Bob Middleton, closed the door of the attic which served as a bedroom for himself and his little five-year-old brother as he spoke, and stepped softly to the bedside.

No, Jackie was not asleep. He had sprung up in bed at the sound of Bob's voice, and now cried chokingly—

"Oh, Bobbie, Bobbie!"

"Why, what is the matter, old chap?" Bob, inquired. The question was needless, for he knew his little brother was crying from fear—fear of being alone in the dark. "I hoped I should find you asleep," he went on without waiting for a reply; "it was an hour ago that Aunt Martha put you to bed, and you promised you'd try to go to sleep right away."

"I did try," was the plaintive answer, followed by the anxious inquiry—"Are you coming to bed now?"

"No," said Bob, "I've only come up for a few minutes. Aunt Martha said I mustn't stay long, for she's several errands for me to do yet." He went to the window—it was low in the sloping roof—and pulled up the blind. "There, now!" he cried, "isn't that better? The moon's like a big lamp in the sky, and the stare are shining ever so brightly."

"I can see them," Jackie said, with a sobbing breath. "I wanted Aunt Martha to pull up the blind, but she wouldn't, and—and she said if I got out of bed she'd give me the stick. I hope she won't whip me again, Bobbie; she does whip so hard."

Bob set his teeth and was silent for a minute. Mrs. Mead, their Aunt Martha, was not always kind to Jackie. She was not always kind to him either, but that he felt did not matter. He and his little brother— Jackie was five years younger—had been living with Mrs. Mead for ten months, ever since the beginning of the war with Germany, when their father, a reservist, had rejoined the colours. Their previous home had been in a village some miles from Bristol, where their father had been employed on a farm.

Their mother had died when Jackie had been born, so there had been no one but Aunt Martha to take charge of them when the call to arms had taken their father from them. Mrs. Mead, who was a childless widow, kept a greengrocer's shop in a dingy street in Bristol; and, as she took lodgers, she had no room to spare her little nephews but an attic. From the boys' attic, which was at the back of the house, was a view of the river and the backs of the houses on the opposite bank—not a very cheering view for eyes accustomed to pretty wooded scenery.

"Well," Bob said, "I must be going. Don't cry any more, Jackie. There's nothing to be afraid of up here, and it's quite light now I've drawn up the blind. You can lie and watch the moon and stars. I daresay father's watching them too, out in the trenches—"

"Oh, I want father!" Jackie broke in, "I want father!"

Bob wanted his father quite as much as his little brother did; but he owned a brave heart, and, though it was very heavy, he answered cheerfully—

"I daresay he'll be home on leave soon. Here, let me cover you up!"

He tucked the bedclothes around Jackie, then hurried out of the room, leaving the door ajar. As he ran down the steep, narrow stairs he met a little old woman toiling up, followed by an ugly brown dog. He guessed who she was. There were two attics in the house, and the previous day he had heard his aunt remark that she had let the front attic to an old-age pensioner—a Mrs. Winter. No doubt this little old woman was Mrs. Winter.

"There's a dog following you!" he called out, stopping and looking after her.

"Yes," she said, glancing back at him with a smile, "he's my dog. Stray he's called. Oh, dear me, who's that crying?"

"My little brother," Bob replied; "he doesn't like being left alone— he's afraid."

He hurried on. Mrs. Winter, having reached the top stair, hesitated a minute, then, instead of going into her own attic, walked into the other, Stray at her heels.

Jackie was sitting up in bed, crying loudly. He became suddenly silent when he saw Mrs. Winter.

"Good evening!" she began. "I'm Mrs. Winter. I've come to live in the front attic, and should like to be friends with you and your brother. Now, suppose you tell me your name?"

"Jackie," the little boy answered; "I'm five," he informed her, "and Bob's ten."

Mrs. Winter took a chair by his side. He could see her face plainly in the moonlight. Such a pleasant face it was, although it was old, with bright brown eyes like a bird's and the happiest expression.

"I met your brother on the stairs," Mrs. Winter remarked, "he told me you were afraid because you were left alone. But we're never really alone you know, my dear. Jesus is always with us. Do you know about Jesus, Jackie?"

"Oh, yes," said Jackie; "I go to Sunday school. Jesus is in Heaven."

Mrs. Winter nodded. "Yes, Jesus is in Heaven," she agreed, "and He's here too. He's everywhere. No—" as Jackie glanced around the room— "we can't see Him; nevertheless He's here, and you can speak to Him whenever you like and be quite sure He'll hear you. Don't you know that when you pray you are talking to Jesus? He loves you, and wants you to love Him. Oh, He is such a good friend to have, Jackie! I wonder, now, if you said your prayers to-night?"

"No," the little boy answered; "I forgot."

"Ah! I'm not surprised you felt lonely and frightened. I tell you what, we'll pray together—just you and me. You can kneel upon the bed, and I'll kneel beside it."

They did so, whilst Mrs. Winter offered up a prayer. It was a very simple prayer, which asked Jesus to watch over Jackie and make him feel His presence so that he might not be afraid, and the little boy quite understood it.

"I like her," he said to himself, after Mrs. Winter had bidden him "good-night" and gone away, accompanied by her dog; "she's a very nice old woman. It was kind of her to come to see me. Oh, I do hope she'll come again!"

