much of anything reg'lar."

Winifred acquiesced politely. She was quite conscious of the
shortcomings in the system of home education as it was being applied to
her in those days; no critic so keen in these matters as the pupil of
fourteen!

"Well now, it's a pity," said the housekeeper, sincerely, "and they do
say yer ma does deplorable bad cooking, and yer sisters that's older
than you aren't great hands at learning." The housekeeper sat down on a
grave near the paling, as if too discouraged at the picture she had
drawn to have energy to stand longer.

Winifred looked at the tanager, at the housekeeper, and round her at the
happy morning. This sad-eyed, angular woman always seemed to her more
like a creature out of a solemn story, or out of a stained-glass window,
than an ordinary person whose comments could be offensive. They had
talked together before, and each in her own way took a serious interest
in the other.

"Sister Sophia has learned to cook very nicely," said the child, but not
cheerfully. It never seemed to her quite polite to be cheerful when she
was talking to Mrs. Martha.

"Yes, child; but she can't do everything"--with a sigh--"she's put upon
dreadful as it is." Then in a minute, "What made you think of coming
here after him?"

"I think it's so wonderful." The child's eyes enlarged as she peered
through the fence again at the scarlet bird.

"Lolly, child! I'm glad to hear you say that," said Mrs. Martha,
strongly. "He's far above and beyond--he's a very holy man."

Winifred perceived now that she was talking of old Cameron, and she
thought it more polite not to explain that she had misunderstood.
Indeed, all other interests in her mind became submerged in wonder
concerning the old man as thus presented.

"He's mad, isn't he?"

"No, he isn't."

"I knew he was very good, but couldn't he be good and mad too?"

"No," said Mrs. Martha; and the serious assertion had all the more
effect because it stood alone, unpropped by a single reason.

"When I've milked the Principal's special cow I often come here of a
morning, and sometimes I see the saint walking under the trees. I don't
mind telling you, child, for you've a head older than yer years, but you
mustn't speak of it again. I'd not like folks to know."

"I won't tell," whispered Winifred, eagerly. She felt inexpressibly
honoured by the confidence. "Do you think he'll come out now?" Awe and
excited interest, not unmingled with fear, were t