Rosalie reached Pendleton by nightfall, and a good woman gave her lodging overnight. Next morning she started on her journey. On her way she passed the field where the fairs were held. What recollections it brought to her mind of the year before, when she had arrived there in the caravan with her sick mother.
As she turned on to the Melton Road, what a strange feeling came over her then! She was within five miles of her Aunt Lucy, and was really going to her at last! Oh, how she had longed to see that dear face, which she had gazed at so often in the locket! How she had yearned to deliver her mother’s letter, and to see her Aunt Lucy reading it! How often all this had been in her mind by day, and had mingled with her dreams at night!
And yet now, now that she was really on the road which led up to her Aunt Lucy’s door Rosalie’s heart failed her. She looked down at her little frock, and saw how very old and faded it was. She took off her hat, and the piece of black ribbon which Toby had given her had never before seemed so rusty and brown.
What a shabby little girl her Aunt Lucy would see coming in at the garden gate! Her thoughts traveled back to the little girl whom she had seen in that garden a year ago, her Aunt Lucy’s own little girl. How differently she was dressed! How different in every way she was to Rosalie! What if her Aunt Lucy was vexed with her for coming? She had had much trouble from Rosalie’s father; was it likely she would welcome his child?
Sometimes Rosalie felt inclined to turn back, but she remembered how her dear mother had said, “If ever you can, dear, you must go to your Aunt Lucy, and give her that letter.”
Whatever it cost her, Rosalie determined she would go. But she grew more and more shy as she drew near the village, and walked far more slowly than she had done when she first left the town.
At last the village of Melton came in sight. It was a fine spring morning, and the sunlight was falling softly on the cottages and farmhouses, and on the beautiful green trees and hedges.
It was about twelve o’clock when she reached the village. The country people were most of them having their dinner, and few people were in the village street. With a beating heart the child pressed on.
Soon she came in sight of the little cottage before which the caravan had stood when she and her mother were there a year ago. There was the cottage with its thatched roof, looking just as comfortable as it had done then. There was the garden just the same as before, with the same kind of flowers growing in it. There were the cabbage-roses, the southernwood, the rosemary, the sweetbriar, and the lavender. And the wind was blowing softly over them, and wafting their sweet fragrance to Rosalie, standing peeping through the gate, just as she had done then. It seemed to Rosalie like a dream which she had dreamed before. Only a year—only a year ago!
And yet one was absent. Her mother was no more there. She was gone, and little Rosalie was alone by the gate!
As she looked through the bars, tears came in her eyes and fell upon her little dusty frock. But she wiped them away, and went on through the village street.
At length she arrived at the large house close to the church, which her mother had longed so much to see. With a trembling hand she opened the iron gate and walked up the broad gravel path.
There was a large knocker in the middle of the door, and a bell on one side of it. Rosalie did not know whether to knock or to ring, so she stood still for a few minutes without doing either, hoping that someone would see her from the window and come to ask what she wanted. But as the minutes passed by and no one came, Rosalie ventured, very gently and timidly to rap with the knocker; but no one inside the house heard the sound of the child’s knocking. So she gathered courage and pulled the bell, which rang so loudly that it made her tremble more than ever.
She heard a rustling in the hall, and the sound of a quick footstep, and the door was opened. A girl about eighteen years of age stood before her, dressed in a pretty print dress and very white apron, with a neat round cap on her head. Rosalie was trembling so much now that she cast her eyes on the ground and did not speak.
“What do you want, dear?” said the girl kindly, stooping down to Rosalie as she spoke.
“If you please,” said Rosalie, “is Mrs. Leslie in? I have a letter that I want very much to give her.”
“No, dear, she’s not in just now,” said the girl. “Will you leave the letter with me?”
“Oh, please,” said Rosalie, timidly, “I would very much like to give it to her myself, if you will be so kind as to let me wait till she comes.”
“Yes, she won’t be very long,” said the girl. “Would you like to sit in the summer house till she comes? It’s very pleasant there.”
“Oh, thank you,” said the child, gratefully, “I should like it very much, indeed.”
“I’ll show you where it is,” said the girl, “It’s behind those trees.”
As Rosalie was walking to the summer house she ventured for the first time to look into the girl’s face. The voice had seemed familiar to her; but when she saw the face, the large brown eyes, the dark hair, the rosy cheeks, she felt sure that she had met with an old friend.
“Oh, please,” she said, stopping suddenly short in the path, “please, aren’t you Britannia?”
“How do you know anything about Britannia?” she inquired, hurriedly.
“I didn’t mean to say Britannia,” said Rosalie. “I know you don’t ever want to be called that again. But, please, you are Jessie, are you not?”
“Yes,” said the girl, “my name is Jessie; but how do you know me?”
“Please,” said Rosalie, “don’t you remember me? And how we talked in the caravan that windy night, when my mammie was so ill?”
“Oh, Rosalie!” said Jessie. “Is it you? Why, to think I didn’t know you! Why, I shouldn’t ever have been here if it hadn’t been for you and your mother! Oh, I am glad to see you again! Where are you going to? Is your caravan at Pendleton fair?”
“No, Jessie,” said Rosalie. “I don’t live in a caravan now, and I’ve walked here to give a letter from my mother to Mrs. Leslie.”
“Then your mother got better after all,” said Jessie. “I am so glad! she was so very ill that night!”
“Oh, no! no! no!” said Rosalie, with a flood of tears. “No! she didn’t get better. She wrote that letter a long time ago.”
“Poor little Rosalie!” said Jessie, putting her arms around her, and shedding tears also. “I am so very, very sorry!”
“Please, Jessie,” said Rosalie, through her tears, “did you remember to give Mrs. Leslie my mammie’s message?”
“Yes, dear, that I did. Do you think I would forget anything she asked me? Why, I should never have been here if it hadn’t been for her. The first time she came to our house after I came back, I told her what I had done, and where I had been. Then I told her how I had met with a woman who used to know her many years ago, but who hadn’t seen her for a long, long time, and that this woman had sent her a message. So she asked me who this woman was, and what the message was which she had sent her. I told her that the woman’s name was Norah, but I didn’t know her other name, and that Norah sent her respects and her love, and I was to say that she had not very long to live, but that the Good Shepherd had sought her and found her, and that she was not afraid to die. And then, Rosalie, she cried when I told her that, and went away. But she came again in half an hour after that, and asked me ever so many questions about your mother, and I told her all I could. I told her how ill she was, and how she liked the hymn, and all about you, and how good you were to your mother. And then I told her how beautifully your mother talked to me about the Good Shepherd, and how she begged me to ask the Good Shepherd to find me, and how I had done as she begged me, and I hoped that He was carrying me home on His shoulder. And I told her, dear, how kind you both were to me, and how you gave me that money, and made me promise to know which road the caravan was on, and which fair it was going to. She asked a many questions about that, and wanted to know if I could tell her what town would be the next you would stop at after the one you were going to when I met you; but I couldn’t. Now I must go in, dear, and get dinner ready; but I’ll tell my mistress as soon as she comes.”
So Rosalie sat down in the arbor to wait. But she could hardly sit still a minute, she felt so excited and restless.