[CHAPTER II]

THE NEW LODGER

JACKIE quite meant to keep awake till Bob came to bed, but he fell asleep soon after Mrs. Winter had left him. When he awoke the bright morning sunshine was shining into the attic, and Bob was in the midst of dressing. He told him of Mrs. Winter's visit.

"It was kind of her to come," Bob said, pleased because Jackie seemed to be. "Did you like her? Yes? That's all right, then! She's going to pay Aunt Martha two shillings a week for the other attic and 'do for herself'—that means clean her own room and cook her own food. Come, tumble out of bed, Jackie, or you'll be late for breakfast!"

Quarter of an hour later the two boys went downstairs together to the kitchen, where an untidy maid-of-all-work was preparing to cook bacon for breakfast.

"I'll lay the table for you, Lizzie," Bob told her, and set about doing so, Jackie helping him.

In a short while their aunt appeared upon the scene. She was a short, stout woman, with a bustling manner and a nagging tongue.

"Past seven o'clock and breakfast not yet ready!" she began; "you must have been idling, Lizzie, for I called you in good time! Be careful what you're doing, Jackie! There, now, you careless child, you've spilt the milk—and milk such a price, too! Sit down and be quiet, for goodness sake!"

"He's helping me lay the breakfast things," Bob explained, as Mrs. Mead pushed Jackie roughly aside; "it's only a little drop of milk he's spilt, but I'll go without, then it won't matter."

Mrs. Mead made no response. She was a woman of uncertain temper, and this morning she was in an ill-humour because the lodger who rented her best rooms had given her notice yesterday to leave. She let two sets of rooms; but her lodgers did for themselves, like Mrs. Winter, so they were not much trouble to her.

Breakfast was eaten almost in silence; then Bob was sent to open the shop, and at half-past eight the boys started for school. Jackie attended an infant's school not far from home, but Bob had further to go.

When Jackie came out of school at twelve o'clock almost the first person he saw was Mrs. Winter, who was taking her dog for a walk. He stopped and looked at her, thereby attracting her attention. She did not recognise him at first glance, for he looked very different from the little boy with the tear-stained face and tear-blurred eyes she had seen last night. To-day Jackie's face was all smiles, and his eyes were as blue and clear as the summer's sky.

Her second glance, however, told her who he was, and she exclaimed—

"Why, it's Jackie! How do you do, dear? I'm so glad to meet you, and so's Stray. Come here, Stray, and make friends with Jackie!"

Jackie loved dogs, so he patted and made much of Stray; and Stray, who loved to be noticed, was delighted.

"I suppose you're going home now, Jackie?" Mrs. Winter said inquiringly.

"No," the little boy answered, "I'm going to meet Bobbie. You come too!" He slipped his hand into the old woman's as he spoke, and they walked on together, Stray running on ahead.

Jackie was very interested in Stray, and asked many questions about him. He learnt that he was a come-by-chance.

"I found him in the street one wet night, when he was a puppy," Mrs. Winter explained; "he was shivering with cold, and I think he'd have died if I hadn't taken him home with me. Next day I tried to find his owner, but I couldn't, so I kept him. He's about six years old now."

"Older than me!" exclaimed Jackie, adding, "Oh! I think he's a dear dog!"

"He is," agreed Mrs. Winter; "he's no beauty, but he's as good as gold, and so loving and faithful! I always feel thankful God sent him to me."

"I thought you said you found him?" said Jackie.

"So I did," replied Mrs. Winter smiling; "but I'm sure God put him in my way so that I might befriend him. God is love, you know, and for certain He loves every creature He made. It tells us in the Bible that He cares for the sparrows, and I'm as sure He cares for Stray as I'm sure He cares for you and me."

This was a new idea to Jackie, so he pondered it in silence. Presently Mrs. Winter said—

"Isn't this your brother coming towards us?"

Yes, it was Bob. He looked surprised when he saw Jackie's companions; then a smile lit up his face, and shone in his eyes, which were as clear and blue as his little brother's.

"It was ever so kind of you to go in and talk to Jackie last night, Mrs. Winter!" were the first words he said. "You see," he went on, "Aunt Martha puts him to bed early, and he lies awake getting more and more frightened the darker it gets, and—"

"Oh, he shan't do that any longer if I can help it!" Mrs. Winter broke in. "I'll ask Mrs. Mead if I may sit with him till he falls asleep, shall I?"

"Oh, if you only would!" Bob cried gratefully. "You'd like that, wouldn't you?" he asked Jackie.

"It would be lovely," the little boy answered; "I shouldn't mind its being dark then."

Mrs. Mead was secretly pleased when her new lodger offered to relieve her of the task of putting Jackie to bed every night, and consented at once.

"I used to be a children's nurse," Mrs. Winter told her, "so I understand little people and love them. You will not object to my staying with Jackie for a bit after he's in bed?"

"Oh, no!" Mrs. Mead answered. "I'm afraid you were disturbed by his crying last night. I couldn't let Bob stop with him because I wanted his help—he runs errands for me in the evenings, you see."

