If ever poor little girls found themselves in a sad plight it was the two who now huddled close together in the hermit’s hut. Even Polly was thoroughly frightened, and as to Maggie, nothing but the angry growls of Cinder restrained the violence of her sobs.

“Oh, ain’t a hermit’s life awful!” she whispered more than once to her companion. “Oh! Miss Polly, why did you speak of Peg-Top Moor, and the hermit’s hut, and berries and water?”

“Don’t be silly, Maggie,” said Polly, “I did not mention the wife of Micah Jones, nor these dreadful dogs. This is a misfortune, and we must bear it as best we can. Have you none of the spirit of a heroine in you, Maggie; don’t you know that in all the story-books, when the heroines run away, they come to dreadful grief? If we look at it in that light, and think of ourselves as distressed heroines, it will help us to bear up. Indeed,” continued Polly, “if it wasn’t for my having been naughty a few days ago, and perhaps father coming back to-night, I think I’d enjoy this—I would really. As it is——” Here the brave little voice broke off into a decided quaver. The night was falling, the stars were coming out in the sky, and Polly, standing in the door of the hut, with her arm thrown protectingly round Maggie’s neck, found a great rush of loneliness come over her.[Pg 74]

During those weary days spent in her bed-room, repentance, even in the most transient guise, had scarcely come near her. She was too much oppressed with a sense of injustice done to herself to be sorry about the feast in the attic. In short, all her time was spent in blaming Aunt Maria.

Now with the lonely feeling came a great soreness of heart, and an intense and painful longing for her mother. Those fits of longing which came to Polly now and then heralded in, as a rule, a tempest of grief. Wherever she was she would fling herself on the ground, and give way to most passionate weeping. Her eyes swam in tears now, she trembled slightly, but controlled herself. On Maggie’s account it would never do for her to give way. The ugly dogs came up and sniffed at her hands, and smelt her dress. Maggie screamed when they approached her, but Polly patted their heads. She was not really afraid of them, neither was she greatly alarmed at the thought of the wife of Micah Jones. What oppressed her, and brought that feeling of tightness to her throat, and that smarting weight of tears to her eyes, were the great multitude of stars in the dark-blue heavens, and the infinite and grand solitude of the moors which lay around.

The night grew darker; poor Maggie, worn out, crouched down on the ground; Polly, who had now quite made friends with Cinder, sat by Maggie’s side, and when the poor hungry little girl fell asleep, Polly let her rest her head in her lap. The dogs and the two children were all collected in the doorway of the hut, and now Polly could look more calmly up at the stars, and the tears rolled silently down her cheeks.

It was in this position that, at about a quarter to ............