at Mary Fogarty woman'll help
us out. I hope she'll be like Meg-Laundress, or darlin' Posy Jane.
Strange, how long these fields are. Longer'n the longest avenue there is
an' not one single house the hull length. Why ain't there houses, I
wonder. Wake up, Bonny precious! We're almost there."

But when they reached the door of the Queen Anne cottage, which was
intended to be picturesque and had succeeded in being merely extremely
dirty, and out of which swarmed a horde of youngsters each more soiled
than the other, Glory's heart sank. For the big woman who followed the
horde was not in the least like either old friend of Elbow Lane. Her
voice was harsh and forbidding as she demanded, "Well, an' who are you;
an' what are you wantin' here?"

"Timothy sent us," answered Glory, meekly.

"Huh! He did, did he? Well, he never had sense. Now, into the house with
ye, every born child of ye!" she rejoined, indifferently, and "shooed"
her own brood, like a flock of chickens, back into the cottage, then
slammed its door in the visitor's face.

CHAPTER XI

A Haven of Refuge

Glory's walk and heavy burden had exhausted her and, almost
unconsciously, she let Bonny Angel slip from her arms to the door-step
where she stood. There the child lay, flushed and motionless, in a sleep
which nothing disturbed, though hitherto she had wakened at any call.
Now, though in remorse at her own carelessness, Take-a-Stitch bent over
the little one and begged her pardon most earnestly, the baby gave no
sign of hearing and slumbered on with her face growing a deeper red and
her breath beginning to come in a way that recalled the old captain's
snores.

"What shall I do now?" cried poor Glory, aloud, looking around over the
wide country, so unlike the crowded Lane, and seeing no shelter anywhere
at which she dared again apply. Some buildings there were, behind and
removed from the cottage; but they were so like that inhospitable
structure in color and design that she felt their indwellers would also
be the same.

"Oh, I wish I hadn't come all that way over the grass," said poor Glory.
"If we'd stayed by them car-rails, likely we'd have come somewhere that
there was houses--different. And, Bonny Angel, sweetest, preciousest,
darlingest one, do please, please, wake up and walk yourself just a
little, teeny, tiny bit. Then, when I get rested a mite, I'll carry you
again, 'cause we've got to go, you see. That Timothy was mistook an' his
siste