recincts of the grey market-town.

By this time the stars were shining clear in the cold, frosty sky, and
candles or train-oil lamps were burning in most of the houses; for all
these things took place long before gas had been heard of in those
quarters. A few faces were pressed close to the window-panes as the
cart passed; and some rather untidy women came to the house-doors to
look. And they spoke one to another words which, though inaudible
through the noise of the cart, were yet intelligible enough to Annie,
with her own forebodings to interpret the expression of their faces.

"That'll be little Annie Anderson," they said. "She's gaein hame to
bide wi' her cousin, Robert Bruce, up i' the Wast Wynd. Puir wee
lassie!"

For, on the way, Annie had been informed of her destination.

But she was too miserable already, because of leaving her old home, to
care much to what new one she was going. Had it not been for the
absorption of this grief, she could not have been indifferent to the
prospect of going to live with her cousin, although her dislike to him
had never assumed a more active form than that of wishing to get away
from him, as often as he came near her.

The cart stopped at Bruce's shop-door. It looked a heavy door, although
the upper half was of glass--in small panes. Dowie got down and went
into the shop; and before he returned Annie had time to make some
listless observations. The house was a low one, although of two
stories, built of grey stone, and thatched. The heavy door was between
two windows belonging to the shop, in each of which burned a single
tallow candle, revealing to the gaze of Annie, in all the enhancing
mystery of candlelight, what she could not but regard as a perfect mine
of treasures. For besides calico and sugar, and all the multifarious
stock in the combined trades of draper and grocer, Robert Bruce sold
penny toys, and halfpenny picture-books, and all kinds of confectionery
which had been as yet revealed to the belated generations of Glamerton.

But she had not to contemplate these wonders long from the outside; for
Bruce came to the door, and, having greeted his cousin and helped her
down, turned to take Annie. Dowie had been before him, however, and now
held the pale child silent in his arms. He carried her into the shop,
and set her down on a sack that stood outside the counter, leaning
against it. He then went back to his horse's head.

The sack made no bad seat, for it was hal