formed an uncomfortable contrast to the villa residences
interspersed among them.

One of these, with a well-kept lawn, daintily adorned with the newest
pines and ornamental shrubs, and with sheets of glass glaring in the
sun from the gardens at the back, was the house that poor Mr. and Mrs.
Ward had bought and beautified; 'because it was so much better for the
children to be out of the town.' The tears sprang into Mary's eyes at
the veiled windows, and the unfeeling contrast of the spring glow of
flowering thorn, lilac, laburnum, and, above all, the hard, flashing
brightness of the glass; but tears were so unlike Ethel that Mary
always was ashamed of them, and disposed of them quietly.

They rang, but in vain. Two of the servants were ill, and all in
confusion; and after waiting a few moments among the azaleas in the
glass porch, Dr. May admitted himself, and led the way up-stairs with
silent footfalls, Mary following with breath held back. A voice from
an open door called, 'Is that Dr. May?' and he paused to look in and
say, 'I'll be with you in one minute, Henry; how is Leonard?'

'No worse, they tell me; I say, Dr. May--'

'One moment;' and turning back to Mary, he pointed along a dark
passage. 'Up there, first door to the right. You can't mistake;' then
disappeared, drawing the door after him.

Much discomfited, Mary nevertheless plunged bravely on, concluding
'there' to be up a narrow, uncarpeted stair, with a nursery wicket at
the top, in undoing which, she was relieved of all doubts and scruples
by a melancholy little duet from within. 'Mary, Mary, we want our
breakfast! We want to get up! Mary, Mary, do come! please come!'

She was instantly in what might ordinarily have been a light, cheerful
room, but which was in all the dreariness of gray cinders, exhausted
night-light, curtained windows, and fragments of the last meal. In
each of two cane cribs was sitting up a forlorn child, with loose locks
of dishevelled hair, pale thin cheeks glazed with tears, staring eyes,
and mouths rounded with amaze at the apparition. One dropped down and
hid under the bed-clothes; the other remained transfixed, as her
visitor advanced, saying, 'Well, my dear, you called Mary, and here I
am.'

'Not our own Mary,' said the child, distrustfully.

'See if I can't be your own Mary.'

'You can't. You can't give us our breakfast.'

'Oh, I am so hungry!' from the other crib; and both burst into the
feeble sobs of e