th bay windows and gabled roofs, and little dormer
windows in them, were thought of. It was a straight little house, with
a window on each side of the door, and three above it, a lean-to at the
back, and a square of garden in front. The path to the door was of
pebbles, and they always made a disagreeable crunching sound as the
feet of any comers to the house walked over them. That was not often;
and the little iron gate grated on its hinges, it was so seldom opened,
as Mr. Boyd pushed it back to admit the two girls.

"No, no," Uncle Bobo had said, in answer to Joy's entreaty. "I'll just
walk across to that bench and wait for you, my Joy. I don't fancy the
old lady, and she doesn't fancy me. So ta-ta!"

Mr. Boyd toddled across the bit of sandy road to a bank mound of sand,
covered with long pointed grass, which hid the view of the sea from the
lower window of Mrs. Skinner's house, and sitting down on a wooden
seat, resigned himself to patient waiting.

Bertha crept slowly up to the door, and seemed half afraid to make her
coming known.

She turned the bright brass handle of the door, but it was locked.

"We must go in by the back door; p'raps grandmother won't mind."

"Are you afraid to go in, Bet?"

"Well, grandmother is very particular; she isn't like Mr. Boyd."

"Do you mean," said Joy, "that you would rather I didn't come in? Oh,
then I will run back to Uncle Bobo! Good-bye, Bertha."

"No, no, I didn't mean that," said Bertha, much distressed. "I--I----"

As she was hesitating the door was opened, and Mrs. Skinner's tall
figure filled the narrow entrance. She stood without saying a word for
a moment, and then, in a harsh, discordant voice, she asked--"Who is
_that_?"

"If you please, ma'am, I am Joy. I go to school with Bertha, and she
has been home to tea with me and Uncle Bobo, and I have brought her
back."

"She does not want bringing," was the sharp reply; "she can bring
herself, I suppose. Go round to the back door, will you?"

"I think I had better _not_," Joy said with emphasis, "because you do
not wish me to come into your house."

Mrs. Skinner had been standing motionless at the door while Joy was
speaking, and there was a strange expression on her sharp thin features.

"Where do you say you live, child?"

"I live with Uncle Bobo, in the row, opposite Miss Pinckney and Mrs.
Harrison. Miss Pinckney keeps the milliner's shop, where the widows'
caps hang up."

"_I_ know," was t