urs passed on it.

He fancied that Jane looked a little more anxious than usual; but then
her sister was lying ill at Stokeley, and she was often there with her,
so that accounted for her anxiety. It accounted, too, for her being
away one evening a fortnight later, when Mr Robins coming in in the
dusk found something laid on his doorstep. His thoughts had been
otherwise occupied, but the moment his eyes fell on the
shepherd's-plaid shawl wrapping the bundle at his feet, he knew what it
was, and recognised a renewed attempt to coerce him into doing what he
had vowed he would not. He saw it all in a minute, and understood that
now Jane Sands was in the plot against him, and she had devised this
way of putting the child in his path because she was afraid to come to
him openly and say what she wanted. Perhaps even now she was watching,
expecting to see him fall into the trap they had set for him; but they
should find they were very much mistaken.

His first resolution was to fetch the police constable and get him to
take the child right off to the workhouse, but on second thoughts he
altered his purpose. Such a step would set all the tongues in the
place wagging, and, little as he cared for public opinion, it would not
be pleasant for every one to be telling how he had sent his grandchild
to the workhouse. Grandchild? pshaw! it was Martin Blake's brat.

The child was sleeping soundly, everything was quiet, the dusk was
gathering thick and fast. Why should he not put the child outside some
other cottage, and throw the responsibility of disposing of it on
someone else, and be clear of it himself altogether? The idea shaped
itself with lightning rapidity in his brain, and he passed quickly in
review the different cottages in the place and their inmates, and in
spite of his indifference to Martin Blake's brat, he selected one where
he knew a kindly reception, at any rate for the night, would be given.
He knew more about the Grays than of most of the village people. Bill
was a favourite of his, and had been with him that afternoon after
school to fetch a book Mr Robins had promised to lend him. He was a
bright, intelligent boy, and had a sweet voice, and the organist found
him a more apt pupil than any of the others, and had taken some pains
with him, and when he was ill the winter before had been to see him,
and so had come to know his mother, and her liking for anything young
and weak and tender.

Their cottage w