en Murray suddenly. The
morrow was her precious Saturday that brought a rest from the week's
hard work, but the words seemed forced from her. The look of childish
fear in the woman's face made some sort of promise necessary for her
own peace of mind.

The woman looked up at her gratefully as she took the baby.

"It's awful good o' you, Miss," she cried, "and indeed I'll be thet
grateful, if you'd just come and tell me the best thing to do for
Minnie. I'm not much of a 'and in sickness." She looked at the two
visitors wistfully. "It does a body good jist to 'ave a word with
somebody that's sorry for you," she added.

Helen went away, her heart sore and sick with the woman's pain.

The idiot boy followed them to the gate, grinning and muttering. His
mother called him from the doorway, and he shambled towards her.
Glancing back, Helen saw his long, ungainly body folded in her little
thin arms, while she patted him tenderly on the back.

As they stepped out on the rickety side-walk, a tall girl of about
sixteen came and stood staring at them from the doorway of the next
house. She had a bold, handsome face and her hair and untidy dress
were arranged in an extravagant imitation of the latest fashion.

"Good day, Gladys," said Madame kindly, but the girl answered with only
a curt nod. When the visitors had passed, she called shrilly to some
one in the house behind her.

"Maw! Hurry out an' see the parade! Willow Lane's gettin' awful
high-toned!" There was a loud cackle of laughter and Madame's
shoulders shook with suppressed merriment. "That's Gladys Hurd," she
said, shaking her head. "Poor Gladys, I'm afraid she's not a very good
girl. She's not got a very good mother."

As they were turning off Willow Lane, the rattle of a buggy behind them
made Madame turn.

"There he is again," she cried. "I suppose he's taken Peter home and
found his pig for him. I don't believe I could bear the thought of all
the misery on Willow Lane if I didn't know that Old Angus McRae was
doing so much to lighten it."

Helen turned. Angus had pulled up in front of the Perkins' house and
the idiot lad with queer cries of delight came stumbling out to meet
him. The girl named Gladys ran out too, and the old man handed her a
sheaf of glowing crimson dahlias. She buried her face in them and
hugged them to her in a passion of admiration for their beauty.

"Look, look at Mrs. Cassidy will you?" cried Madame in delight.

M