The confession had been made, the story told, and, to her unspeakable
joy and relief, Huldah had not been sent to Uncle Tom or to the
workhouse. The latter fate she had dreaded even more than the
former, for if she had been sent to the workhouse she certainly would
have had to part with Dick; whereas, if she had gone back to the
caravan, she would have had both him and Charlie, and she would
rather endure hunger and beatings than lose Dick.

She had, though, escaped both fates, and life for the time seemed to
Huldah almost too beautiful to be anything but a dream, for it had
been arranged that both she and Dick were to stay on for the present
with Martha Perry in the cottage. Since the night of the attempted
robbery Mrs. Perry had been very ailing and nervous. She could not
bear Dick to leave the house, when once twilight began to fall, and
she would not have stayed there at all at night without him. She had
grown to rely on the lanky yellow creature as though he had been a
man. No harm, she felt, could come to her or her hens, as long as
Dick was about the house or garden.

She needed company and help too, so Huldah was to stay on, to keep
the cottage tidy, and run the errands, and be at hand, in case Mrs.
Perry was ill again.

A tiny room, which was scarcely more than a cupboard or a 'lean-to'
jutting out over the scullery, was transformed into a bedroom for
Huldah. A little iron bed was sent down from the vicarage, and
sheets and blankets, a chair, and even a little square looking-glass
to hang on the wall. Huldah was in a perfect turmoil of glad
excitement. She thought her room perfectly beautiful, and from the