g,' replied Teen meekly. 'Weel, I'm aff. I'll be back afore
dark. Ye can hae the kettle bilin', an' I'll bring in a sausage or a red
herrin' for oor tea.'

It was not without some faint, excited curiosity that Teen found herself
at the door of the house of which Liz had given her the address. It was
a one-roomed abode, three stairs up a tall tenement, in one of these
dreary and uninteresting streets which are only distinguishable from one
another by their names. In answer to her knock, a shrill female voice
cried, 'Come in,' an invitation which the little seamstress somewhat
hesitatingly obeyed. It was now after sundown, and the freshness of the
daylight had faded, leaving a kind of semi-twilight in the room, which
was of a fair size, and comfortably, though not luxuriously, furnished.
On the end of the fender sat the solitary occupant, in a ragged and
dirty old dressing-gown of pink flannel, her feet in dilapidated
slippers, and her hair in curl-papers along her forehead. Although she
saw that her visitor was quite a stranger to her, she did not offer to
rise, but simply raising her pert, faded, but still rather pretty face,
said inquiringly,--

'Well?'

'Are you Mrs. Gordon? I've come for Lizzie Hepburn's things. She's no'
comin' back here.'

'Oh, all right. Shut the door, and come in. What's up with her? Gone off
with a handsomer man, eh?' queried Mrs. Gordon, as she bit her thread
through, and held up a newly-trimmed dress bodice for admiration.

'No; she's gaun into the country the morn,' answered Teen, while the
ballet-dancer gave several very knowing nods.

'That's a pity, for her luck's turned. You can tell her she'll be taken
on if she likes to turn up at the Olympic to-morrow morning at ten
sharp. I arranged it for her on Saturday night.'

'She said I was to tell you she had changed her mind aboot the theatre,'
said Teen. 'She's no' weel enough for it, onyhoo. She'll be better in
the country.'

'Are you her sister?'

'Oh no, only her chum.'

'Well, I say, perhaps you can tell me something about her. She was as
close as the grave, though we've been pals for a while; she'd not tell
me a single thing. Why is she out on her own hook? Is there a man in the
business?'

'I dinna ken ony mair than you,' said Teen, looking rather uncomfortable
over this cross-examination. 'An' if ye'll tell me where her box is, I
maun be gaun. I promised no' to be long.'

'It's there, at the end of the bed,' said Mrs. G