esn't," contradicted Tom, fierce in his favourite sister's
defence, "Debby has more pluck than--than----"

"Tom, boy, come here," interposed Mr. Carlyle quietly. "You and Debby can
carry this rug-strap between you, can't you?"

"Were those your travelling-companions?" he asked interestedly turning to
Audrey as the little pair, their indignation forgotten, trotted homewards
proudly with their burden.

"Yes," answered Audrey briefly. She said no more, she felt she could not,
but she knew that the shadow which had fallen on her own pleasure, had
fallen also on others.

CHAPTER III.

Between Moor End vicarage and the road stretched a long narrow strip of
garden, at least, a strip of ill-kept grass and some shabby bushes.
A wall divided the garden from the road, a wall so low that garden, house,
and all, were exposed to the view of every passer-by. The strip of grass
was the children's play place, for the garden behind the house was divided
up into beds of carrots, cabbages, turnips, potatoes and all manner of
other things, so that there was no room left for a good game.

Not only was there no room, but old Job Toms, who came once or twice a
week to 'do' the vegetable garden, threatened such dire punishment to
anyone who made a footmark on one of his beloved beds, that the children
were almost afraid to step inside the gate.

However, the front garden made up for it, there were no beds there--at
least none to worry about. There had been two down by the gate at one
time, but there was nothing in them now, and the children were allowed to
do just as they liked there. They had the added joy too of seeing
everyone who passed along the road and everyone who came to the house.

Deborah and Tom had been playing there when their father called them to
know if they would like to go with him to the station; and their toys were
lying about just as they had left them when they flew away to wash their
hands and brush their hair.

Audrey glancing over the wall, eager for a first sight of her home after
all the long time she had been absent from it, saw an old pair of kitchen
bellows, numberless scraps of paper, a broken battledore, a shabby straw
hat, and three grubby, battered dolls perched up against an old tub, which
had once contained flowers, but had long since ceased to do so.

The sight would have jarred on most, but to eyes accustomed to the
primness of Granny Carlyle's house it was ugly and unsightly in the
e