r life, too, that it's our business to
take out. At any rate, we'll begin here and do this first. One step
at a time, Laddie--one step at a time. That's all we have to take,
fortunately. When we can't see ahead, it's because we can't look
around a corner."

All that day from behind her cobwebbed windows, Miss Evelina watched
the Piper and his dog. Weeds and thistles fell like magic before his
strong, sure strokes. He carried out armful after armful of rubbish
and made a small-sized mountain in the road, confining it with stray
boards and broken branches, as it was too wet to be burned.

Wherever she went, in the empty house, she heard that cheery,
persistent whistle. As usual, Miss Hitty left a tray on her doorstep,
laden with warm, wholesome food. Since that first day, she had made no
attempt to see Miss Evelina. She brought her tray, rapped, and went
away quietly, exchanging it for another when it was time for the next
meal.

Meanwhile, Miss Evelina's starved body was responding, slowly but
surely, to the simple, well-cooked food. Hitherto, she had not cared
to eat and scarcely knew what she was eating. Now she had learned to
discriminate between hot rolls and baking-powder biscuit, between thick
soups and thin broths, custards and jellies.

Miss Evelina had wound one of the clocks, setting it by the midnight
train, and loosening the machinery by a few drops of oil which she had
found in an old bottle, securely corked. At eight, at one, and at six,
Miss Hitty's tray was left at her back door--there had not been the
variation of a minute since the first day. Preoccupied though she was,
Evelina was not insensible of the kindness, nor of the fact that she
was stronger, physically, than she had been for years.

And now in the desolate garden, there was visible evidence of more
kindness. Perhaps the world was not wholly a place of grief and tears.
Out there among the weeds a man laboured cheerfully--a man of whom she
had no knowledge and upon whom she had no claim.

He sang and whistled as he strove mightily with the weeds. Now and
then, he sharpened his scythe with his whetstone and attacked the dense
undergrowth with yet more vigour. The little yellow mongrel capered
joyfully and unceasingly, affecting to hide amidst the mass of rubbish,
scrambling out with sharp, eager barks when his master playfully buried
him, and retreating hastily before the oncoming scythe.

Miss Evelina could not hear, but