Among those whom Christian Murdoch learned to know was Janey Briarley. She saw her first in the streets, and again in Mrs. Murdoch's kitchen, where she occasionally presented herself, attired in the huge apron, to assist in a professional capacity upon "cleanin' days." The baby having learned to walk, and Mr. Briarley being still an inactive member of the household, it fell upon Janey and her mother to endeavor to add, by such efforts as lay in their power, to their means for providing for the eleven. With the assistance of the apron, Janey was enabled to make herself generally useful upon all active occasions. "Hoo's a little thing, but hoo's a sharp un," Mrs. Briarley was wont to say. "Hoo can work like a woman. I dunnot know what I'd ha' done wi'out her. Yo' try her, Missus, an' see." She spent each Saturday afternoon in Mrs. Murdoch's kitchen, and it was not long before Christian drifted into an acquaintance with her. The first time she saw her on her knees before the fire-place, surrounded by black-lead brushes, bath-brick, and "pipe-clay" and vigorously polishing the fender, she stopped short to look at her. "How old are you?" she asked, after a little while. "I'm twelve, goin' on thirteen," was the reply, without any cessation of the rubbing. The girl leaned against the side of the mantel and surveyed her critically. "You don't look that old," she said. "Aye, but I do," returned the child, "i' tha looks at my face. I'm stunted wi' nussin', that's what mak's me so little." She gave her face a sharp turn upward, that it might be seen. "I've had enow to mak' me look owd, I con tell thee," she remarked. The interest she saw in her countenance inspired her. She became comparatively garrulous upon the subject of the family anxieties. "Feyther" figured in his usual unenviable role, and Granny Dixon was presented in strong colors, but finally she pulled herself up and changed the subject with startling suddenness. "I've seed thee mony a toime afore," she said, "an' I've heerd folk talk about thee. I nivver heerd _him_ say owt about thee, though." "Whom do you mean?" asked Christian, with a little frown. "Mester Murdoch. We used to see a good deal on him at th' start, but we dunnot see him so often i' these days. He's getten other places to go to. Th' quality mak' a good deal on him." She paused and sat up, polishing brush in hand. "I dunnot wonder as they say yo're han'some," she volunteered. "Who says so?" coldly. "Th' men in th' Works an' th' foak as sees yo' i' th' street. Some on 'em says you're han'somer than her--an' that's sayin' a good bit, yo' know." "'Her' is Miss Ffrench?" "Aye. Yo' dunnot dress as foine, an' yo're dark-skinned, but theer's summat noice about yo'. I dunnot wonder as they say yo're han'some." "Never mind talking about that. Tell me about something else." The termination of the interview left them on sufficiently good terms. Janey went home with a story to tell.