It took a great deal to frighten Polly Maybright; no discipline, no hard words, no punishments, had ever been able to induce the smallest sensation of fear in her breast. As to the moor, she had been brought up on it; she had drank[Pg 122] in its air, and felt its kindly breath on her cheeks from her earliest days. The moors were to Polly like dear, valued, but somewhat stern, friends. To be alone, even at night, in one of the small ravines of Peg-Top Moor had little in itself to alarm the moorland child.

It took Polly some time to realize that she was absolutely unable to stir a step. Struggle as she might, she could not put that badly-injured foot to the ground. Even she, brave and plucky as she was, had not the nerve to undergo this agony. She could not move, therefore she could do nothing at present to recover little Pearl. This was really the thought which distressed her. As to sleeping with her head pressed against the friendly bracken, or staying on Peg-Top Moor all night, these were small considerations. But not to be able to stir a step to find the baby, to feel that Flower was carrying the baby farther and farther away, and that Polly’s chance of ever seeing her again was growing less and less, became at last a thought of such agony that the poor little girl could scarcely keep from screaming aloud.

“And it was all my fault!” she moaned. “I forgot what father said about climbing the highest mountain. When David came to me, and told me that Flower was subject to those awful passions, I forgot all about my mountain-climbing. I did not recognize that I had come to a dangerous bit, so that I wanted the ropes of prayer and the memory of mother to pull me over it. No, I did nothing but rejoice in the knowledge that I didn’t much like Flower, and that I was very, very glad to tease her. Now I am punished. Oh, oh, what shall I do? Oh, if baby is lost! If baby dies, I shall die too! Oh, I think I’m the most miserable girl in all the world! What shall I do? Why did mother go away? Why did Flower come here? Why did I want her to come? I made a mess of the housekeeping, and now I have made a mess of the visit of the strangers. Oh, I’m the sort of girl who oughtn’t to go a step alone!—I really, really am! I think I’m the very weakest sort of girl in all the world!”

Polly sobbed and sobbed. It was not her custom to give way thus utterly, but she was in severe pain of body, and she had got a great shock when the loss of little Pearl had been announced by David.

“What shall I do?” she moaned and sobbed. “Oh, I’m the sort of girl who oughtn’t to go a step alone.”

While she cried all by herself on the moor, and the friendly stars looked down at her, and the moon came out and shone on her poor forsaken little figure, an old verse she used to say in her early childhood returned to her memory. It was the verse of a hymn—a hymn her mother was fond of, and used often to sing, particularly about the time of the New Year, to the children.

Mrs. Maybright had a beautiful voice, and on Sunday evenings she sang many hymns, with wonderful pathos and feeling, to her children. Polly, who cared for music on her[Pg 123] own account, had loved to listen. At these times she always looked hungrily into her mother’s face, and a longing and a desire for the best things of all awoke in her breast. It was at such times as these that she made resolves, and thought of climbing high and being better than others.

Since her mother’s death, Polly could not bear to listen to hymns. In church she had tried to shut her ears; her lips were closed tight, and she diligently read to herself some other part of the service. For her mother’s sake, the hymns, with that one beautiful voice silent, were torture to her; but Polly was a very proud girl, and no one, not even her father, who now came nearest to her in all the world, guessed what she suffered.

Now, lying on the moor, her mother’s favorite hymn seemed to float down from the stars to her ears:

“I know not the way I am going,
But well do I know my Guide;
With a trusting faith I give my hand
To the loving Friend at my side.”

“The only thing that I say to Him
As He takes it is, ‘Hold it fast!
Suffer me not to lose my way,
And bring me home at last!’”

It did not seem at all to Polly that she was repeating these words herself; rather they seemed to be said to her gently, slowly, distinctly, by a well-loved and familiar voice.

It was true, then, there was a Guide, and those who were afraid to go alone could hold a Hand which would never lead them astray.

Her bitter sobs came more quietly as she thought of this. Gradually her eyes closed, and she fell asleep.

When Flower started across the moor it was quite true that she was not in the least afraid. A great terror had come to her that night; during those awful minutes when she feared the baby was dead, the terror of the deed she had done had almost stunned her; but when Maggie came and relieved her of her worst agony, a good deal of her old manner and a considerable amount of her old haughty, defiant spirit had returned.

Flower was more or less uncivilized; there was a good deal of the wild and of the untamed about her; and now that the baby was alive, and likely to do well, overwhelming contrition for the deed she had done no longer oppressed her.

She stepped along as quickly as her uncomfortable boots would admit. The moonlight fell full on her slender figure, and cast a cold radiance over her uncovered head. Her long, yellow hair floated down over her shoulders; she looked wonderfully ethereal, almost unearthly, and had any of............