They had not missed our Pilgrim long,
For they knew she oft would play
In that old garden, with a book,
The whole of the livelong day.
"Betty," at last, said the housekeeper,
"Where can Miss Marian be?
Her dinner was in the basket packed,
But sure, she'll come in to tea!"
They sought her here, they sought her there,
But they could not find the child;
And her poor old aunts, when they came home,
With grief were almost wild.
The coachman and the footman too,
In different ways were sent;
But none thought of the narrow way
In which the Pilgrim went.
"Perhaps she followed us to town,"
Poor Aunt Rebecca said,
"I wish we had not left our home;
I fear the child is dead."
And to the town the coachman went,
For they knew not what to do;
And night drew on, when a country boy
Brought Marian's little shoe.
With the shoe in her hand, the housekeeper
Into the parlor ran,
"Oh, Mistress, here is all that's left
Of poor Miss Marian.
