The idiot boy followed them to the gate, grinning and muttering. His mother called him from the doorway, and he shambled towards her. Glancing back, Helen saw his long, ungainly body folded in her little thin arms, while she patted him tenderly on the back. As they stepped out on the rickety side-walk, a tall girl of about sixteen came and stood staring at them from the doorway of the next house. She had a bold, handsome face and her hair and untidy dress were arranged in an extravagant imitation of the latest fashion. "Good day, Gladys," said Madame kindly, but the girl answered with only a curt nod. When the visitors had passed, she called shrilly to some one in the house behind her. "Maw! Hurry out an' see the parade! Willow Lane's gettin' awful high-toned!" There was a loud cackle of laughter and Madame's shoulders shook with suppressed merriment. "That's Gladys Hurd," she said, shaking her head. "Poor Gladys, I'm afraid she's not a very good girl. She's not got a very good mother." As they were turning off Willow Lane, the rattle of a buggy behind them made Madame turn. "There he is again," she cried. "I suppose he's taken Peter home and found his pig for him. I don't believe I could bear the thought of all the misery on Willow Lane if I didn't know that Old Angus McRae was doing so much to lighten it." Helen turned. Angus had pulled up in front of the Perkins' house and the idiot lad with queer cries of delight came stumbling out to meet him. The girl named Gladys ran out too, and the old man handed her a sheaf of glowing crimson dahlias. She buried her face in them and hugged them to her in a passion of admiration for their beauty. "Look, look at Mrs. Cassidy will you?" cried Madame in delight. Mrs. Cassidy had come to the door at the first sound of the wheels, and when she saw who was near, she darted out and swiftly and stealthily removed the obstruction from her neighbour's window. Then she went to the gate to greet Old Angus, suave and gentle of speech, and as innocent looking as the meek heap of boards now lying in a corner of her yard. "Well, well, well," laughed Madame as they walked on. "Even if Old Angus would merely drive up and down Willow Lane I believe he would make the people better." When Helen reached Rosemount she slipped in at the side door and up the back stair. It was the day the Misses Armstrong entertained the whist club, and a clatter of teacups and a hum of voices told her the guests were not yet gone. She removed her hat, and smoothed her hair absently; her thoughts were down on Willow Lane busy with the complex problem of the Perkins family. The windows were opened, and the sound of swishing skirts and laughing voices came up to her from the garden walk. A couple of well-dressed women were going out at the gate.