Mrs. Russel beamed as if feeding little dirty ragged boys was just the thing she liked best to do. "It's an awful day, as you say, Miss Seton, an' the boy's wet through. Whit would ye say to a hot tupp'ny pie an' a cup-o'-tea? The kettle's juist on the boil; I've been havin' a cup masel'--a body wants something to cheer them this weather." She laughed cheerily. "He could take it in at the back--there's a rare wee fire." "That'll be splendid," said Elizabeth; "won't it Bob?" "Ay," said Bob stolidly, but his little impudent starved face had an eager look. Elizabeth saw him seated before the "rare wee fire" wolfing "tupp'ny pies," then she gathered up her collecting papers and prepared to go. "Well! Good-bye, Bob; I shall see you some Sabbath soon. Where's that umbrella? It's a bad day for Zenana Missions, Mrs. Russel." "Is that whit ye're at the day? I thought ye were doin' a bit o' _home_ mission work." She followed Elizabeth to the shop-door. "Poor little chap!" said Elizabeth. "Give him as much as he can eat, will you?"--she slipped some money into her hand--"and put anything that's over into his pocket. I'm most awfully grateful to you, Mrs. Russel. It was too bad to plant him on you, but if people will go about looking so kind they're just asking to be put upon." The rain was falling as if it would never tire. The street lamps had been lit, and made yellow blobs in the thick foggy atmosphere. The streets were slippery with that particular brand of greasy mud which Glasgow produces. "I believe I'll go straight home," thought Elizabeth. She wavered for a moment, then: "I'll do Mrs. Martin and get the car at the corner of the street," she decided. "It's four o'clock, but I don't believe the woman will be tidied." The surmise was only too correct. The door when Elizabeth reached it was opened by Mr. Martin--a gentleman of infinite leisure--who seemed uncertain what to do with her. Elizabeth tried to solve the difficulty by moving towards the kitchen but he gently headed her off until a voice from within cried, "Come in, if ye like, Miss Seton, but A'm strippit." The situation was not as acute as it sounded. Mrs. Martin had removed her bodice, the better to comb her hair, and Elizabeth shuddered to see her lay the comb down beside a pat of butter, as she cried to her husband, "John, bring ma ither body here." She was quite unabashed to be found thus in deshabille, and talked volubly the while she twisted up her hair and buttoned her "body." She was a round robin-like woman with, as Elizabeth put it, "the sweetest smile and the dirtiest house in Glasgow." "An' how's Papa this wet weather?" "Quite all right, thank you. And how are you?"