At last it was over; the last audience had left, the brilliant stars
disappeared, and Rosalie was at liberty to creep back to her mother. So
weary and exhausted was she, that she could hardly drag herself up the
caravan steps. She opened the door very gently, that she might not disturb
her mother, and then she tried to undress herself. But she was aching in
every limb, and, sitting down on the box beside her mother's bed, she fell
asleep, her little weary head resting on her mother's pillow.

Poor little woman! She ought to have been laid in a quiet little nest hours
ago, instead of being exposed to the close, hot, stifling air of the
theatre through all the long hours of a weary night.

In about an hour's time her mother woke, and found her little girl sleeping
in her uncomfortable position, her white dress unfastened, and the pink
roses from her hair fallen on the ground. Weak as she was, the poor mother
dragged herself out of bed to help her tired child to undress.

'Rosalie, dear,' she said tenderly, 'wake up!'

But for some time Rosalie did not stir, and, when her mother touched her,
she sat up, and said, as if in her sleep--

'"Rejoice with Me, for I have found My sheep which was lost."'

'She is dreaming of her picture, poor child,' said the mother to herself.

Then Rosalie woke, and shivered as she felt the cold night air on her bare
neck and arms. Very gently the poor weak mother helped her to take off her
white dress and her small ragged petticoats; and then the child crept into
bed and into her mother's arms.