of Cailsham--and seeing with their
eyes what the tired old man saw all day long--the abundant garden
of England. There Maurice told her the story of her misery, in which
fairies and goblins and giants and witches moved in quick and sudden
passage across the vistas of his vivid imagination.

"And that's why you're sad," he said at its conclusion. "If only the
prince had not done what the witch told him, you'd have been perfectly
happy, wouldn't you?"

Sally put her arm round his neck, lifted the soft, smooth little face
to hers, and kissed it.

"Yes, that's why," she said gently; "but you must never tell any one."

"Mayn't I tell mummy?" he pleaded.

She took her arm from his neck and looked straight before her. The
moment of jealousy sped through her--shame rode fierce behind.

"Yes," she replied, "you can tell mummy."

The weeks of the summer flew by. No sympathy was lost between her
mother and herself. Her sisters frankly were jealous of her. She had
better clothes than they, knew more of the world, was more
interesting to strangers in her conversation. The people of Cailsham,
treating her first as one of the Bishops--the one who had lived in
London, earning her living--came to find that she was a different
type of person to the rest of her family. The women admitted her to
look smart; the men--at the weekly teas which some member of the
tennis club always provided--sought out her company. And then, to
compensate for all the unpleasantness in her home, there was
Maurie--Maurie whom every night since that first occasion of their
friendship she said good night to. With arms round each other's necks,
they said their prayers together--Sally who had offered no
supplication on her knees since the night when Traill had left her.

"I scarcely thought it possible to be so happy," she wrote to Janet.
"I absolutely look forward to the waking in the mornings now, because
then I go in and wake him up, kiss his dear, brave little face as
it lies on the pillow fast asleep; and then he kneels on the bed,
puts his arms round my neck, and we say our prayers together. That
means nothing to you, I expect; but don't laugh at it. Oh, Janet,
I wish he were mine."

She was woman enough, too, to find some consolation in the attention
which the people of Cailsham paid to her. She was gratified by the
interest which the men in the little town, and principal amongst them,
Wilfrid Grierson, showed in her whenever they met. He was the