the reply.
"Thank you kindly, I am sure, Mrs. Murray, and I wish you well, ma'am."

Mrs. Murray shook hands with Grannie and looked at her kindly and
affectionately as she tripped down the winding stairs for the last time.

Grannie wore her black silk bonnet, and her snow-white kerchief, and
her neat little black shawl, and her white cotton gloves. Her
snow-white hair was as fluffy as usual under the brim of her bonnet,
and her eyes were even brighter, and her cheeks wore a deeper shade of
apple bloom about them. Perhaps some people, some keen observers,
would have said that the light in the eyes and the bloom on the cheeks
were too vivid for perfect health; but, as it was, people only remarked
as they saw her go down the street, "What a dear, pretty old lady!
Now, _she_ belongs to some of the provident, respectable poor, if you
like." People said things of that sort as Grannie got into the omnibus
presently, and drove away, and away, and away. They did not know, they
could not possibly guess, what Grannie herself knew well, that she was
only a pauper on her way to the workhouse. For Mrs. Reed had kept her
secret, and the keeping of that secret was what saved her heart from
being broken. Mr. Williams had used influence on her behalf, and had
got her into the workhouse of a parish to which she had originally
belonged. It was in the outskirts of London, and was, he said, one of
the best and least severe of the class.

"Provided the children don't know, nothing else matters," thought
Grannie over and over, as she approached nearer and nearer to her
destination. "I am just determined to make the best of it," she said
to herself, "and the children need never know. I shall be let out on
visits from time to time, and I must keep up the story that I am
staying with kind friends. I told Mr. Williams what I meant to do, and
he didn't say it were wrong. Lord, in thy mercy help me to keep this
dark from the children, and help me to remember, wherever I am, that I
was born a Phipps and a Simpson. Coming of that breed, nothing ought
to daunt me, and I'll live and die showing the good stock I am of."

The omnibus set Grannie down within a quarter of a mile of her
destination. She carried a few treasures tied up in a silk
handkerchief on her left arm, and presently reached the big gloomy
gates of the workhouse. Mr. Williams had made all the necessary
arrangements for her, and she was admitted at once. A male porter,