me fond of the old mandarin years and years ago. I do not
think I should like to see a new one in his place."

Pennie and she were both silent. Miss Unity's thoughts had perhaps
travelled to that far-off country where the mandarin had lived, but
Pennie's were nearer home.

"Then," she said half aloud, "I suppose it really would be better to
collect for Kettles."

The voice at her side woke Miss Unity from her day-dream. The last word
fell on her ear.

"Kettles, my dear!" she said. "What do you want with kettles?"

"It's a person," explained Pennie, "a little girl. We saw her at old
Nurse's. And Nancy wants to give her a new pair of boots and
stockings."

"Does she live with old Nurse?" asked Miss Unity.

"Oh, no!" answered Pennie. "She only came in for the tea-leaves. She
lives in Anchoranopally."

"_Where_?" said Miss Unity in a surprised voice.

"Oh!" cried Pennie with a giggle of amusement, "I forgot you wouldn't
understand. Nancy and I always call it that when we talk together. It
really is the `Anchor and Hope Alley,' you know, turning out of the High
Street close to the College."

Poor Miss Unity became more and more confused every moment. It all
sounded puzzling and improper to her. "Kettles" coming in for
tea-leaves, and living in "Anchoranopally." How could Pennie have
become familiar with such a child?

"But--my dear--" she said faintly. "That's the very worst part of
Nearminster. Full of dirty, wicked people. You ought to know nothing
of such places. And I don't like to hear you mispronounce words, it
might grow into a habit. It's not at all nice."

"We only call it so because Kettles did, you see," said Pennie. "She
didn't look at all wicked, and old Nurse says her mother is a decent
woman. Her face was rather dirty, perhaps. She's got a bad father. He
drinks--like lots of the people at Easney--"

"I am sorry to hear," interrupted Miss Unity, drawing himself up, "that
Mrs Margetts allowed you to see such a person at all, or to hear
anything of her relations. I am afraid she forgot herself."

"She couldn't help it," said Pennie eagerly. "Nancy and I were at tea
with her, and Kettles came in for the tea-leaves, and had some bread and
honey. And we asked Nurse to let her come and see us again, and she
said `No, she knew her duty better.' So we've never seen her since, but
we've always wanted to. Her real name is Keturah. Nurse says it's a
Scripture name, but we thin