"Yes, I know she is a home bird," Mrs. Mugford answered. "This half-day's holiday will do her good, I'm sure. Everyone enjoys the Sunday-school treat—old and young alike!" "I just stepped across to ask you a favour," James Lethbridge explained. "Now, I hope it's something I can do!" Mrs. Mugford said pleasantly. "'Tis only this. I want you to tell Jenny, when she comes home, that I shall be up at the Hall all night. We've a horse took dreadful bad with inflammation—a favourite horse of Mr. Talbot's—and he wants someone to sit up with the poor creature, and attend to it. He asked me if I would stay with old Burt to-night; he's the head groom, you know. Burt's getting up in years, and the master thinks it would be too much for him to be up all night alone." "Mr. Talbot's very thoughtful for other folk's comfort," Mrs. Mugford remarked. "I hope the poor horse will recover; I can't bear to see an animal suffer. Yes, I'll give Mrs. Lethbridge your message; but, surely you're not going to the Hall yet?" "No, I shan't be expected till ten. I'm just going down the street for a stroll, and maybe I shan't come back again." Mrs. Mugford guessed he was going to the "White Hart," but she did not like to offer a word of remonstrance. At that moment, her companion happened to glance at the shop window, and the first object that met his eyes was the picture of the Good Shepherd, that his little daughter so longed to possess. He drew near, and looked at it with interest. "'Tis strange what a fancy our Molly's taken to that picture," he said. "I've thought I should like to make her a present of it one of these days!" "I wish you would!" Mrs. Mugford answered impulsively. "I can't well afford it—not just now; perhaps on Saturday when I get my wages I'll buy it." "I don't feel justified in giving it to her. You see if one keeps a shop, it doesn't do to make presents of one's goods," said Mrs. Mugford. "No, it wouldn't do to begin that sort of thing," James Lethbridge said hastily; "and you've been too generous to my family as it is. I've never thanked you, but—" "Oh, please don't. Any little thing I can do for your wife, I'm only too glad to do. And I love the children—I never had any of my own. Your Jim's a fine, honest lad. I believe he'll make a good man some day; and Dick's a dear, little fellow; and as for Molly—well there, I can't tell you how fond I am of Molly! I wish you'd manage to give her this picture. Save the money in some way!" Mrs. Mugford paused abruptly, rather alarmed at the thought of how her companion would take her last remark; but he was not offended, as she half thought he might be. The kindly interest in Mrs. Mugford's sharp, brown eyes disarmed his first feeling of resentment. He knew well enough, if he refrained from going to the "White Hart" for a few evenings that he would save the price of the picture, and he guessed that was what Mrs. Mugford meant.