“Land’s sake—and you wi’ your bad knee!” she exclaimed anxiously. “Why in the name o’ goodness didn’t you wait o’ me?” “Because it’s my job,” Mrs. Clapham answered, sitting back on her stout heels. Her voice rang and her eye brightened. “It’s my job, and no doubt about it! I tell you what it is, Maggie Tanner; I doubt I’d ha’ found yon almshouse parlish dull!” * * * * * There was still another task which she felt constrained to fulfil before she would allow Mrs. Tanner to hustle her off to bed. The latter remonstrated when she heard her intention of writing at once to the Committee, but her protests had no effect upon Mrs. Clapham. “If I don’t write, I shan’t sleep,” was all she would say, searching out paper and pen, and seating herself at the table for the last time. There had returned to her suddenly Emma’s unpleasant remarks about her manners, arousing her obstinacy and her pride. Moreover, though she would not for worlds have admitted it to Mrs. Tanner, she was afraid for her strength of mind. In spite of the new courage that had come to her with her work, she could not trust herself to stick to her bargain unless she wrote the letter that same night. It was a hard task, though, harder even than she had expected, and her spirits sank again as she wrestled with it. It was impossible not to remember, in framing it, what a different letter should have gone, by rights! Instantly, too, as she wrote, she was back again in the House of Dreams, living through, minute by minute, those wonderful hours. In spite of herself her mind insisted upon the treasures that it contained, pictured the furniture and the flowering currant, and painted the long view over the sea. She forgot the neighbours and their trying ways; forgot even old Mrs. Bendrigg in her bed. Once more she was safe enclosed in the temple of peace, tasting that exquisite bliss which is not meant for us outside Heaven.... “i’m rite sorry i cant exept, and i hope as youll see and give it to Martha Jane—” She dropped her head on her arms. For a long moment she sat and wept. Then again she took up her pen.... And behind her, as if it were something else that she had taken up, as if a hand had suddenly lifted it from the floor and belted it to a brave side, the shaft of light that was like a sword vanished out of the kitchen, leaving it gentle and dusky with the coming night.... Printed in Great Britain at _The Mayflower Press, Plymouth._ William Brendon & Son, Ltd.