The girls said little as they went about their work, being too overwhelmed by grief and confusion to offer much remark on anything that had passed. It was not until the day drew to a close and they came within sight of their cottage that they seemed to come to themselves once more, for while they were still a good way off, they saw that the door stood slightly ajar.
"Is it possible," Faithful ventured after a moment, "that we forgot to shut it before we left this morning?"
"I think not," Christian replied, "for even if one of us had forgotten, the other should have remembered. All the same, it could hardly have opened of its own accord."
Thus they stood for some time, watching for some sign of how they ought to proceed, but after a few minutes had passed and neither answers nor help seemed forthcoming, they concluded there was nothing to be done but to go and see for themselves.
They approached the cottage slowly, and as they came to the door, it was with some alarm that they heard a good deal of shuffling and whispering coming from inside. Yet as they continued to listen, they perceived that the voices belonged to a young boy and girl, who seemed to be rummaging through the cupboards and closets. Now as they looked to one another, it occurred to both girls that they had heretofore seen no children in town, a fact which both puzzled and relieved them.
Leaning toward her companion, Christian whispered, "I do not wish to be too hard upon poor children who, likely as not, have never been taught any better, yet we would do them no favor if we let them go without a warning."
To this Faithful agreed, and after a moment, they burst inside and took hold of the young malefactors, shutting the door securely behind them.
The struggle that ensued was fierce but brief. When the children saw they were caught and their hope of escape cut off, they seemed to resign themselves to their fate, following the girls into the kitchen and washing their hands and faces with only a halfhearted show of resistance before being seated on a little bench by the table. They were small and dirty, their clothes little more than rags, and they stared in wide-eyed silence as Christian lit the fire and put the kettle on and Faithful set before them a light supper of buttered bread with jam and tea, as though used to receiving far different treatment from those they had tried to rob. They hesitated just long enough for Christian to bless the food, before devouring the meal as though they had not eaten in days and expected it be taken away at any moment.
After a little questioning, the girls learned that the boy was Ignorance and the girl was Want. They could say nothing of their parents, but Ignorance haunted the more respectable parts of town, including the town hall, courthouse, and local university, where materialists and magicians met to discuss new ideas, while Want lived with her sisters, Shame and Desperation, on the outskirts of the fair.
Coming to the point, Christian looked sternly upon them and asked, "Do you know that it is wrong to steal?"
Want stared. It was evident the idea had never occurred to her. Her eyes darted from Christian to Faithful, as though searching for some confirmation of these words, and finding it, settled on her hands, which began to fidget nervously with the napkin in her lap. Yet Ignorance crossed his arms and scowled defiantly.
"Says who?" he demanded.
"God tells us so through His Word," Christian answered, taking out her book and opening it to a certain place. "Ye shall not steal, neither deal falsely, neither lie one to another. See for yourself, right here."
She held the book out to them, with a finger on the verse, but Ignorance scarcely glanced at it before pushing it away.
"Can't read!" he exclaimed proudly.
Christian looked surprised, but quickly composed herself and said, "We can teach you, then."
Want looked up hesitantly, hope plainly written on her face, but Ignorance only shrugged carelessly.
"I do not doubt you are a gifted teacher," Faithful whispered. "But you see this Ignorance is willful, and I fear it is beyond even your power to reach him. Yet surely we might do something for the girl."
Christian sighed but nodded and rose to open the door. Ignorance seemed to consider his options for a moment, then took the last slice of bread and ran out into the growing darkness without a word of thanks. Yet Want remained seated, as though frozen in place.
Christian and Faithful quickly cleared the table before taking their seats on either side of the distressed child, who now stammered out a broken apology, which the girls accepted at once. Then seeing that she, unlike her companion, was eager to learn and most anxious to please her hosts, they invited her to come again in the morning, and as soon as the sheep had been tended to, they would have lessons in the field, a proposal which delighted the child beyond words.
The following day, Want arrived a little after daybreak, looking as though she had hardly slept for excitement. She followed the girls closely as they went about their work and proved to be a great help as she offered to fetch and carry whatever they needed.
At last they found a quiet place at the edge of the field, by the woods, where Christian and Faithful spread a blanket and a small picnic, and after they had eaten, they opened their book and began at the beginning.
Want sat between them and listened in rapt silence as they read of the Creation and the Fall. She stared in amazement at the description of the garden in all its perfection and the generous offer to freely eat of every tree but one, gasped in horror and outrage at the deception of the serpent and the disobedience of man, trembled at the judgment, marveled at the promise, and broke forth with a string of questions the moment the girls stopped reading, which they endeavored to answer as best as they could.
At last, Christian assured her that she would understand more as they went on, an answer which seemed to satisfy the child for the time being. Then she opened her bag and took out a pencil and a sheaf of papers she had lined and bound into a little book, which had a letter written at the top of every page, and for some time they made a game of filling the pages with words from the text, sometimes adding little sketches in the margins, and sometimes pausing to walk about the field and see to the sheep. Thus they spent the morning and much of the afternoon, until the sun began to set and the time came for the sheep to be brought in.
Then the child ran home, but she returned the next day, and the next. When she did not appear the fourth day, Christian and Faithful were deeply worried, and as they sat down to supper that evening, they earnestly prayed that she might be safe and well.
Suddenly they heard a nervous tapping at the door, and opening it found two girls about their own age, whom they guessed at once to be Want's sisters. Though Shame appeared flushed and Desperation pale, and both were tired, careworn, and dirty, they had plainly done their best to look presentable, and carried themselves as proudly as the finest ladies in Vanity Fair. Yet as they entered the room, they glanced about with a telling look of apprehension, and Christian and Faithful saw at once that their stiffness and reserve came more from fear than arrogance or conceit. Thus they endeavored by word and deed to put their guests at ease, quickly setting two more places at the table and inviting them to sit.
Once the food had been served and the tea poured, the sisters looked to one another as though unsure of how to begin. At last Shame said, "We understand that our sister came to visit you. We hope she did not cause you any trouble."
"On the contrary," returned Christian, "we were very pleased to make her acquaintance, and quite enjoyed her company. She has been a great help to us, and a most diligent pupil. We hope she is well?"
It was some time before the sisters could respond, so taken aback were they by the unexpected praise. For a long moment they studied the girls' faces as though searching for any hint of guile or dissimulation. At last Shame answered that all was well, in a tone which plainly said she could hardly believe it herself.
"We hope you did not miss her at home," said Faithful. "We were under the impression that you knew where she was, but perhaps we should have asked."
"No," answered Desperation. "We did not want her. That is to say—we would rather know she was not in town."
"Certainly it is no place for children," Faithful sympathized. "We would be happy to keep her with us during the day."
"We would be very grateful to you," said Shame, "if you're sure it wouldn't be too much trouble."
"Not at all," Christian assured her.
After a few more words, the sisters thanked the girls for their hospitality and went their way, and the next morning, Christian and Faithful found Want waiting eagerly at their usual place. Thus she became a constant presence both in the field and at the cottage, and seemed to thrive under the girls' daily instruction and care.