CHAPTER XV. OLD MOSES AND LITTLE Ꭺ Ꭰ Ꭺ Ꮋ . "Jerusalem, Jerusalem! enthroned once on high, Thou favoured home of God on earth, thou heaven below the sky, HEBER. THE work at the huts was for a time suspended, as Rowland went abroad, and Ethelda was many weeks in regaining her former strength. And yet it was only man's work that was stayed-God's work could not be hindered. The seed had been cast on the waters, and it was springing up, the husbandman knew not how. Though no human hand watered or nurtured the same, God was watching and quickening it, and preparing it to accomplish that which He pleased. The grief of the poor people was great when they heard of Ethelda's sad accident; and daily did Peter find his way up to the Hall, to inquire after the good young lady, and sometimes he carried sea-anemones, such as the young gentleman had sought, or a bouquet of the sweet dwarf-roses that abounded on the links, or sometimes a small basket filled with the shrimps he had risen early to catch. When Ethelda knew of his visits, she would send out a little book or a hymn, and the cook was not unfrequently ordered to fill his basket with oatmeal, with vegetables, or with broken bread. Peter's father always greedily laid hold of the little book. He first read it to himself, then to his boy, and afterwards he sometimes read it to his neighbours. Ethelda's words had touched a chord in that poor Irishman's heart; they had directed him the road to heaven, and with the help of that word, which David experienced as a light unto his feet, he was following on to know the Lord. "Peter lad, suppose we go to the church at Alleyne yonder this afternoon," he said to his son, some Sundays after the accident. "I would give something to see the young lady's face again, and I don't think there's no great harm in going, for I 'spect the place where they read this Holy Book is not so very unholy afther all." "Ay, that'll be nice, father; the Book I'm sure is good, though they said it was bad: and, maybe, the place will be the very same." "Ay, the milk is often said to be sour when it's not wanted to be drunken; but, lad, what for your jacket and shoes? "Well, father, I'll have mother sew this patch in again; and as for shoes, father, it isn't cold, and my feet will do." "That's not bad thought of; but I fear the people will stare at you uncommon." "I sha'n't look at all the eyes, father; I shall just look at the lady's on the earth, and think of the great God's in the heavens; and neither of them will think less of Peter, for he hasn't shoes." And so Peter and his father found their way to God's holy house. They heard His word-they received it as those who find great spoil. "The sheep that was lost," formed the subject of that afternoon's sermon; and on the two following Sundays the minister said he would speak of the sheep that was sought and the sheep that was found. Though neither Peter nor his father could see Ethelda, they had not attended God's house in vain: they felt that the clergyman spoke of themselves; they felt a longing to hear about the seeking of the lost; they rejoiced in what they heard, and they determined to go again on the following Sunday. Two more Sundays passed, and Peter, to his great joy, observed his dear young lady come into church, leaning on her venerable parent. She looked pale and weak, but the Irish boy thought her more beautiful than ever; and she saw him in the porch as she passed out, and told him to call at Alleyne on the morrow. And in her turn Ethelda was well pleased to find how greatly increased was Peter's biblical knowledge, how readily and simply he explained the gospel message, how firmly he believed in the Shepherd's care for the wandering sheep, and how well he could narrate the relations of the Saviour's life and death. She thanked her God, and took courage, and in her beautiful little apartment, on her soft Turkey carpet, the very contrast of poor Peter's hut, she and the boy knelt, and prayed to their one Father, who is in heaven. She told Peter that she was going from home for some weeks, but sent him to Edward Arnold's, that he might be measured for a church-going pair of shoes, and she felt assured that Edward and her favourite Peter would soon become true and steady friends. A few days more and Mr. Alleyne and his family were in the Highlands of Scotland, enjoying the fresh mountain air, and delighting in the picturesque scenery. Standing on the deck of the small steamer that conveyed them to the Isle of Arran, they observed near them an old, greyhaired man, whose long white beard, aquiline nose, and quick dark eye, seemed to mark him of the royal race of Israel. A beautiful black-eyed child stood beside him. She was watching with her grandsire the steamboat's approach to the rocky mountains of that island, and observing the waves as they gently rolled round and beneath the vessel. One billow, rather larger than the other, throwing down the little one upon the deck, Ethelda, who was standing near, raised the child. She soon soothed her cries, and little Harry put in her hand some of the grapes, which remained from the bunch that he had been eating. The child looked pleased, but her grandfather, though he bowed, and very politely expressed his thanks, drew the little Adah to himself, and by his manner betokened a wish for no farther notice of him or of his young charge. Harry did not understand this. The beautiful child held under her arm a small Scotch terrier, and the dog's funny face, hidden beneath its long silky hair, and the child's bright and coyish smiles, attracted little Harry till he pulled Boosa to stand with him very near the Jewish girl; then, whispering rather shyly, "May I touch it?" he placed his hand over its head, and pretended to jump away as the animal put out its tongue, to show its appreciation of the young master's notice. Adah laughed at Harry's fears, and putting her own little hand forward, caressed the pretty plaything, calling, "Skye, Skye, Skye!" "Skye!" said Harry; "why do you call it that? Dogs don't come from the sky." "Did you never hear that it sometimes rains cats and dogs?" said a gentleman, who, standing near, had been amused with Harry's exclamation. Harry turned round and looked at him very earnestly. "I never saw it rain cats and dogs; does it?" "To be sure, very often, as long as my arm sometimes." "And did this doggie, this dear little thing, come from the sky?" said Harry, looking first at the gentleman, and then at Adah. "I wish it would rain cats and dogs now." The gentleman laughed at the little child's earnestness and turned away, but Harry evidently was perplexed. Aunt Ethelda was not near, to ask if it were quite true, and |