Once, Mrs. Drury took her with her to see Mrs. Hodges, whose cottage was on the Disbrowe estate, and as Amethyst entered the little garden gate, the only occasion on which she had ever been there before recurred vividly to her mind. "I wonder whether that little old woman is still here, mumsie," she said. "Hardly likely, dear, but you will soon hear." It transpired that Granny Wood was there, circumstances having caused her to make her home with her daughter, and the dear old soul, now quite a prisoner through rheumatism to her chair by the fireside, was delighted to see one of the "little missies," of whom, as her daughter explained, she was never tired of talking. "They was angels without wings to me, that day, ma’am," the old granny asserted; "little missy here, and her friend. But them other two--well, there, I won’t say all I thinks! My darter says I ain’t no business to bear malice, an’ me a Christian body, but I owes this last illness o’ mine to that there bouncin’ h’animal." And the wrinkled old face looked as nearly cross as it was possible for her apple-cheeks and faded blue eyes to manage. Amethyst looked subdued, and Mrs. Drury hastened to explain that she was sure the girls had not meant to be really unkind, and that both of them had learnt since what suffering meant, and she went on to tell of the death of Olive’s mother. "Dear, dear; poor lamb!" ejaculated Granny Wood, commiseratingly, all her animosity gone; "to think o’ that now, and me a-grumblin’ at ’er an’ all." "And Monica Beauchamp, the other one, you know," put in Amethyst, "she is quite different now. She tries to be kind to everybody, because Jesus was always kind." "Praise the Lord, missy," cried the old woman, in quavering tones; "then I’ll never say aught agin’ either of ’em again; but I’ll just keep on asking the Almighty to bless every one of you, and make you all blessings every day of your lives." Amethyst and her mother walked home rather silently, until they reached the spot where the bicycle accident had happened that memorable afternoon. "It must have been just here," said the little girl, as they passed the place. "I remember Olive saying the motor was pulled up by that tree. It was a good thing Mr. Howell went by just then, wasn’t it, mumsie?" "Yes, dear," agreed Mrs. Drury. "_Such_ a lot has happened since then," continued Amethyst, who was in a retrospective mood. "Everything seemed to begin with that half-term holiday." "What do you mean, girlie?" "Why, mumsie, Mrs. Beauchamp used to be so cross, and now she’s the nicest old dear possible; and Monica was nasty and uppish, you know, at first. I didn’t think I ever _could_ like her, and now I think she’s almost too good to live, sometimes! And Olive is nicer too, although I shall always like my darling Elsa best." Here Amethyst paused, from sheer want of breath, for her tongue always ran twice as quickly as other people’s.