she observed, as though in reply to
this mute question; "you are not at all too smart. Now I must go and
read my letters. Have a good time, children; and, Malcolm, remember
Anna must not be overtired," and then Mrs. Herrick nodded cheerfully
and withdrew to the library. Anna ran off to put on her hat, while
Malcolm read his paper.

They went first to Lincoln's Inn, and Anna stood on the wide steps
looking at the pigeons fluttering over the old buildings, quite
unaware, in her innocent excitement--though Malcolm was not--that many
an admiring glance rested on her.

In spite of her lack of beauty, Anna's pretty girlish figure and
youthful grace often attracted people--her expression was so guileless
and sweet, and the fair fluffy hair so softly tinted; and as she stood
there in the morning sunshine, in her white gown and shady hat, Malcolm
felt secretly proud of his young companion, and his manner became still
more affectionate.

They interviewed Malachi, and to Anna's delight Malcolm put him through
his paces. Then they went into the inner room, and Anna sat down on the
chair Cedric had occupied, and looked round her with undisguised
amazement: the shabbiness and ugliness of the surroundings almost
shocked her.

"Oh, Malcolm, it is not a bit nice and comfortable," she said with an
anxious frown: "fancy your spending your days in this dreary room."

Then Malcolm gave an amused laugh.

"Poor little girl, so you are disappointed in my literary den. I
suppose you thought I should have carved oak and Russia leather
bindings; but we don't go in for aesthetic furniture in Lincoln's Inn."

"But it is so ugly and so dingy, Malcolm."

"Is it?" he returned, quite surprised at this severe criticism. "I
think it quite snug myself. I have done some good work here, Anna, so I
suppose the ugliness and dinginess are somewhat inspiring." And Malcolm
glanced at his littered writing-table rather proudly.

As Anna felt no temptation to linger, they started off briskly in
search of Todmorden's Lane.

They found it with little difficulty. It was a small side street, of
somewhat unprepossessing appearance, leading out of Beauchamp Street.
Bennet, boot-maker and umbrella-maker, had a dark, dingy little shop
just at the corner. It had evidently been an ordinary dwelling-house in
old times, but a bow window had been added to transform it into a shop.
A flight of broken steps led to the basement, where the cobbler and his
household li