haud a jubilee when she's nailed.'

'Oh, please don't speak like that of your mother!'

Liz looked quite thunderstruck.

'What for no'? I've never gotten onything frae her a' my days but ill.
I'll tell ye what--if I had ta'en her advice, I'd hae gane to the bad
lang syne. Although she is my mither, I canna say black's white, so ye
needna stare; an' if ye are no' pleased ye needna come back, I didna
spier ye to come, onyway.'

'Oh no; pray forgive me if I have made a mistake. I am so sorry for it
all, only I cannot understand it.'

'Be thankfu' if ye dinna, then,' replied Liz curtly. 'I'm no' very
ceevil to ye. I am much obleeged to ye for comin', for the flooers, an'
mair than a', for teachin' Wat to read.'

Her face became quite soft in its outline; the harshness died out of her
bright eyes, leaving them lovely beyond expression. Gladys felt drawn to
her once more, and, leaning forward, without a moment's hesitation she
kissed her on the brow. It was a very simple act, no effort to the child
who had learned from her English mother to give outward expression to
her feelings; but its effect on Liz was very strange. Her face grew
quite red, her eyes brimmed with tears, and she threw the blanket over
her head to smother the sob which broke from her lips. Then Gladys bade
good-bye to the little seamstress, and slipped away down the weary stair
and into the grimy street, where already the lamps were lit. Her mind
was full of many new and strange thoughts as she took her way home, and
it was with an effort she recovered herself sufficiently to attend to
her simple duties for the evening. But when the old man and the boy came
down from the warehouse, supper was ready as usual, and there was
nothing remarked, except that Gladys was perhaps quieter than usual.

'Yes, I have been, and I saw your sister, Walter,' she said at last,
when they had opportunity to talk alone. 'She is much better, she says,
and hopes to get out soon.'

'Did you see anybody else?'

'Yes, a friend whom she called Teen; I do not know her other name,'
answered Gladys.

'Teen Balfour--I ken her. An' what do you think of Liz?'

He put the question with a furtive anxiety of look and tone not lost on
Gladys.

'I like her. At first I thought her manner strange, but she has a
feeling heart too. And she is very beautiful.'

'You think so too?' said the lad, with a strange bitterness; 'then it
must be true.'

'Why should it not? It is pleasant to