergency of the case, Rosa in her spare moments was obliged to run errands, tend babies while the mothers were out working, or to do anything else chancing to come her way.

Her allowance of food often was meager, though never once did she complain.  Every day she was growing more thin and pale, her eyes more large and lustrous, while her heart was almost breaking.

Night after night the swollen ankle had to be gently rubbed, or Mrs. Gray could not sleep.  No word of praise ever escaped the cruel lips, but fretting, scolding, and threats of the much talked of “lickin’” for that grease spot upon the floor were the only reward the weary little worker ever received.

There was one, however, though his mind was badly shattered, who saw and understood, causing the feeble old man to suffer quite as intensely as did the child.

They could snatch opportunities only now and then for a word, fearing that the ever-vigilant Mrs. Gray might discover their cherished secret.

“Be brave, dearie,” grandpa would sometimes whisper, “the very first chance, you know!” Then Rosa’s pensive face would light up with a smile angelic, reflecting some of the very beauty itself of the land of which they were so earnestly thinking.

One Thursday afternoon, just as Mrs. Gray was beginning to walk again, the postman stopped with a letter, a rare occurrence.

“Land sakes, who can it be from?” she exclaimed, scrutinizing the envelope quite long enough to have read the letter through.

“I’d like to awful well,” at last she soliloquized, “but don’t ’spose it’d be safe to leave grandpa and Rosa here alone.  No tellin’ what they’d be up to.  There ain’t many that’d be as self-sacrificin’ as I am, and keep an old man that ain’t got a drop of your own blood, then take in as good as a street waif, too.  If it wuzn’t fer them, I’d do it, I jest would!”

Rosa’s curiosity was aroused, but experience had taught her the futility of asking questions.

“Rosa,” commanded the speaker, “bring me that tin can up there on the shelf.

“I guess I could manage the streetcar fare,” she announced a few minutes later, counting over several times Rosa’s earnings in pennies, nickels and dimes.

“My old neighbor over on the south side wants me to come tomorrow and stay till Monday.  Bein’ that I’ve had it so awful hard, I jest guess I’ll do it, and you can git along the best way you can.  Let me see:  I’ll go tomorrow afternoon, and be gone all day Saturday and Sunday and till late Monday afternoon.  I’ll leave you fifteen cents apiece to live on, and I guess you won’t starve.”