been set to bleach in the wind and sun. This
done they entered the cottage. The window was small and the light dim. A
white-haired old woman was warming her hands and crooning over a wood
fire.

"Eh, mother," cried Betty, "I've brought someone to sing to ye. 'Lodgin'
on the Cold Ground,' do ye remember that old ditty?"

"Do I mind it? Why, to be sure. But who sings it now-a-days? Nobody."

"Well, ye're going to hear it, and ye'll have to say if this young miss
here trolls it as well as Moll Davies used to."

"What stuff ye be talkin', Betty," retorted the old woman. "Nobody can.
I can remember my mistress a-singin' it as well as if it was only
yesterday."

"Do ye hear that--I've forgotten what name Hannah told me yours was?"

"Lavinia Fenton. But please call me Lavinia."

"So I will. Now sit ye down, Lavinia, and talk to mother while I brew
the tea."

Lavinia was rather dismayed at finding she was to pit herself against
the fascinating Moll whose charms had conquered the Merry
Monarch--possibly no very arduous task.

The old lady was past eighty, but in possession of all her faculties.
When she said she remembered Moll Davies' singing perfectly well she
probably spoke the truth.

Tea was over. Betty cleared away and Lavinia at her request--to be
correct--at her command, sang, keeping her eyes fixed on the old lady
and so to speak singing _at_ her.

Before long the aged dame was mopping her eyes, and when Lavinia had
finished the pathetic ballad she stretched out both her wrinkled hands
towards the girl and in a quivering voice said:--

"Thank you, my dear. Lor' ha' mercy, it takes me back sixty year. I
haven't heard that song since Mistress Davies sung it, an' lor' bless
me, it might be her voice as I were a-listin' to. Aye, an' you're like
her in face, though not in body. She was short an' a bit too plump, but
she was the prettiest of wenches. Moll's singin' brought her luck and
maybe yours will too."

Lavinia heard the old lady's praise with delight. Betty could say
nothing. She was gazing spellbound at the nightingale. The charm of the
girl's melodious and expressive voice had swept away all her prejudices.
Lavinia should have a lodging and welcome. Betty went further. She did
the laundry of Mrs. Palmer, the wife of the director of the concerts at
the Great Room, and she undertook to tell the lady of the musical
prodigy living in her cottage, and promised Lavinia to beg her ask her
husband to hear t