Kezia Margetts," and the date when this great
work was completed.

Dickie's favourite amongst all Nurse's curious possessions was what she
called her "weather-house," a building of cardboard covered with some
gritty substance which sparkled. The weather-house had two little
doors, out of one of which appeared an old woman when it was fine, and
out of the other an old man when it was going to be wet. They had
become rather uncertain, however, in their actions, because Dickie had
so often banged the naughty old man to make him go in, supposing him to
have a bad influence on the weather. Nurse spoiled Dickie dreadfully,
the other children considered, and they were pleased when she did not
make one of the party.

"I suppose Nurse knows we're coming?" said Pennie, as they were driving
from Miss Unity's house, where they had left their mother, to the
College.

"Of course," replied Nancy; "you know we never take her by surprise,
because she always likes to get something for tea."

"I don't think surprises are nice," said Pennie. "I like to have lots
of time to look forward to a thing. That's the best part."

"I like to surprise other people though," said Nancy; "it's great fun, I
think. Here we are!"

There were no old people standing about in the garden, and all the
benches were empty, for it was a chilly autumn afternoon. As the
children crossed the quadrangle they saw here and there, through the
latticed panes, the cheerful glow of a fire.

"It must be very nice to be an old woman and live here," said Pennie.

"Well, I don't know," said Nancy. "How would you like to be Mrs
Crump?"

Mrs Crump was a discontented old lady who lived in the room beneath
Nurse. For some reason Nancy took a deep interest in her, and even in
the middle of Nurse's best stories she was always on the alert for the
least sound of the sharp complaining tones below.

"Oh, of course not!" said Pennie hastily; "I mean some contented,
good-natured old woman."

"Mrs Crump says," continued Nancy, "that she never knew what it was to
be quick in her temper till she felt the want of an oven. She thinks
it's the baker's bread that makes her cross. She turns against it, and
that makes her speak sharp."

"She's a tiresome old woman," said Pennie, "and I can't make out why you
like to hear about her, or talk to her. Let's go up softly, else she'll
come out."

"I should like her to," said Nancy as the little girls climbed the steep
carpe