k. It was plainly
her duty to minister to the wants of this complaining old invalid whom
others neglected, and she would keep tryst at any cost. With many an
inward shudder she went on with her task. As the water in the kettle was
already steaming, it was not long before the lunch was ready, and she
carried it in.

"It's simply impossible for me to come and make the pie in this dirty
kitchen," thought Lloyd, "and I can't tell her so. Maybe I could ask
Mrs. Crisp to invite her ovah and she could see it done there."

While she worried over the problem of introducing the subject tactfully,
Mrs. Perkins herself opened the way. She hadn't been well enough to do
any cleaning for several weeks, she said. If she could get a little
stronger, she intended to do two things: to slick up the place a bit,
and to go on a visit to Jane O'Grady's up near the black bridge. She had
been wanting to spend the day with Jane all winter, but didn't have any
way to get there. It was too far to walk. Lloyd saw her opportunity and
seized it.

"Why, mothah will send the carriage for you, Mrs. Perkins, any day you
set. She'd be glad to. Alec can drive you ovah early in the mawning,
when he is out for the marketing, and go for you befoah dah'k."

"Then you may send to-morrow," said Mrs. Perkins, ungraciously. "I don't
want to risk putting it off. Folks usually forget such promises
overnight. So I'd best make sure of it."

Lloyd flushed angrily, but the next instant excused the old woman's
rudeness on the score of her ill health. She had a plan that she was
anxious to carry out, and she hurried home to begin, all a-tingle with
her charitable impulses. She was surprised that her mother should treat
it so lightly.

"Of course you can have the carriage," said Mrs. Sherman. "But, my good
little Samaritan, I must warn you. That old woman is a pauper in spirit.
She hasn't a particle of proper pride. People have done too much for
her. She'll take all she can get, and grumble because it isn't more. So
you mustn't be disappointed if, instead of thanks, you get only
criticism."

But Lloyd, full of the zeal of a true reformer, danced down to the
servants' quarters to find May Lily, one of the cook's grandchildren.
May Lily, a neat-looking coloured girl of seventeen, had been one of
Lloyd's most loyal followers since they made mud pies together on the
Colonel's white door-steps, and the readiness to serve her now was
prompted not so much by the promised