allow me to put your
name on this charity, and how you persistently refused, until at last I
did it without your consent; and how, eventually, you gave in only when
I charged you with pride? You are not forsaken, granny, and you are not
a beggar."

"Brayvo, doctor! you have 'er there!" came in a soft whisper from the
door.

For a moment I felt tempted to turn the boy out, as I had turned out the
dog; but, seeing that my old woman had not overheard the remark, I took
no notice of it.

"You have put the matter in a new light John," said Mrs Willis slowly,
as her eyes once more sought the spout. "You often put things in new
lights, and there does seem some truth in what you say. It did hurt my
pride at first, but I'm gettin' used to it now. Besides," continued the
old lady, with a deep sigh, "that trouble and everything else is
swallowed up in the great sorrow of my life."

"Ah! you refer to your granddaughter, I suppose," said I in a tone of
profound sympathy. "You have never told me about her, dear granny. If
it is not too painful a subject to speak of, I should like to hear about
her. When did she die?"

"Die!" exclaimed Mrs Willis with a burst of energy that surprised
me--"she did not die! She left me many, many months ago, it seems like
years now. My Edie went out one afternoon to walk, like a beautiful
sunbeam as she always was, and--and--she never came back!"

"Never came back!" I echoed, in surprise.

"No--never. I was not able to walk then, any more than now, else I
would have ranged London all round, day and night, for my darling. As
it was, a kind city missionary made inquiries at all the police-offices,
and everywhere else he could think of, but no clew could be gained as to
what had become of her. At last he got wearied out and gave it up. No
wonder; he had never seen Edie, and could not love her as I did. Once
he thought he had discovered her. The body of a poor girl had been
found in the river, which he thought answered to her description. I
thought so too when he told me what she was like, and at once concluded
she had tumbled in by accident and been drowned--for, you see, my Edie
was good and pure and true. She could not have committed suicide unless
her mind had become deranged, and there was nothing that I knew of to
bring about that. They got me with much trouble into a cab, and drove
me to the place. Ah! the poor thing--she was fair and sweet to look
upon, with her curling