Camilla broke the seal and read it.  It was from Alfred Austin Wemyss, Rector of St. Agnes, Tillbury Road, County of Kent, England.

It was a stately letter, becoming a rector, dignified and chaste in its language.  It was the letter of a dignitary of the Church to an unknown and obscure child in a distant land, but it told of a father and mother’s gratitude for a son’s life saved, it breathed an admiration for the little girl’s devotion and heroism, and a love for her that would last as long as life itself.

Pearl sat in mute wonder, as Camilla read—­that could not mean her!

We do not mean to offer money as a payment for what you have done, dear child (Camilla read on), for such a service of love can only be paid in love; but we ask you to accept from us this gift as our own daughter would accept it if we had had one, and we will be glad to think that it has been a help to you in the securing of an education.  Our brother, the bishop, wishes you to take from him a gift of 20 pounds, and it is his desire that you should spend it in whatever way will give you the most pleasure.  We are, dear Pearl,

Your grateful friends,
Alfred A. and Mary Wemyss.

“Here is a Bank of England draft for 120 pounds, nearly $600,” Camilla said, as she finished the letter.

The Watson family sat dumb with astonishment.

“God help us!” Mrs. Watson cried at last.

“He has,” Camilla said reverently.

Then Pearl threw her arms around her mother’s neck and kissed her over and over again.

“Ma, dear,” she cried, “ye’ll git it now, what I always wanted ye to have, a fur-lined cape, and not lined wid rabbit, or squirrel or skunk either, but with the real vermin! and it wasn’t bad luck to have Mrs. McGuire cross me path when I was going out.  But they can’t mane me, Camilla, sure what did I do?”

But Camilla and Jim stood firm, the money was for her and her only.  Everyone knew, Jim said, that if she had not stayed with Arthur that long night and watched for the doctor, that Arthur would have been dead in the morning.  And Arthur had told him a dozen times, Jim said, that Pearl had saved his life.

“Well then, ’t was aisy saved,” Pearl declared, “if I saved it.”

Just then Dr. Clay came in with a letter in his hand.

“My business is with this young lady,” he said as he sat on the chair Mrs. Watson had wiped for him, and drew Pearl gently toward him.  “Pearl, I got some money to-night that doesn’t belong to me.”

“So did I,” Pearl said.

“No, you deserve all yours, but I don’t deserve a cent.  If it hadn’t been for this little girl of yours, Mr. Watson, that young Englishman would have been a dead man.”

“Faith, that’s what they do be sayin’, but I don’t see how that wuz.  You’re the man yerself Doc,” John replied, taking his pipe from his mouth.

“No,” the doctor went on.  “I would have let him die if Pearl hadn’t held me up to it and made me operate.”