of the team in the big yellow wagon was Tom,
and Bill seemed to be all over the place, whistling along the road or
running round the corner, or waiting to change his book at the
organist's gate. If Mr Clifford spoke to Mr Robins it was about
something to do with the Grays, and even Mr Wilson of Stokeley stopped
him in the road to ask if some people called Gray lived at Downside.
It was most extraordinary how these people, so insignificant a week
ago, were now brought into prominence.

Even before Mr Robins had overheard that conversation he had had a
fidgety sort of wish to go up to the Grays' cottage, and now he made a
pretext of asking for a book he had lent Bill, but went before the
school came out, so that only Mrs Gray was at home as he opened the
gate and went up the path.

It was a beautiful, sunny afternoon, and Mrs Gray was sitting outside
the door, making, plain as she was, a pretty picture with the shadows
of the young vine-leaves over the door dappling her print gown and
apron and the baby's little dark head and pink pinafore, a garment that
had once been Bill's, who had been of a more robust build than this
baby, and moreover, had worn the pinafore at a more advanced age, so
that the fit left a good deal to be desired, and the colour had
suffered in constant visits to the wash-tub, and was not so bright as
it had been originally.

But altogether, the faded pinafore and the vine-leaf shadows, and the
love in the woman's face, made a harmonious whole, and the song she was
singing, without a note of sweetness or tune in it, did not jar on the
organist's ear, as you might have supposed, knowing his critical and
refined taste.

'Good afternoon, Mrs Gray,' he said; 'I came for the book I lent your
son the other day. Why, is this your baby?' he added with
unnecessarily elaborate dissimulation. 'I did not know you had any so
young.'

'Mine? Lor' bless you, no. Ain't you heard? Why, I thought it was
all over the place. Gray, he found it in the garden just there where
you be standing, a week ago come to-morrow. Ain't she a pretty dear,
bless her! and takes such notice too, as is wonderful. Why, she's
looking at you now as if she 'd aknown you all her life. Just look at
her! if she ain't smiling at you, a little puss!'

'Where did she come from?'

'Well, sure, who 's to know? There was some gypsy folks through the
place, and there 've been a lot of tramps about along of Milton Fair,
and there was