“Yes; and the wisdom and patience of those home missionaries who have taken London in hand appear unfailing,” said Knight, glancing at Tom, who returned the glance with a comical smile. “Several educated men are giving all their leisure to the boys belonging to my establishment, and there are some ladies who are bringing about very happy changes in the homes of the people.” “Miss Wentworth has not gone to Madeira this winter, Arthur, has she?” asked Dallington. “No; and she spends all her days in doing good. There is a young lady, too, who is occasionally seen by the bedside of the sick, who is like an angel of light”—Tom flushed violently, and shook her head warningly—“but” proceeded Knight, “perhaps the best work of all is that which is accomplished by an individual who seems to have no name, but is known as ‘the Basket Woman,’ because she carries to the doors of the people all sorts of necessary articles in a basket and sells them. She is a lady of culture and refinement, very good and sympathetic, and most sensible too, and she has brought about quite a change in one of the worst courts of London. She appears to be alone; and at first I wondered what her friends could be thinking of to let her be there in the midst of so much that is degrading; but now the men of the neighbourhood would not let a hair of her head be hurt, so entirely has she won their confidence and affection. The Basket Woman is preparing nearly five hundred people for their new home in Wales as I think no one else could. She heartens up the women, and looks well after the children, especially the boys. She has a large number of the young crusaders under her care.” “What a wonderful movement that is!” commenced Mr. Whitwell; but Tom interrupted him. “Excuse me, father. I must ask Mr. Knight to tell us more of this Basket Woman. What is she like? Is she young or old?” “She is young and fairly good-looking, and quite devoted to her work. But she gives me the impression of an individual who has had trouble, and is even now undergoing considerable anxiety of some kind. She must have private means, though she lives economically in cheap lodgings in the neighbourhood of the people for whom she works, but she is able to relieve distress when it is genuine.” “It cannot be Mary Wythburn! I must surely have met her sometimes if it had been she!” exclaimed Tom, forgetting herself for a moment. “But you do not know Mr. Knight’s place or people, do you, Tom?” inquired one of her sisters. “I do a little—that is, one or two of them. I went to see a poor woman I heard of who was ill near that neighbourhood. But Mary Wythburn! Is it possible?” “We had better tell Mr. Knight about Mary,” suggested Mr. Whitwell, and John Dallington related the incident of the frustrated wedding. When his friend had heard the story he was very doubtful as to Miss Wythburn and the Basket Woman being the same individual.