fancied she had more influence with Fanny than with the rest, and hastily drew her on one side. "Dear Fanny, don't go in there; pray, pray don't; I am sure it is not a fit place. Let us go home at once; it must be time to do so, or we shall be very late back." "What nonsense, Katie! As if I was going home now, when all the fun is just about to begin." "What does that child say?" asked Bessie Thompson. "She wants to go home," said Fanny, in a mocking tone. "Why did you bring her with you at all?" asked Dan Carter, the owner of the tent. Bessie whispered something to him in reply. And although Katie could not hear all that was said, she caught the words "money," and "pay for the show." She coloured up indignantly. "This," then, was all they had asked her to join them for. Humbled and mortified as she felt, she yet made one other attempt to persuade Fanny, at all events, to return with her. But all her efforts were useless. And Dan Carter cut them short by saying, rudely,— "The sooner you take yourself off, if you're not going to be sociable, the better; your room is better than your company. You'll repent of your folly, though, before you get halfway to Hazelbrook, or I'm vastly mistaken in those clouds yonder." Katie scarcely heard the end of the sentence, for no sooner did she find that it was useless trying to persuade Fanny to come with her, than she set off at a quick pace, fearful almost that, by delaying another moment, she should lose the power of escape. Hot and agitated, frightened at the scenes and noise everywhere around her, she threaded her way through the din and uproar of the fair. She had never been in such a crowd before, and people pushed her about in an unfeeling manner. At last, she got out of the fair, and hastening along, sat down to rest for a moment on the stile leading into the first meadow on the way to Hazelbrook. Then the clouds of which Dan Carter had spoken first caught her attention. They were very black and lowering, and the distant thunder, which the noise of the fair had prevented her from hearing before, was distinctly heard now in the stillness of the meadow. Katie hastened on, hoping that she might reach home before the storm burst. She tried to pray to God to bring her safe to her mother's cottage—oh that she had never left it!—but her thoughts were too confused, and her brain whirled with feverish excitement. She had reached the third field, about halfway to her home, when a bright flash of lightning, followed by a crackling peal of thunder, caused her to utter a scream. She had never felt afraid of a storm before. Hitherto she had been taught to feel that the God of the thunder is able and willing to protect His people; but now she almost looked upon the storm as a judgment sent to punish her for her disobedience, and scarcely knowing what she did, she ran to shelter herself beneath some large trees in the meadow. Had Katie thought for a moment, she would not have done so, for her mother had always cautioned her never, on any account, to take refuge under trees in a thunder-storm. Many persons have lost their lives from doing so; for trees are great conductors of lightning, and attract the electric fluid. But Katie thought of nothing. And as the thunder pealed, and the vivid lightning flashed, and the rain descended in perfect sheets of water, she leaned against the trunk of one of the trees to keep herself from falling. Then a more vivid flash than any before lighted up the sky with a lurid glare. A peal of thunder followed, which seemed to rend the very air; and one of the fine spreading elms near that beneath which Katie was standing was riven from top to bottom. Katie heard and saw no more; she had fallen senseless on the ground. The fury of the storm had spent itself; and the mowers, who had taken shelter in a barn not far off, were passing through the meadow on their way to the village. "That's a fine tree that's been struck yonder," said one; "but surely there's some one lying under that other tree hard by." "No one can be alive there after such a storm," exclaimed another of the men. And they all hastened across the meadow to the tree under which Katie was lying. She was stretched with her face downwards on the ground, and lay quite motionless. "Dead, quite dead!" said the mower who had first spoken, as he brushed his rough hand across his face, for he had young ones of his own at home. They lifted her up very tenderly, those rough, rude men. "Why, it's Widow Lawrence's daughter!" they cried, as they began to carry her to her mother's cottage. Half an hour afterwards, Katie was lying on her own little bed at home, and the doctor was using all his efforts to restore animation—with what success will be told in the next chapter. CHAPTER IV The Shadow of Death ALL through the long hours of the night, a light shone in Widow Lawrence's cottage window, telling of sad and anxious watching. And all night long did Katie's life seem to hang upon so frail a thread that every moment those around her expected it would snap asunder. With great difficulty, the doctor at last restored her to consciousness; but Katie's whole system had received so severe a shock that he deemed it best to prepare Mrs. Lawrence for the worst, and to express his doubts whether she would survive the night. He stayed with her several hours, and then left full instructions with her mother, impressing on her the necessity of keeping Katie