ened the third yellow envelope, and was surprised to see a bill
with: To Joseph Greenaway, Furniture Dealer, one child's mahogany cot L1
10_s_, upon it.

"Maura," I cried, "this is the climax. Why ever did you buy a baby's
cot--and how came Mr. Greenaway to trust you? You are only a minor--an
infant in law!"

"Oh, do stop," said Maura; "you're like Hermione or Rosalind,
or--somebody--who put on a barrister's gown in the play----"

"Portia, I suppose you mean?"

"Yes, Portia. Mr. Greenaway let me have the cot because I once bought a
little blue chair from him, for Selina's baby, for which I paid _cash
down_."

It is impossible to describe the triumphant manner in which she uttered
"cash down," it was as if she had said, _I_ paid the national debt.

"Now," she proceeded, "I'll tell you why I bought it--I was one day
passing a weaver's house in Revel Lane, when I saw a young woman crying
bitterly but silently at the bottom of one of the long entries or
passages. 'I fear you are in trouble' I said. 'Is any one ill?'

"She shook her head. She couldn't speak for a moment, then whispered:

"'Daisie's cot has followed the loom!'

"I asked her what following the loom meant.

"'O young lady,' she replied, 'the weaver's trade has been mortle bad
lately, and last week I sold Daisie's cot for the rent--and when the
broker took it up I thought my heart would break; but hearts don't
break, missie, they just go on achin'.'

"Daisie was her only child, and the cot was a carved one, an heirloom in
which several generations of the family had slept!

"I had only a florin in my purse, but I gave her that, took her name and
address and walked on.

"But the woman haunted me. All the rest of the day I seemed to see her
weeping in the long, grey street, and to hear _her_ sobbing above the
sound of the music in the music-room, and when I woke up in the middle
of the night, I thought I would go to Mr. Greenaway the next day, and
ask him to let me have a cot, and I'd pay him out of my next quarter's
pocket-money. The very next day he sent the crib--'From an unknown
friend.' That's all, Gloria! Now, what shall I do?"

"Go and tell Miss Melford all about it," said I. "Come, _now_."

Maura shrank from the ordeal, but in the end I persuaded her to
accompany me to the cedar parlour, where the Lady Principal was writing.

A wood fire burned cheerily on the white marble hearth, and the winter
sunlight fell brightly on the flower-stand