As a matter of fact, Mrs. Mead was working Bob much too hard, sending him here, there, and everywhere to fetch and carry loads of vegetables a great deal too heavy for his strength. He had been very high-spirited and the picture of health when he had come to Bristol; but he was daily growing thinner, and paler, and more and more depressed. It took a load of anxiety from his mind, however, to know that no longer whilst he was at work for his aunt in the evenings would Jackie be crying and fretting in the dark.

"Don't you feel tremendously grateful to Mrs. Winter?" he asked Jackie one day, about a week after the new lodger's arrival.

"Oh, yes!" the little boy replied, "I do, Bobbie. She's a dear, and Stray's a dear, too! I love them both! It was kind of God to send them here!"

"How do you know He did?" questioned Bob.

"Because Mrs. Winter told me so," was the prompt response.

"How does she know, Jackie?"

Jackie shook his head.

"She didn't tell me," he said; "but I'll ask her. She did say it, so of course it's true."

[CHAPTER III]

BOB AND STRAY MAKE AN ENEMY

THE first time Mrs. Mead called on her new lodger to receive her rent, which had to be paid weekly, she looked around the attic approvingly, so dainty and clean was everything; then she raised her eyebrows in surprise, for seated at the little round table near the window was Jackie, a picture of contentment, his head bent over a picture book Mrs. Winter had lent him.

"Why, Jackie, how comes it you are here?" Mrs. Mead inquired. Without waiting for a reply she turned to Mrs. Winter, and said—"I hope he doesn't worry you; you must send him away if he does."

"Oh, he doesn't!" Mrs. Winter assured her. "I love having him with me, and he didn't know what to do with himself as there's no school to-day."

"Such a mistake giving children a whole holiday on Saturday!" Mrs. Mead grumbled, "I'm sure they don't need it; though I admit I'm glad to have Bob at home to run errands, as Saturday is always my busiest day."

Mrs. Winter paid her rent, and had her rent-book receipted. Then Mrs. Mead observed Stray, who was lying on a mat before the fireplace.

"He seems a well-behaved, quiet dog," she remarked, "and you keep him very clean; his coat looks in good condition, as though it was brushed pretty often."

"It is, every day," Mrs. Winter replied smiling.

"I brushed and combed him this morning," Jackie informed his aunt eagerly; "and, afterwards, he jumped up and licked my face, so he must like me, mustn't he?"

Mrs. Mead nodded.

"It must cost you something to feed him, Mrs. Winter," she said. "I'll tell Lizzie to save our scraps for him in future."

Every day after that a plate of scraps was sent up to Mrs. Winter's attic from the kitchen, so that now Stray was better fed than he had ever been in his life before.

Swiftly passed the summer days, then came August when the schools were closed for a month. It was really no holiday for Bob, because his aunt kept him running errands and allowed him no time to himself. Only on Sundays did he get any rest.

Mrs. Mead always took her nephews to church with her on Sunday mornings. During the remainder of the day she did not trouble about them, as long as they kept out of her way; so when one Sunday afternoon, on their return from Sunday school, Mrs. Winter asked them to take tea with her they accepted her invitation at once.

Jackie was now quite at home in Mrs. Winter's attic; but Bob had never been there before. They had their tea at the little round table near the window. It was a very frugal repast of bread not very thickly buttered, and weak tea; but both Bob and Jackie enjoyed it a great deal more than they had ever enjoyed a Sunday tea with Aunt Martha. Bob thought Mrs. Winter the nicest old woman he had ever known. He told her about their old home in the country, and talked to her of his father; then began to ask questions.

"Has your husband been dead long, Mrs. Winter?" he inquired.

"Nigh twenty years, my dear," she answered; "he was a sailor—a good, God-fearing man. His ship went down with all hands in a storm."

"Oh, then he was drowned!" Bob exclaimed, looking at her sympathetically. "Haven't you any children?" was his next question.

"I had one, a little boy; but when he was about the age of Jackie I had to part with him—God took him to Himself," Mrs. Winter replied. There was a look of pain on her face for a minute, then it gave place to a brighter look. "I'm fond of boys for my own boy's sake," she added smiling, "so you two will always find a welcome here whenever you may care to come."

That first Sunday tea in Mrs. Winter's attic was followed by others, and the friendship between the old woman and the brothers grew apace. Stray had taken a great liking to Bob; so Mrs. Winter was very glad to let Bob take him out sometimes, whilst the boy was delighted to have the dog for company when he was running errands for Aunt Martha.

One evening, at the end of August, Bob, who had been sent late to deliver a heavy load of potatoes at a house a long distance from Mrs. Mead's shop, was returning with his empty basket, accompanied by Stray, when he saw a crowd around the entrance of a big building which he knew to be a hospital for wounded soldiers, and paused to inquire what was doing.

"There's going to be a concert to-night for the patients," someone told him, "and a great lady is going to sing—people are waiting to see her."

"A great lady?" said Bob inquiringly. "Who?"

"Lady Margaret Browning," was the reply, "she's an earl's daughter. Her husband, Captain Browning, is in France where the fighting is."

"Oh, then he's a soldier!" Bob exclaimed, adding proudly, "So's my father!"

