"Ally, my dear," she said, "I'm as weary as if I were seventy-eight instead of sixty-eight. It's a long walk back from St. Paul's Churchyard, and there was a crowd out, to be sure; but it's a fine starlight night, and I felt as I was walking along, the Lord's in his heaven, and there can never be real bad luck for us, his servants, what trusts in him." Alison frowned. She wished Grannie would not quote Scripture so much as she had done lately. It jarred upon her own queer, perverse mood; but as she saw the courageous light in the blue eyes she suppressed an impatient sigh which almost bubbled to her lips. She got tea for Grannie, who drank it in great contentment. David brought the children in. They kissed Grannie, and were hustled off to bed, rather to their own disgust, and then David, Grannie, and Alison sat gravely down, and looked each at the other. "Where's Harry?" said Grannie suddenly. "Why aint the boy to home?" "I expect he's at the Boys' Club," said David. "He's very fond of running round there in the evening." "There's no harm in that, Grannie," said Alison. "Don't fret about Harry. Now tell us your news, do. Did you see Mr. Williams, and can he do anything?" "I saw Mr. Williams," said Grannie. "He remembered me quite well. I told him everything. It seems to me that he has put things straight. I don't say that things aint sore--no, I don't go to pretend they aint--but somehow they seem straightened out a bit, and I know wot to do." "And what's that, Grannie?" asked David, taking her left hand very tenderly in his as he spoke. Grannie had been leaning back in a sort of restless attitude. Now she straightened herself up and looked keenly at the boy. "It means, lad," she said, after a pause, "the sore part means this, that we must give up the little bit of a home." "We must give it up?" said David, in a blank sort of way. "Oh, wait a while; you don't know about my five shillings a week." "Dave has got a rise," interrupted Alison. "Mr. Watson thinks a sight of him, and he's to go into the house as a clerk, and he's to have five shillings a week and his meals. So he's provided for." "But your five shillings a week won't keep up the home, Dave, so there's no use thinking of it, from that p'int o' view." "Go on, please, Grannie; what else have you and Mr. Williams arranged?" "It's the Lord has arranged it, child," said Grannie, "it aint Mr. Williams. It's that thought that makes me kind o' cheerful over it." "But what is it, Grannie? We are to give up the home?"