Blake's warning. The fire was quite out, and I could see no fuel at
hand to kindle it, Mr. Bowen sat in the window trying to extract some
warmth from the dull, November sunshine; the baby crying wearily in his
arms, probably from cold and hunger combined; the other two children had
curled themselves up in an old rug, their bright eyes watching us with
eager longing, the house itself was the picture of desolation.
I shivered under my warm fur cloak, and with difficulty restrained myself
from rushing from the place; but Mrs. Blake, laying down her bundle with
a sigh of relief, bade Mr. Bowen good morning in her usual cheerful way;
he responded with equal cheerfulness, still ignorant of my presence
there. "You find us a little cold to-day," he said, as if it were the
merest accident; "but wood has given out, and the morning seems rather
cool."
I looked at him in amazement. How could he speak so calmly under the
circumstances?
"How is Mrs. Larkum, to-day?"
"Pretty low, I am sorry to say. The doctor says she needs beef-tea and
wine."
"It's easy for doctors to prescribe."
"He thinks she might come around if she had proper nourishment. But we
are in the Lord's hands," he added patiently.
"Yes, and I guess the Lord has sent one of His ravens to look after you.
Not that Miss Selwyn looks like a raven--she's more like a lily."
"Is Miss Selwyn here?" he asked, turning around eagerly.
"Yes, I reached home last evening. I am sorry to find you in such
trouble.
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