A young lady passing, leaning on the arm of an elderly gentleman, caught the ring of affectionate pride in Bob's voice, and looked back over her shoulder at the boy with a smile so full of goodwill and understanding that she won his heart completely. She was wearing a long, dark cloak, and a hood was pulled over her head, but the hem of a white silk gown showed under the cloak. Bob only noticed that she was young, and that her face, with its large grey eyes, was the sweetest he had ever seen. He watched her disappear, with her companion in the crowd, and was about to go on his way himself when he caught sight of something sparkling on the pavement not a yard from him, and picked it up. It proved to be a small brooch, shaped like a sword, the hilt of which was set with bright red stones. He moved under a lamp to examine it.

"Hulloa, youngster!" said a voice behind him at that moment, "what's that you've got there?"

It was a big boy called Tom Smith who had addressed him, whose father kept a pawnshop a few doors from Mrs. Mead's shop. Bob disliked Tom because he was a bully, but he was not afraid of him.

"It's something I've found," he answered. "No!" as the other boy would have taken it from him—"I'm not going to part with it!"

Tom laughed.

"'Finding's keeping'!" he quoted. "You might let me look at it, though!"

Bob did so. Tom looked at it in silence for a minute, then said—

"I see. It's only one of those cheap brooches you can buy anywhere for sixpence-halfpenny. Like to sell it I'll give you a shilling for it."

Bob was shrewd enough to know that if Tom really valued the brooch at only sixpence-halfpenny he would not offer to buy it for as much again nearly as it was worth, so he said he intended to keep it.

"Oh, you do, do you?" Tom cried angrily, with a threatening look. "I'll see about that!"

He tried to snatch the brooch from Bob, but failed. The next moment Stray, all his teeth showing, had flown at him.

"Call him off!" he shouted, "call him off! He's got me by the leg!"

But Stray had only got him by the leg of his trousers fortunately. He dropped his hold the instant Bob bade him do so, and followed Bob quietly when he walked away.

Tom Smith was now in a furious passion.

"I'll be even with you for this!" he yelled after Bob, "with you and that ugly brute of a dog, too! Mark my words—I'll be even with you both!"

[CHAPTER IV]

ABOUT THE RUBY BROOCH

BOB hurried home, the brooch he had found safe in the breast-pocket of his coat. He did not show it to his aunt, as she was gossiping in the shop with a neighbour. She broke off in her conversation to tell him she had no further errands for him that night, and ordered him to take his supper and go to bed.

In the kitchen Lizzie had his supper ready. He showed her the brooch, allowing her to examine it in her own hand.

"'Tis lovely!" the girl exclaimed; "I believe those red stones are rubies! How they do sparkle, to be sure!"

"Yes, don't they?" said Bob. "That's how I came to find the brooch. I saw the stones sparkling."

"I've heard that rubies are just as valuable as diamonds," Lizzie told him; "if so, this brooch must be worth a pretty penny."

"What do you call a pretty penny, Lizzie?"

"Pounds, maybe."

"Oh! then that's why Tom Smith wanted to take it away from me!"

Bob told Lizzie all that had passed between Tom and him. She was most indignant.

"A sixpenny-halfpenny brooch, indeed!" she cried. "Oh, I'm glad Stray gave him a good fright! Where is Stray, by the way? Gone upstairs to his missus, I suppose?"

"Yes," Bob replied, adding anxiously, "I hope Tom Smith will never do him any harm—he's such a cruel boy, you know."

Lizzie handed him back the brooch, advising him to take great care of it.

"It may be advertised for," she said; "if so, there's sure to be a reward offered, and you'll get it. Mind you keep it safe!"

"Oh, I will," he assured her; "no fear about that!"

Bob was very tired when by-and-bye he said "good-night" to Lizzie and went upstairs. He made sure that Jackie was asleep, then paid a call on Mrs. Winter. The old woman was seated at her little round table, reading her Bible by the light of a candle. She nodded to a chair, and bade her visitor take it; then, as he obeyed, said, in a tone of concern—

"You look quite done up, my dear!"

"I'm dreadfully tired," Bob admitted, with a weary sigh. "And my legs do ache so—it's growing pains Aunt Martha says. Look here what I've found!" He laid the ruby brooch in front of her as he spoke.

Mrs. Winter looked at it, gave a start, and changed colour. She did not speak, but sat quite still with her eyes fixed on the glittering jewel, whilst Bob explained where and how he had found it, and how Tom Smith had tried to take it from him.

"Do you think it is valuable, Mrs. Winter?" he questioned.

"Oh, yes, undoubtedly!" she answered. Then she took the brooch in her hand and examined it. "How strange if it should be the same!" she murmured to herself.

"What do you mean?" Bob inquired in surprise.

"I've seen a brooch exactly like this one before," she replied; "it belonged to a young lady I knew—I'd been her nurse when she was a little girl. The brooch was given to her by the gentleman she afterwards married; he was in the Army, and a very nice gentleman he was. They went out to India almost directly after they were married, and she died there, leaving him with a little baby girl. Poor Miss Peggy! She used to love her 'Nana,' as she always called me. How well I remember the last time I saw her—not long before my husband died that was, and just before she went to India. 'Nana,' she said, 'don't you forget me! We shall meet again some day!' And so we shall, Bob, when I get to Heaven—I shall find Miss Peggy there safe with Jesus."

There was a minute's silence after that. Mrs. Winter was the one who broke it.

"It's too late to take any steps about finding the owner of this to-night," she remarked, laying the brooch on the table; "but to-morrow you ought to go to the police-station and give notice that you've found it. I think that would be the right thing to do."

