d
his accustomed indifference and indolence, his sardonic self-criticism?
He was like a school-boy off for the holidays. He kept looking out of
the window--with persistent hope of the gray sky clearing. He was
impatient of the delay at the various stations. And when at length they
got out and found the doctor's trap awaiting them, and proceeded to get
up the long and gradual incline that leads to Winstead village, he
observed that the fat old pony, if he were lent for a fortnight to a
butcher, would find it necessary to improve his pace.

When they reached the doctor's house and entered, they found that only
the old lady was at home; the doctor had gone to visit a patient; Miss
Francie was, as usual, away among her young convalescents.

"It has been a busy time for Francie," Mrs. Moore said. "She has been
making so many different things for them. And I don't like to hear her
sewing-machine going so late at night."

"Then why do you let her do it?" Lionel said, in his impetuous way. "Why
don't you get in somebody to help her? Look here, I'll pay for that. You
call in a seamstress to do all that sewing, and I'll give her a
sovereign a week. Why should Francie have her eyes ruined?"

"Lionel is like the British government, Mrs. Moore," Mangan said, with a
smile. "He thinks he can get over every difficulty by pulling out his
purse. But perhaps Miss Francie might prefer carrying out her charitable
work herself."

So Maurice Mangan was arrogating to himself, was he, the right of
guessing Francie's preferences?

"Well, mother, tell me where I am likely to find her. I am going to pull
her out of those fever-dens and refuges for cripples. Why, she ought to
know that's all exploded now. Slumming, as a fad, had its day, but it's
quite gone out now--"

"Do you think it is because it is fashionable, or was fashionable, that
Miss Francie takes an interest in those poor children?" Maurice asked,
gently.

Lionel was nearly telling him to mind his own business; why should he
step in to defend Cousin Francie?

"She said she was going across the common to old Widow Jackson's," his
mother answered him, "and you may find her either there or on the way to
the village."

"Widow Jackson's?" he repeated, in doubt.

"Oh, I know it," Mangan said, cheerfully. And again Lionel was somewhat
astonished. How had Maurice Mangan acquired this particular knowledge of
Francie's surroundings? Perhaps his attendance at the House of Commons
ha