ent, and these Madge offered to do
then and there if he could accommodate her with a table. There was no
room in the tiny shop, but he looked towards the half-open door which
led into the room behind, and whistled a summons, in response to which a
thin, sad-faced woman made her appearance.

"Mother, will you give this young lady a seat in the parlour? She's got
a drawing here that you will like to see, and there are one or two
little things she is going to put in to make it better still."

"Come in, miss," said the woman curiously; and Madge walked into a
little oven of a room, which was, however, clean and tidy, and not
without a certain homely charm. The pictures on the walls were almost
without exception prints of racing horses, and while the tobacconist's
wife examined her sketch, Madge studied these prints with interest, and
could not resist remarking on their number.

"You must be very fond of horses."

"My husband is!" The woman spoke shortly, and in a tone which made
Madge regret her thoughtlessness. The thin face grew lined and
troubled; her voice sank to a whisper. "I hate 'em!" she whispered. "I
hate the sight of 'em. They have been the ruin of us. We used to be in
quite a big way. We've come down and down. I don't know what will
happen next."

Madge murmured sympathetically and bent her head over her work. All
unwillingly she had touched upon the family skeleton, and it was
difficult to know how to offer consolation when the offender himself was
within hearing distance. She worked steadily at her sketch, while the
woman sat down to her sewing, and for several moments the silence was
unbroken. Then came the tinkle of the little bell, and two customers
entered the shop. Madge heard a request for tobacco and a sporting
paper, but she was in the middle of some fine printing and did not lift
her head from her sheet. The proprietor was evidently weighing out the
tobacco while his customers studied the paper. Suddenly one of them
spoke in a reproachful voice:

"You were wrong about Friday's race, Mr Edwards. Brownie was not in it!
You have not been fortunate in your tips lately."

"Jolly bad tips!" cried another voice, at the sound of which Madge's
pencil slipped from her hand and rolled across the table. She bent
forward to rescue it, casting at the same time a lightning glance
through the half-opened door. The two customers were still standing
before the counter, the younger of the two