"Then I'll do it," agreed Bob promptly; "I'll go to the police-station directly after breakfast, if all's well."

"Do, my dear. And mind you put the brooch in a safe place to-night."

"I wonder if you would keep it for me, Mrs. Winter? Yes? Oh, thank you! Oh, I do wish you'd go to the police-station with me!"

Mrs. Winter considered a minute. "Very well," she agreed, "I will. See, I'll put the brooch away in my desk; it will be safe there."

She placed the brooch under some papers and locked the desk carefully.

"Thank you!" said Bob. "How kind you are to Jackie and me, Mrs. Winter!" he exclaimed. "Jackie says you told him God sent you here—that you know He did, but how can you know it?"

"Because when I was on the look-out for a bed-sitting-room I prayed to Him for guidance and help," Mrs. Winter said simply; "then I heard of this attic, and that was the answer to my prayer, was it not? So I took the attic. It suits me very well. My dear, I always tell God about everything; it makes things so much easier and takes a weight of care from one. This—" laying her hand on her Bible—"tells us to 'Be careful for nothing; but in everything by prayer and supplication with thanksgiving let your requests be known unto God.' Oh, yes, God sent me here sure enough!"

"Jackie and I didn't want to come here at all," Bob admitted; "but we've liked it ever so much better since you came."

Mrs. Winter's face glowed with pleasure on hearing this, and her bright dark eyes had a wonderfully tender light in them.

"My dear," she exclaimed affectionately, "how glad I am! It makes me so happy to think I've been able to brighten your lives ever so little. You and Jackie have become very dear to me. If I had to leave here I should miss you boys dreadfully!"

"And we should miss you dreadfully!" replied Bob gravely. "Aunt Martha says you're a very good, quiet lodger, and she hopes you'll stay," he continued, "so why should you talk of leaving if this attic suits you? You did say it suited you, you know."

"So I did, and I meant it. I don't want to leave, and I am sure Stray does not."

"Good old Stray!" exclaimed Bob. "If it hadn't been for him I should certainly have had the brooch stolen from me, for Tom Smith's ever so much stronger and bigger than I am!"

"Tom Smith must be a very wicked boy, Bob."

Bob nodded. "I expect," he said, "he guessed the brooch was real gold, and if he could have got it he'd have pretended it was he, and not I, who'd found it. It would have been only my word against his."

[CHAPTER V]

THE EARL'S DAUGHTER

THE following morning, when Bob went down to breakfast, he found that his aunt had heard of his find from Lizzie, and was displeased because he had not shown it to her.

"I daresay it's a trumpery thing," she said, "but you ought to have let me see it. If you've left it upstairs fetch it at once."

Bob explained that Mrs. Winter was keeping it for him, and had promised to go with him to the police-station about it. On hearing this Mrs. Mead became very angry.

"Mrs. Winter takes too much upon herself!" she cried. "Tell her to give you the brooch at once! And tell her, too, that I hope in future she'll kindly mind her own business! As though I'm not to be trusted to do what's right!"

Bob fetched the brooch from Mrs. Winter, but did not give her his aunt's rude message.

Mrs. Mead made no remark as she examined the brooch. She held it first one way, then another, to make the stones sparkle, then put it in her pocket.

"What are you going to do with it, Aunt Martha?" inquired Bob.

"Keep it safe for you," she replied. "It's very pretty, and I think it's gold; but I can't tell about the stones—whether they're rubies or only red glass. If they're rubies the brooch will be advertised for and there'll be a reward for the finder. Say nothing about it to anyone for the time."

"Then you don't think I ought to take it to the police-station?"

"Not at present. Wait a while and see what happens."

Nothing happened in connection with the brooch that day. But the day following Bob noticed a printed bill in a shop window, which advertised the loss of a brooch exactly answering the description of the one he had found and said that anyone finding it and bringing it to Lady Margaret Browning, at a certain hotel on Clifton Down, would receive a reward of five pounds. He hurried home immediately and told Mrs. Mead what he had seen.

"Five pounds!" she exclaimed, "Humph! that's not so bad!"

"Not so bad!" Bob echoed. "I call it splendid! Oh, do let me have the brooch and I'll take it to Lady Margaret Browning at once!"

"Not so fast!" his aunt replied. "You must wait till after dinner, then I'll go with you. I can leave Lizzie to look after the shop for once, and I daresay Mrs. Winter will not mind taking charge of Jackie."

Mrs. Mead was in high good humour now. Matters were arranged as she wished, and so, about four o'clock in the afternoon, she and Bob arrived at the hotel mentioned on the bill. Mrs. Mead inquired for Lady Margaret Browning, and explained that they had come to return her lost brooch to her. They were immediately shown into a sitting-room where a young lady was seated at a writing-table.

"Oh!" she cried, on hearing her visitors' errand, "how glad I am! Yes—" as Mrs. Mead produced the brooch and handed it to her—"that is it! Oh, how delighted my father will be! It was my mother's—I lost my mother when I was a baby—and father gave it to me on my twenty-first birthday. Please sit down, both of you!"

