"Oh, not my precious, precious baby-boy!" cried Mary, throwing aside the mantle. "He's the only baby we've got now!" "No, not baby; I should be rather afraid of him. But one of the others." "Well--" and Mrs. Mitchell hesitated. "Take me," said Juliet, in a low, hard voice. "I'm that stupid and awkward and careless that I'm no good to anybody. And I don't want to learn, and I don't want to be good. All I want is mutton-chops and puddings, and new boots." Her sullen little face stared at her aunt with a look of stolid indifference on it. Was it possible that poverty had pinched her child's heart so hard as to have pinched all softness and sweetness out of it? Mrs. Rowles's heart was full of softness and sweetness. "May I take Juliet home with me? I can't promise mutton-chops, but there will be beans and bacon. And boots perhaps we can manage." "I don't like parting with any of them. Though, to be sure, Florry can mind baby; or even little Amy can. Juliet, my child, shall I let you go?" and Mrs. Mitchell clasped the girl in her arms, and tears streamed down the mother's face, while Juliet stood as stony and unmoved as ever. "She's got no clothes for going on a visit," said Mitchell. "She can have some of my girl's; they are just of a size." "All right, then, Emma. You're a good sister, you are. Not one of my people has come forward like this. They are all so high and mighty and so well-to-do in the world, they can't turn their eyes down so low as me and mine. But you've give me a turn for the better, Emma Rowles. You'll see I'll be at work on Monday night, if not sooner." Juliet being lent to her, Mrs. Rowles felt that she might now proceed on her homeward journey, which would occupy some three hours. So, after affectionate farewells she set off, her basket hanging on one arm and her niece hanging on the other; and they clambered into omnibuses, rushed over crossings and under horses' heads, ran full tilt against old gentlemen, and caught themselves on the hooks and buttons of old ladies, in a way which Juliet alone would never have done. But Mrs. Rowles, being unused to London, was more fussy and hurried than any Londoner could ever find time to be. CHAPTER IV. THE "PRETTY CHURCHYARD." IT was late in the day when the aunt and niece seated themselves in the train for Littlebourne. Mrs. Rowles counted up her money, and then counted up the time. "It will be eight o'clock before we get home," she remarked; "it will be getting dark and near your bed-time." "I don't care," said Juliet; "I don't want to go to bed." "Oh, no; but I shall be tired and sleepy. Juliet, have you ever been in the country?" "No." "But you said you liked the Crystal Palace." "No, I didn't," was Juliet's polite reply. "I beg your pardon, my dear, I thought you did."