Mary Gray

ind a great church. The roadway in front of the houses led only to the back entrance of the church. Over against the windows was th

ped hall-door which was a confession of poverty in itself. Five out of six houses had a ramping plaster horse in the fanlight of th

ome of the more enterprising inhabitants kept fowls;

urrants. There were no flowers there that did not sow themselves year after year. They were damp, g

him a habit of introspection. Perhaps he found the human machine as worthy of interest as the works of watches and clocks. Anyhow, in his leisure moments, which were few, he would discuss curiously with Mary the hidden springs that kept the human machine in motion, the strange workin

ance, of his first marriage,

e stepmother whom, honestly, Walter Gray had married because his child was neglected. He had not anticipated, perhaps, the long string of children which was t

, from the time she could stagger under the weight of a baby, she had rece

o run about, the rapidity with which they wore out their boots and the knees of their trousers, and outgrew their frocks, was a subject upon which Mrs. Gray could expatiate for hours. Mary had a tend

rit the sea was not at an insuperable distance. Indeed, but for the high wall of the school playground, the lovely line of mountains had been well in view. As it was, many a day in summer Mary would carry off her tr

-had long been extinguished under the accumulation of toils and burdens that made up her daily life. She was fond of Mary, and leant on her strangely, considering their relative ages. For the rest, she toiled w

bles and stable yards were old gardens with shady stretches of turf and forest trees enclosed within their walls. Beyond the gardens rose the fine old-fashioned houses of the Mall, big Georgian houses that looked in front acr

by way of encouragement, after the time-honoured custom. Or you might see a load of hay lifted up by a windlass into the loft above the stables. Or you might assist at the washing of

ch of shining turf dappled with sun and shade. Tall snapdragons and lilies and sweet-w

always old ladies and gentlemen, and they were old-fashioned in their attire, but very magnificent. There was one old lady who was the very Fairy Godmother of the stories. She was the

he children's basins with it. Again, the apples would be distributed in their season. While the distribution went on, the old lady would stand at a window with her little white dog in her arms nodding her

full name was Lady Anne Hamilton-and that was an event which had a con

e end of Wistaria Terrace, at right angles to it. She had gone out into the great main thoroughfare, the

e fur, as it might well seem to anyone at a distance. The thing was almost motionless, or stirring so feebly that its movements were not apparent. Evidently the driver of the tram had not no

he roadway to save it. She was just in time to pick up the blind, whimpering thing. The driver of the tram, seeing Mary in its path, put on the brakes

Mary's right arm that was injured. For one thing, it would involve the dispossession of tha

gathered, hearing, as from a great distance, the snarling and scolding of the tram-driver, who was af

m the crowd, but her head swam and her feet were

n accident? I am

old dog," said the tram-driver indignantly. "As th

I can't make an examination here. Better come with me, my c

faintly. "Let me go home; t

t this must be bandaged before you can

he tram-track, where it had lain disgor

said, pushing her gently towards his carriage. "And the little dog-is

dy Anne Hamilton. She lives at No. 8, The Mall. She will be dist

eard of her. We can leave the dog

d-brick house. Lady Anne herself came down the gravel path. Over her head was a little shawl of old lace; it was caught by a seed-pearl brooch with an amethyst centre. She was wearing a quilted red silk petticoat

ng elderly maid cam

and I cannot find the little thing

w that Mary was coming to herself she began to discover that the doctor was young and kind-lookin

little dog, ma

"You don't know what she is to me, sir. My little grandson"-the imperious old v

nk me. There is a young girl in my carriage at the gate. She picked up your dog from under the wheels of a tramcar, and broke her arm, I fear, in doing it. I am on my way t

ne? Heroic child!

treasure to her breast with fervour,

's preserver," she sai

of her arm. She heard Lady Anne's pra

ot detain you very long. We can procure splints and bandages, all you require, from a chemist's shop. There is one just round the corner.

he trees. Lady Anne walked the other side of her, prete

dages were on, and Mary

king at his watch. "I am half an hour behind

ch at half-past one. Could you return to lunch, Dr.-ah, Dr. Carruthers. You are Dr. Car

ased to return to lunch, Lady Anne. I don't think

for fortune. So had the neat, single brougham, hired from a livery-stable. So had been the three smart maids. But so far Fortune had not favoured him. He was one of fifty or so waiters on For

ke made it. Pownall grows careless. The last time I sent for him he kept me two hours waiting. When I h

ghtfully on the agit

you come back to lunch," she said; "a