She had risen at their entrance, but now took her chair again, whilst Bob and his aunt seated themselves side by side on a sofa. Bob, to his great surprise, had recognised Lady Margaret Browning as the young lady who had smiled at him so sweetly outside the soldier's hospital when he had been so proud to say that his father was a soldier. And she was a great lady—an earl's daughter!

"Surely I have seen you before?" she said, looking at him earnestly.

"Yes, miss," answered Bob, blushing.

"Say 'my lady,' Bob," whispered his aunt hastily.

"Oh, never mind!" said Lady Margaret. Then a flash of recognition crossed her face. "Ah, I remember you now," she cried, "and the way you spoke of your father! Is he at one of the fronts?"

"Yes, my lady," Bob replied; "in France."

Lady Margaret looked very interested. She was evidently going to ask Bob more questions about his father, but before she could do so Mrs. Mead interrupted the conversation to explain that she was making a home for her two motherless nephews during her brother's absence.

"Poor little fellows!" Lady Margaret said softly. Then she asked Bob his name and his age. "He looks pale and thin," she remarked to Mrs. Mead after the boy had answered her.

"He grows so fast—that's the reason," Mrs. Mead replied, adding, "And he works hard at school."

"But it's holiday time now, isn't it?" questioned Lady Margaret.

"Oh, yes!" Bob assented, "only—" He broke off and was silent.

He had been about to say that he worked hard in the school holidays, carrying heavy loads of vegetables, but a frowning glance from his aunt had stopped him.

Lady Margaret now rang the bell and ordered tea for her visitors. Bob was too shy to take much, but his aunt drank several cups of tea, and made a good meal on the dainties offered her. There was a cake which was not cut, and that Lady Margaret made into a parcel and gave to Bob to take home to his little brother. He was so pleased that he could scarcely find words with which to thank her, and when Lady. Margaret put five one-pound notes into his hand, the reward for the return of the brooch, he was absolutely speechless.

"Good-bye, Bob," she said, kindly; "I'm going to London to-morrow; but I hope to come here again before long, and if I do I shall try to see you. I should like to hear more about your father. I'm sure he must be a very good father, or you wouldn't love him so much, and be so proud of him. May God bless him and keep him!"

"Good-bye, my lady," the boy replied, looking at her gratefully. "Oh, I do hope I shall see you again! And Jackie would like to see you too!"

"And I should like to see Jackie!" she said, smiling. "Will you please give me your address?" she asked Mrs. Mead.

Mrs. Mead did so. But on the way home she told Bob she thought it most unlikely he would see anything more of Lady Margaret, who would most probably go away and never think of him again.

"Oh, I hope not!" the boy exclaimed. "I liked her so much! And didn't she speak nicely about father? I thought it so kind of her to say, 'May God bless him and keep him!' And the way she spoke, so softly and solemnly! Oh, Aunt Martha, it sounded like a prayer!"

[CHAPTER VI]

POOR STRAY!

BOB was eager to tell Mrs. Winter about his visit to the grand hotel on Clifton Down, which had seemed to him quite a palace, and all that Lady Margaret Browning had said to him; but he had no opportunity of doing so till the next day when, late in the evening, he went upstairs for the night. Then he had half an hour's talk with her in her attic. She heard all he had to tell with the greatest interest, and remarked smilingly that she supposed he felt himself a rich man now he was the owner of five pounds.

"Oh, yes!" he agreed; "it's a lot of money, isn't it? But the worst of it is Aunt Martha doesn't want me to spend it. She's going to keep it for me till father comes back. I should like to give Jackie a present; but she won't agree to my spending even a few shillings?"

"I think, perhaps she's right," said Mrs. Winter, "If you broke the five pounds you'd probably spend more than would be wise. Think how surprised and delighted your father will be to find you with five whole pounds, Bob!"

"Yes! He shall have them all, Mrs. Winter!" Mrs. Winter nodded.

"Now," she said, "I've something to tell you. I've been talking to-day to someone who knows about Lady Margaret Browning, and I've found out that she's the daughter of that young lady I was telling you about, the 'Miss Peggy' I loved so much. So you see I had seen the ruby brooch before."

"Oh, how strange!" Bob cried, in amazement.

"Yes, isn't it? Miss Peggy's husband wasn't an earl when she married him; he only became one on the death of an uncle a few years since. Oh, how I'd love to see Miss Peggy's daughter!"

"Perhaps you will some day," Bob replied quickly, "for I do believe she means to come and see Jackie and me, though Aunt Martha says she'll go away and not think of me again."

"She'll think of you again if she's anything like her mother," Mrs. Winter told him, "and from what you say, I think she may be. It was just like her mother to ask God's blessing on your father. 'The blessing of the Lord, it maketh rich, and He addeth no sorrow with it.' That's something worth having, isn't it?"

Next morning at breakfast Bob told his aunt that Mrs. Winter had been nurse to Lady Margaret Browning's mother, and she was greatly surprised.

"Well, I never!" she exclaimed, "who'd have thought it! And Mrs. Winter so poor too!"

"Do you think she's very poor?" asked Bob anxiously.

His aunt nodded.

"She told me herself she's only a few shillings a week more than her old-age pension to live on," she said; "it's hard lines for her, because I hear from outsiders that her husband left her a few hundreds—she lent the money to a relative who lost it in his business. If I was she I'd apply to Lady Margaret Browning for help."

