think of one.

"But I'll tell you what, Mr. Ringgan," he concluded, "I'll turn it over in
my mind to-night and see if I can think of any thing that'll do, and if I
can I'll let you know. If we hadn't such a nether millstone to deal with,
it would be easy enough to work it somehow."

So they set forth homewards again.

"Cheer up, dear!" said the old gentleman heartily, laying one hand on his
little granddaughter's lap,--"it will be arranged somehow. Don't you worry
your little head with business. God will take care of us."

"Yes, grandpa!" said the little girl, looking up with an instant sense of
relief at these words; and then looking down again immediately to burst
into tears.




Chapter II.



Have you seen but a bright lily grow,
Before rude hands have touch'd it?
Ha' you mark'd but the fall o' the snow,
Before the soil hath smutch'd it?

Ben Jonson.