as quiet as possible, and avoiding the least excitement, which, in her weak state, could scarcely prove otherwise than fatal. Mrs. Lawrence had most fortunately returned home nearly an hour before the mowers brought in poor Katie, so no time was lost, and the doctor had been sent for at once. No one seemed to be able to give any information as to how Katie came to be caught in the storm; and the one all-absorbing fear for her child's life had diverted Mrs. Lawrence's thoughts from the subject. All through the lonely night the anxious, weary mother sat watching her suffering child, and most fervently did she pray that God in His mercy would spare her young life, and give her time and grace to repent. For with her previous knowledge of Katie's character, she did not doubt but that the sad accident which had befallen her was the result of some fresh act of disobedience on her part. Towards morning, the mother's prayer seemed answered, for Katie fell into a gentle sleep; her features lost that look of wild excitement, and a calm, peaceful expression took its place. Tears of gratitude flowed down Mrs. Lawrence's pale cheeks, and seemed a relief to her anxious mind. She arose from her seat by the bedside, and walking to the window, she opened it. The sweet fresh morning air seemed to revive her. Day was just breaking, and the sky was tinged all over with a soft rosy hue. As she stood gazing on the still and peaceful scene before her, she heard the garden gate open, and a minute afterwards there was a gentle tap at the cottage door. The window of Katie's room was at the side of the house, so that Mrs. Lawrence could not see any one as they came through the garden. She glanced at the bed; Katie was still calmly sleeping. And opening the door as noiselessly as possible, she went down the stairs, thinking that perhaps the doctor had sent to inquire after his patient. On opening the door, she quite started back on seeing Fanny Price; her hair dishevelled, her dress in disorder, and her eyes swollen with crying. Fanny was no favourite of Mrs. Lawrence's, but she was a kind-hearted woman, and was touched by the girl's evident distress. "What is the matter, Fanny? What ails you?" "Oh, Mrs. Lawrence! Is she dead? Pray, pray tell me." "Of whom are you speaking?" "Of Katie; oh, tell me, is she dead?" "She is not dead," said Mrs. Lawrence; "but—" "Thank God for it! Oh, thank God!" And Fanny sank down upon the door-stop, and burst into a fit of weeping. "What can you mean, Fanny?" asked Mrs. Lawrence, whose suspicions began to be aroused. "Was it you who—" "Yes, yes!" cried the girl, passionately. "It was all my fault, Mrs. Lawrence; Katie would not have gone to the fair if I had not persuaded her. If she had died, it would have been I who killed her. We did not come home until late last night, for the storm kept us at Oakfield, and then father told me that the mowers had found Katie Lawrence dead in the fields. And oh, Mrs. Lawrence, I prayed as I never prayed before, that it might not be so; and sinful, wicked as I am, God has heard me." "Katie is still very, very ill, Fanny; and I must not leave her any longer. I am thankful, for your own sake as well as mine, that God has spared my poor child's life. May it be a lesson to you which you will never forget; a warning how far you entice others into bad ways." Fanny Price was turning away, for the widow's voice was almost stern in her sorrow, and the girl's eyes fell beneath the expression of the mother's face. "Stop, Fanny," said Mrs. Lawrence, in a kinder and gentler tone, for the thought had entered her mind that it ill became her, whose child's life had just been so mercifully spared, to bear malice, and to lose the opportunity of exerting a good influence over Fanny's future conduct. "Stop, Fanny, let us part friends. I forgive you from my heart, and may God give you strength and grace to profit by the sad lesson you have received. If I can advise you at any time, come to me; that's all." Fanny's tears flowed afresh, but they were tears of gratitude. "May I come again and ask after Katie?" "Come whenever you like." "Thank you again and again," said the girl, as, drawing her shawl over her head, she left the cottage. Mrs. Lawrence gently closed the door, and went up to Katie's room. Nelly, who had been removed into her mother's room, in order that Katie should be by herself, had not closed her eyes the whole of that sad night. "Mother, mother," whispered she. Mrs. Lawrence bent down to kiss the little excited face that was uplifted to hers. "Is Katie better?" "I think so, my darling." "Will she die, mother?" "I pray—I hope not, Nelly." "How good God is, mother!" "Yes, dear child; let us pray that we may love Him as we ought, with all our heart, and mind, and soul, and strength." When Mrs. Lawrence entered Katie's room, she found her child still sleeping; so she went downstairs again to call Ben, who slept with Tom and Willie in a little room on the ground-floor of the cottage. Poor Ben had been hard at work ploughing all the previous day, and slept soundly. It was not that he did not share in the general anxiety about Katie, for he was a good, affectionate boy, and loved his mother and sisters dearly. "It's time to get up, Ben; it's nearly five o'clock." "How's Katie, mother?" said he, rubbing his eyes. "Better, Ben, thank God. Fanny Price has just been here; it was she that persuaded Katie to go with her
