Very pathetic, after the record of such desolation, were the words of Job (cut below the bas-relief at the bottom, which, not very gracefully, represented a broken flower): "The LORD gave, and the LORD hath taken away: blessed be the name of the LORD." Mr.Clerke was hurrying back up the church to fetch me as I read the text.

I had just time to see that the last two names were the names of girls, before I had to join him.
Amy and Lucy.

Were those indeed the dainty little children who such a short time ago were living, and busy like myself, happy with the tinsmith's toys, and sad for a drenched doll?
Wild speculations floated through my head as I followed the tutor, without hearing one word of what he was saying about tea and teachers, and reaching Dacrefield before dark.
I had wished to be their brother.

Supposing it had been so, and that I were now withering under the family doom, homesick and sick unto death "in furrin parts!" My last supposition I thought aloud: "I suppose they know all the old knights, and those people in ruffs, with their sons and daughters kneeling behind them, now.

That is, if they were good, and went to heaven." "_Who_ do you suppose know the people in the ruffs ?" asked the bewildered tutor.
"Amy and Lucy St.John," said I; "the children who died last." "Well, Regie, you certainly _do_ say _the_ most _sin_gular things," said Mr.Clerke.
But that was a speech he often made, with the emphasis as it is given here..