a narrow, shady lane,
where, as he had said, there was a mannerly old black cow grazing
beside the way, who came to the end of her tether rope to greet them.

"I'm not afraid with you here," young Martin asserted boldly, and was
even persuaded to pat the smooth black and white face of the friendly
creature while Janet fed her a handful of clover.

When they reached a broken-hinged gate at the end of the lane, the
girl began to realize that she was coming to the same place that
Oliver had described to her. She stopped, feeling that she would
rather not go on, but the little boy tugged at her hand.

"My father isn't here," he told her, as though some unhappy knowledge
of his father's character made him understand her hesitation, "and my
mother's crying."

With some reluctance, Janet pushed open the gate and went in.

A faded, shabbily dressed woman sat on one of the unpainted benches of
the shady stoop, holding a baby in her arms. As Martin had said, slow
tears of helpless misery were rolling down her cheeks, while from the
bundle that she held came the worn-out, tired wail of a sick child.

"I don't know much, but I would like to help you," Janet said, sitting
down beside her, while the woman choked with a fresh gush of tears at
the unexpected offer of aid and sympathy.

"I don't dare put the baby down, he cries so," she managed to say at
last. "Could you go into the kitchen and heat some water and bring out
the blanket that I hung up to warm? I don't doubt the fire is out by
now, but I haven't been able to move for fear he would begin choking
again. Do you think you can manage?"

Janet managed very well, with Martin trotting at her heels to tell her
where things could be found. She heated the water, warmed the
blankets, and even rummaged out the tea caddy and brewed a cup of hot
tea for the weary mother.

"You are a real blessing, my dear," said the woman as she put down the
empty cup. "This boy has been sick with croup all night and I had
quite forgotten that I had no breakfast."

"Has his father gone for the doctor?" Janet asked, as she brought out
a cushion for the baby, who seemed to be quieter now and almost ready
to drop asleep.

"No," replied the woman briefly.

She offered no explanation. It was evidently not a thing to be
expected that Anthony Crawford should take an interest in an ailing
child.

As Janet went back and forth, she was struck by the surprising charm
that the old house showed with