And there sat by the empty fireplace, which was filled with a pot of sweet herbs, the nicest old woman that ever was seen, in her red petticoat, and short dimity bedgown, and clean white cap, with a black silk handkerchief over it, tied under her chin.  At her feet sat the grandfather of all the cats; and opposite her sat, on two benches, twelve or fourteen neat, rosy, chubby little children, learning their Chris-cross-row; [Footnote:  Chris-cross-row is an old name for the alphabet] and gabble enough they made about it.

[Illustration:  The old dame looked at Tom]

Such a pleasant cottage it was, with a shiny clean stone floor, and curious old prints on the walls, and an old black oak sideboard full of bright pewter and brass dishes, and a cuckoo clock in the corner, which began shouting as soon as Tom appeared; not that it was frightened at Tom, but that it was just eleven o’clock.

All the children started at Tom’s dirty black figure,—­the girls began to cry, and the boys began to laugh, and all pointed at him rudely enough; but Tom was too tired to care for that.

“What art thou, and what dost want?” cried the old dame.  “A chimney-sweep!  Away with thee!  I’ll have no sweeps here.”

“Water,” said poor little Tom, quite faint.

“Water?  There’s plenty i’ the beck,” she said, quite sharply.

“But I can’t get there; I’m most clemmed with hunger and drought.”  And Tom sank down upon the doorstep, and laid his head against the post.

And the old dame looked at him through her spectacles one minute, and two, and three; and then she said, “He’s sick; and a bairn’s a bairn, sweep or none.”

“Water,” said Tom.

“God forgive me!” and she put by her spectacles, and rose, and came to Tom.  “Water’s bad for thee; I’ll give thee milk.”  And she toddled off into the next room, and brought a cup of milk and a bit of bread.

Tom drank the milk off at one draught, and then looked up, revived.

“Where didst come from?” said the dame.

“Over Fell, there,” said Tom, and pointed up into the sky.

“Over Harthover? and down Lewthwaite Crag?  Art sure thou are not lying?”

“Why should I?” said Tom, and leant his head against the post.

“And how got ye up there?”

“I came over from the Place;” and Tom was so tired and desperate he had no heart or time to think of a story, so he told all the truth in a few words.

“Bless thy little heart!  And thou hast not been stealing, then?”

“No.”

Bless thy little heart; and I’ll warrant not.  Why, God’s guided the bairn, because he was innocent!  Away from the Place, and over Harthover Fell, and down Lewthwaite Crag!  Who ever heard the like, if God hadn’t led him?  Why dost not eat thy bread?”

“I can’t.”

“It’s good enough, for I made it myself.”