with little
family groups out shopping, and there were many amusing sights. Then she
laughed a good deal; she could not keep from laughing.

Christmas Day opened with a rimy, hazy morning, and the business
thoroughfares were deserted. They had sucking pig for dinner, and Mr.
Jupe, who was at home for the holiday, behaved like a great boy. It was
afternoon before the postman arrived with a bag as big as a creel, and
full of Christmas cards and parcels. There was a letter for Glory. It was
from Aunt Anna.

"We are concerned about the serious step you have taken, but trust it is
for the best, and that you will give Mrs. Jupe every satisfaction. Don't
waste your savings on us. Remember there are post-office savings banks
everywhere, and that there is no friend like a little money."

At the bottom there was a footnote from Aunt Rachel: "Do you ever see the
Queen in London, and the dear Prince and Princess?"

She went to service that night at St. Paul's Cathedral. Entering by the
west door, a verger in a black cloak directed her to a seat in the nave.
The great place was dark and chill and half empty. All the singing seemed
to come from some unseen region far away, and when the preacher got into
the curious pulpit he looked like a Jack-in-the-box, and it seemed to be
a drum that was speaking.

Coming out before the end, she thought she would walk to the Whitechapel
Road, of which Aggie had told her something. She did so, going by
Bishopsgate Street, but turning her head away as she passed the church of
the Brotherhood. The motley crowd of Polish Jews, Germans, and Chinamen,
in the most interesting street in Europe, amused her for a while, and
then she walked up Houndsditch and passed through Bishopsgate Street
again.

At the Bank she took an omnibus for home. The only other fare was a
bouncing girl in a big hat with feathers.

"Going to the market, my dear? No? I hates it myself, too, so I goes to
the 'alls instead. Come from the country, don't ye? Same here. Father's a
farmer, but he's got sixteen besides me, so I won't be missed. Live? I
live at Mother Nan's dress-house now. Nice gloves, ain't they? My hat?
Glad you like the style. I generally get a new hat once a week, and as
for gloves, if anybody likes me----"

That night in her musty bedroom Glory wrote home while little Slyboots
slept: "'The best-laid schemes o' mice and men gang aft aglee.' Witness
me!

"I intended to send you some Christmas presents, but t