“Then,” she said, “I can’t go to the beautiful land till He sends for me!  I do wish He would send soon.”

“No, but He surely will send some day, Rosa, and perhaps He wants you to teach others how to get there.”

“If He does, then I’m willing to stay, ’cause so many don’t know.”

In her broken childish way, Rosa told of the many and varied experiences befalling her and grandpa since mother moved.

Esther and her father were greatly touched by the pathos of the narrative, but what left the deepest impression was that in her eager quest she could find no one for so long to help her.

There in the privacy of their carriage they gave themselves anew to the work of the Lord, pledging never again to let a known opportunity to speak to a needy soul pass by.

Grandpa, like a tired child, was resting his head upon the shoulder of his new friend during the drive, and it was evident that he was very ill.  The fever was returning, the mind partially wandering, but the soul rejoicing in the light of that land which he so soon was to enter.

“Ah, Rosa,” he murmured over and over, “I told you so.  Jesus is the way, Jesus is the way!  I’m mighty glad it’s all come back, but Tom he said ‘twould, and I think he’ a-comin’ now to git me.”

Upon their arrival home, with tender hands the weary old man was put to bed, while Esther took charge of Rosa, clothing her in more suitable garments, and talking simply of the Shepherd who seeks the wandering lambs.

[Illustration]

VII.

Victory!

The deserted rooms on Burton street suddenly became the scene of great activity early Monday afternoon.

Mrs. Gray’s supersensitive conscience would not admit of her neglecting her charges, so in consequence her visit was made a few hours shorter than first planned.

The fire was out, and no trace could she find of Rosa and grandpa.  She “hollered till her throat was sore,” looked in every reasonable—­and unreasonable—­corner, searched up and down the hall, inquired of her neighbors, visited the corner grocery, but all to no avail.

“Land sakes!” over and over she repeated to a group of interested spectators, “I might a-know’d better’n to have gone off and left them.  This is jest my luck, anyhow.  The first time I’ve been away in five years, then have this happen.  I’m jest real provoked, and I don’t think a body could blame me, either.  But it all comes of me bein’ so obligin’.  If it wuzn’t fer my tender heart, I’d never kep’ Tom’s father, nor took Mis’ Browning’s young one, then I could come and go as I pleased and not be pestered this way.  There ain’t many that’d do fer others what I do, and I never git no thanks fer it, neither.  If I hadn’t had father to board all these years, I might have somethin’ laid up fer a rainy day, and there ain’t nobody but what’ll say I’m industrious and savin’.