"Oh, I don't think she'd like to!" Bob answered quickly, for he realised his kind old friend was not the sort of person to ask charity.

Nevertheless, he quite made up his mind that when he saw Lady Margaret Browning again—he believed he would see her again—that he would tell her all about her dead mother's old nurse.

Bob was kept busy by his aunt that morning, running errands. He was toiling along with a heavy basket filled with vegetables and fruit when he came around a corner upon Tom Smith. He would have passed without speaking, but Tom stood in front of him and stopped him.

"Hulloa; youngster!" was the bully's greeting, followed by the question: "What about that brooch?"

"Well, what about it?" said Bob coldly. Tom gave him a shrewd look. "I suppose you saw the printed bills in the shop windows?" he said inquiringly. "Well—" as Bob nodded—"did you get the reward?"

"Yes, of course."

"And what about me in the matter?" Tom asked, much to Bob's amazement. "You know I saw the brooch on the ground at the same time as you did," he went on untruthfully, "but you were quicker than me and picked it up first."

"I don't know anything of the sort!" Bob cried indignantly. "How can you tell such a wicked story?"

"It's not a wicked story and I dare you to say so! It's true! And my word's as good as yours, I hope! You ought to halve that five pounds with me, or, at any rate, give me something out of it."

"I'm not going to give you anything!"

"You're not?"

"No."

Tom took a step nearer to Bob, and made a threatening gesture as though he would strike him. Bob looked him steadily in the eyes, and did not flinch. The bully hesitated a minute, then a cruel expression crossed his face.

"If you don't give me a share of that five pounds I'll make you wish you had!" he declared. "Come, now, a pound will satisfy me. No? Ten shillings then?"

"I won't give you a farthing," Bob told him, "for I am positive you never saw the brooch before I'd picked it up. Let me pass. I can't stop talking any longer! Do you hear? Let me pass!"

Instead of doing so Tom gave Bob a violent push which made him stagger and upset some apples from his basket. In a minute several big boys, friends of Tom Smith's, who had been standing by, listening and watching, had pounced upon the apples and made off with them. Bob stood aghast with dismay, whilst Tom broke into a roar of laughter and quickly followed his friends.

"Whatever will Aunt Martha say?" thought poor Bob. "And they are eating apples, too, not cheap cooking ones!"

Unfortunately for Bob Mrs. Mead was not in a good humour when he returned home with the tale that some boys had stolen the apples from him, and she was too angry to listen when he attempted to explain all that had happened.

"You're not to be trusted!" she said severely. "Why, those apples were worth twopence each! Early apples are always dear, especially dessert ones. What's that you say, that a boy you'd been talking to was to blame and not you? What business had you dawdling away your time talking to any one, pray? Don't try to make any more excuses, and get out of my sight!"

Bob obeyed. He went upstairs, but found the attics empty. No doubt Mrs. Winter and Jackie and Stray had gone for a walk. He seated himself on the edge of his bed to wait for their return, his heart hot with indignation and the feeling that he had been unjustly treated. By-and-bye, being very tired, he took off his dusty boots, and lay down on the bed to rest. In a few minutes he was asleep.

Bob had been asleep for nearly an hour when he was awakened by voices in the other attic. He sat up, rubbing his eyes, and called—

"Jackie! Jackie!"

"Oh, come here, Bobbie!" was the answer. "Stray's hurted!"

Bob bounded off the bed and rushed into Mrs. Winter's attic. Jackie was there, in tears, and Mrs. Winter, who was kneeling on the floor beside Stray. The dog was allowing his mistress to examine a nasty cut behind one of his ears.

"Oh, Bobbie," Jackie cried, "Stray's hurted drefful! A bad boy did it. He threw a stone and hit him."

"The brute!" exclaimed Bob furiously. "The cowardly brute! It must have been Tom Smith! Oh, poor Stray!—poor Stray!"

[CHAPTER VII]

BOB LAID UP

HAPPILY Stray proved not to be seriously hurt, and in a few days his wound was healing nicely. Jackie, though he had seen the stone thrown, could only give a very hazy description of the thrower, who, it seemed, had run away the instant he had seen he had hit the dog. Bob would have gone to Tom Smith in hot haste and accused him of having done the cruel deed, but Mrs. Winter had prevented his doing so, by pointing out that they had no proof that Tom was the culprit.

Bob felt sure that Tom Smith was the stone-thrower nevertheless. He did not see him again till after the school holidays, when, one morning on his way to school, he passed him in the street.

"What about that dog of yours now?" Tom shouted after him with a jeering laugh, thus showing that Bob had not misjudged him.

Bob wheeled around sharply, his heart hot with indignation; and went back, his eyes ablaze with anger.

"Look here," he said, "I want a word with you. The dog's not mine, he belongs to one of my aunt's lodgers—but that doesn't matter to you. What I've got to say is this, if you ever throw a stone at him again, I'll go to the police about you and get you punished."

"Do you think I'm afraid of the police?" sneered Tom.

"Yes, I do," Bob answered. "I saw you slink away the other night— you were bullying a boy younger than yourself—when you saw a policeman coming. There's a law to stop people who are cruel to dumb animals. I've heard about it from my father, who can't bear to see animals of any kind badly treated. You're a big coward, Tom Smith, that's what you are!"

