verness as she rang the bell for the strawberries
and cream.

On the following evening the weather was so close and lowering that we
had to remain indoors. It was one of those heavy days which sometimes
occur in the summer months, when the whole atmosphere appears to be one
low-hanging cloud, enveloping everything in a kind of dark-gray mist,
that is only now and then pierced with red rays, and droops upon the
distant fields in a straw-coloured vapour--the effect of the sunlight
behind the atmosphere of mist.

"What a dim, uninviting evening!" said Miss Grantley as we stood at the
window looking out at the garden, where the roses seemed to droop
heavy-headed in the moisture-laden air, and the song of the birds was
hushed, or only an occasional chirp was heard as one or two thrushes
flashed from amidst the plum-trees, or a martin twittered beneath the
eaves. "What a dim evening! It almost reminds one of a London fog--not a
black fog, but a yellow one, such as one sees in the city sometimes on a
late autumn afternoon or an evening in February."

"Oh! do tell us a story about London, Miss Grantley. You _must_ know
ever so much of the streets and places there, or how could you have
learned so easily about Spitalfields and all that? Beside, you've lived
in London, haven't you?"

"Well, yes. I was in London for more than two years, and near the city
too, and I think I must have spent too much time in wandering about some
of the quaint old streets and lanes, where there are rare old churches,
and halls belonging to city companies, and ancient houses that once
belonged to noblemen of the court of King James and King Charles, but
are now used for counting-houses and warehouses, such of them as are not
pulled down at least. I made some odd acquaintances too; and a kind old
couple, who were caretakers at one of the smaller city halls, used to
ask me to take tea with them, for the old gentleman had known my
great-uncle Joseph, who was an East India merchant, and belonged to the
company that used to meet in the hall. I think the old gentleman said he
had been the 'master;' but at any rate his portrait was on the wall
along with many others, and he was so like my dear father that I stood
and cried, and often wished I could take the portrait itself away, but
that of course was impossible."

Here Miss Grantley became silent, and we could see tears shining in her
eyes, till Annie Bowers, who was standing near her, gently took her i