CHAPTER XIII.

THE OVERTURNED BASKET.

GERTRUDE got through the morning's school better than she had feared, and when twelve o'clock struck they were all quite surprised.

"We go for a walk now," said Mollie.

So the four set out together, Mollie taking the lead, showing Gertrude the beauties of Hampstead Heath, and describing the long walks they sometimes took on Saturdays to Highgate, Finchley, and other places round.

They were coming home, and had almost reached their own door, when, turning the corner of the road, Mollie gave a start, and exclaimed in a low tone, "There is Mr. Eccentric!"

While at the same moment the man who was in front of them, recognizing the young people, and wishing apparently to get out of their way as quickly as possible, stepped aside to let them pass, and in doing so stumbled over the kerbstone, and slipped down on his knee.

He quickly picked himself up, but his basket had sped many yards in front of him, and the old-fashioned lids opening, the contents were scattered on the path.

Daisy hastened to replace the fallen things, while Gertrude turned her attention to the man, who was brushing the dust from his knees, and answering her curtly that he was not in the least hurt. When he turned round to look after his basket, Daisy was trying to gather up some rice which had fallen out of a paper, while Mollie was holding in her hand some lilac print, a reel of white cotton, and a little pair of child's shoes which had evidently been freshly mended.

The man took the things and stuffed them into the basket in silence, though his face had turned very pale.

"I fear you are hurt," said Gertrude again.

But he would have no more to say about it, and limping a little, he pushed on to his own gate and left the four to turn in at theirs.

"'We've' had an adventure!" said Mollie. "Far greater than Conway's. How I do long to tell the boys! Miss Ashlyn, what could he want with those things if he lives alone?"

"I do not know," said Gertrude thoughtfully.

She went up-stairs to her own room, but all the way she was haunted by an impression of having seen that little pair of child's slippers on some little pair of feet! How could that be possible? Were there not hundreds of little slippers in the world?

Mrs. Shaddock was very interested with their news at dinner, and the meal passed much more comfortably than the previous ones, Gertrude feeling less forlorn as they began to have things in common to talk over.

When she went back to the schoolroom, on the mantel-piece was a letter from her mother.

She sprang towards it, then sat down by the window with it in her hand, and began covering the envelope with kisses.

"Oh, how could I go away from you? How could I?" she murmured over and over again.

Then she ran up to her room, tore the letter open, and devoured the precious contents.

They were words written from a full mother's heart, words of advice, and cheer, and encouragement. Rising from their perusal, Gertrude felt strengthened to go on her way.

"You must expect difficulties, my dear—" (the letter ran). "These things are allowed to happen in our lives, but our God is equal to it all. There is such a storehouse in the Lord Jesus, that whatever happens, there is grace enough for it. Go to Him in everything, and you will find 'everything' just a ladder reaching to heaven."

"Even Randall," she said to herself, as she put the letter in her pocket and prepared for school.

When she reached the schoolroom again, Mollie was practising, Daisy was buried in the perusal of a book, but no Randall was there.

She was looking round and wondering how she should find him, when Mollie volunteered—

"He isn't coming; he has worried mother till she has taken him out with her."

So the school went on without him, and just as they were putting up their books at five o'clock, they heard a great commotion in the hall, and Randall's voice saying loudly—

"Well, cry-baby, have you 'blubbed' to-day?"

"There are the boys!" exclaimed Mollie. "Now for our news! Come along, Daisy, let us go down to the dining-room to see them!"

They ran off, leaving Gertrude alone.

She turned to her letter once more, reading the dear lines over and over, till she knew them by heart.

Then she bent her head on her hands and thought of her mother's advice.

"Grace enough for 'all' that happens."

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