“A real beautiful place,” continued Mrs. Ives. “I won’t name no names, for names is worriting to the young, but I went there and saw a very lovely young lady.” “A lovely young lady,” repeated little Piers. “I like lovely ladies. Was she more beautiful than your daughter, grannie?” “My darter and she ain’t in the same runnin’. You know how freckled my poor Clary is, but there weren’t a freckle on her face, bless her, and her eyes were as brown as hazel nuts and wide open, and with a sparkle in the middle of ’em.” “I once knew eyes like that,” said little Piers. “Please don’t say any more.” “Why not, love? It was a beautiful place, and she was good to me, and took me down to the house. Oh, there was a mortal long avenue—two miles, if you’ll believe me, Piers.” “Two miles!” said little Piers. “What’s the matter, dear?” “Nothing, but your story makes me sad. I once knew an avenue two miles long.” “No! did you, love? That’s curious, very.” “I did,” said little Piers. “You may go on talking if you like, grannie.” “I’m glad you’re interested, my hearty, and I’m willing to go on. The young lady with the pretty brown eyes took me down to the house and I was took to the housekeeper’s room. Dear heart! the housekeeper was mortal stout. I don’t believe she’s long for this world.” Little Piers got crimson. “She is,” he cried, “she is.” “She’s not, love. She’s too stout to live.” “She’s not a bit too stout,” said little Piers. “Why do you say that, dear? You don’t know her, do you?” “I won’t say whether I know her or not,” returned the boy firmly, “but she’s not too stout. She’s a darling. I love her.” “What’s the matter with you, Piers?” “I don’t like that story. It reminds me of——” “Of what, love?” “My secret. Please don’t tell me any more, grannie.” “I won’t if it frets you, dear heart. Go and put on your things, and we’ll both have our breakfast. You must be very hungry.” “No, I seem to lose hunger when you talk about the house, and the housekeeper, and the brown eyes of that beautiful, most beautiful girl.” “Then I won’t say another word. Oh, by the way, they was all in sorrow.” “Were they? What about?” “It seems there was a little chap that—but what is the matter, Piers?” “I won’t listen, I won’t, I won’t,” cried Piers. He clapped his hands to his ears and rushed out of the room. “He shall come into his own. There’s a cruel sin somewhere, and Clary is at the bottom of it,” said Mrs. Ives to herself. CHAPTER XXVI. NOT IN THE BARGAIN. Nearly a month went by and the time was getting towards Christmas. The weather in London was bitterly cold. Fogs were frequent, and there was a good deal of sickness about.