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[sic, should be XXII.] As soon as she was alone in her room she drew from her pocket a parcel containing something which Dowie had bought for her on their way home.
When undone it revealed two or three tallow candles, a precious present in view of her hopes.

But how should she get a light--for this was long before lucifer matches had risen even upon the horizon of Glamerton?
There was but one way.
She waited, sitting on the edge of her bed, in the cold and darkness, until every sound in the house had ceased.

Then she stepped cautiously down the old stair, which would crack now and then, use what care and gentleness she might.
It was the custom in all the houses of Glamerton to _rest_ the fire; that is, to keep it gently alive all night by the help of a _truff_, or sod cut from the top of a peat-moss--a coarse peat in fact, more loose and porous than the peat proper--which they laid close down upon the fire, destroying almost all remaining draught by means of coal-dust.

To this sealed fountain of light the little maiden was creeping through the dark house, with one of her _dips_ in her hand--the pitcher with which she was about to draw from the fountain.
And a pretty study she would have made for any child-loving artist, when, with her face close to the grate, her mouth puckered up to do duty as the nozzle of a pair of bellows, one hand holding a twisted piece of paper between the bars, and the other buttressing the whole position from the floor, she blew at the live but reluctant fire, a glow spreading at each breath over her face, and then fading as the breath ceased, till at last the paper caught, and lighting it up from without with flame, and from within with the shine of success, made the lovely child-countenance like the face of one that has found the truth after the search of weary days.
Thus she lighted her candle, and again with careful steps she made her way to her own room.