"Take care what you say!" shouted Tom, turning crimson. "You're a cheeky youngster! As for your father, he's only a common Tommy!"

"A common Tommy!" echoed Bob, adding quickly, "Anyway, he's a brave man, and he wouldn't hurt a poor dog like you did."

"If you're not careful what you say, I'll give you something you won't like!" Tom threatened.

"You'd better not!" Bob retorted.

And Tom decided that he had better not, for after looking at Bob uncertainly for a minute, he muttered something under his breath, turned sharply on his heel, and moved on.

"I don't think he'll dare do any harm to Stray again," thought Bob; "he saw I meant it when I said I'd go to the police about him."

Mrs. Mead had forgiven Bob by this time for the loss of her apples, and was using him as an errand boy out of school hours as she had done before. Sometimes when he went to bed he was so weary and his limbs ached so much that he could not; get to sleep till the early hours of the morning, and this began to tell on his health. Then, at the end of October, he caught a bad cold on the chest and had to be in bed several days.

During those days it was Mrs. Winter who nursed him. Lizzie brought him his food, and Mrs. Mead came to see how he was night and morning; but it was his kind old neighbour who poulticed his chest, and gave him his cough mixture regularly, and sat with him whilst his little brother was at school, telling him stories, or talking to him of her young days and the children she had had in her care.

"I loved them all," she said, as she was keeping him company one afternoon, "but not one quite so well as Miss Peggy. The little dear was an orphan, just three years old, when I went to be her nurse, and her aunt, who was her guardian, left her entirely to my care. It was I who taught her to love Jesus—to know Him as her Saviour Who died for her. Ah, she loved Him and trusted Him with all her heart, did Miss Peggy! 'I feel He's near me, Nana!' she used to say."

"It's a great thing to feel that," Bob remarked thoughtfully, adding, "Jackie is not half so afraid of the dark now you've made him understand that Jesus is there."

"Bless his dear little heart, no!" Mrs. Winter agreed, with her sunniest smile.

Bob was struck by the brightness of her expression. "I think you're the happiest person I ever knew," he said; "you're so cheerful that it does one good to be with you. Mrs. Winter, I should like to ask you a question—if you won't be offended?"

"Oh, I am sure I shall not be offended!"

"Then—are you very poor?"

"Yes, as far as money goes, and poorer I shall be if food continues to rise in price. But God will provide for me, my dear, don't you fear! See how He's providing for Stray now! I was wondering how I should be able to get food for the dog that day your aunt promised to save the scraps of the house for him. Don't you think God put that kind thought into her heart? I do!"

Stray was generally with his mistress when she visited Bob. He was to-day, lying on the shabby strip of carpet by the bedside. He looked up and wagged his tail every time his name was mentioned. Mrs. Winter stooped and patted him.

"He misses his walks with you, Bob," she said; "I don't take him far enough to satisfy him. I tell you what I think I'll do this afternoon as the weather's fine and sunny. I'll meet Jackie as he comes out of school, and take Stray with me."

"Oh, I wish you would!" Bob cried eagerly. "Jackie didn't come straight home yesterday, and I couldn't think what had become of him. I made up my mind he had met with some accident—been knocked down by a motor-car, perhaps, and killed! He had only been playing with other little boys he told me, and he promised he'd come straight home to-day; but it would be kind of you to meet him."

"Oh, I will!" Mrs. Winter broke in. "I'll take him for a little walk; but we won't be long."

"Oh, I shall know he's all right if he's with you," Bob replied. "Aunt Martha says I'm silly to be nervous about him, and I daresay I am; but almost the last words father said to me were, 'Look after Jackie, Bob!' and I don't think I could face father again if anything happened to him. It's nearly four o'clock, isn't it, Mrs. Winter?"

"It's twenty to four," she answered, rising. "I'll go at once. Come, Stray!"

The dog followed her from the room. A few minutes later Bob heard him scamper down the stairs, barking excitedly, and his mistress trying to quieten him.

"They'll be in time," the boy said to himself; "what Jackie and I'd do without Mrs. Winter now I really don't know!"

[CHAPTER VIII]

GREAT NEWS

JACKIE was delighted on coming out of school to find Mrs. Winter and Stray waiting for him; and when the old woman spoke of a walk, and asked him to go with her, his blue eyes shone with pleasure.

"Oh, yes, please, do let me!" he answered quickly. Then the blue eyes clouded suddenly; and he said with a sigh, "No, thank you, Mrs. Winter."

"Why not, my dear?" she inquired in surprise.

"Because I promised Bob I'd go straight home," he replied.

"Oh, yes! I had forgotten! But Bob knows I'm here to meet you, and he wishes you to come with me; so it's all right."

Whilst father was fighting

SEVERAL BIG BOYS HAD POUNCED UPON THE APPLES

AND MADE OFF WITH THEM.

WHILST FATHER WAS FIGHTING

BY

ELEANORA H. STOOKE

AUTHOR OF "LITTLE MAID MARIGOLD"

LONDON

THE RELIGIOUS TRACT SOCIETY

MANCHESTER, MADRID, LISBON, BUDAPEST.

MADE IN GREAT BRITAIN

PRINTED BY THE RELIGIOUS TRACT SOCIETY, LONDON

CONTENTS