free hand, and nearly meeting with an accident, for George W. preferred
walking on his own four legs just then, and darted past her.

"There! you nearly lost your blanc-mange off the dish!" cried Hilda,
rescuing it. "I knew I'd better carry it!"

"It's all right," said Cricket, hastily straightening it. "I'll carry
it. We go this way now," as they turned out of the orchard into a lane.
Grandma's poor woman, "Marm Plunkett," as the whole neighbourhood called
her, was a forlorn old creature, nearly crippled with rheumatism, who
lived in a tiny cottage in the fields, half a mile from anybody. She had
a daughter who had to go to work nearly every day to earn money to
support them both, so the old mother was alone most of the time. She
had worked a good deal for Mrs. Maxwell, when she was strong, and Mrs.
Maxwell did much to make her comfortable now. Edna had often been there,
and lately the twins had been over with Eliza, to take things to her,
since grandma had been disabled, but it chanced that Cricket had never
been over there before.

The poor old soul was delighted to see them coming. The cottage was in
such a lonely place that few persons came within sight of the windows.

"You're as welcome as the flowers in May," quavered the thin old voice,
as the children went in. "I've been a-settin' here just a-pinin' fer
some one to come along to visit with me a spell. Take cheers, won't you?
Leastways, take what cheers there be."

There were only two to take, and one of them was seatless. Hilda dropped
into the whole one. Billy sat down on the doorstep. The twins sat upon
the board edge of the bottomless chair. Cricket remained standing, with
the blanc-mange still in her hand. All of them, shy, as children always
are in the presence of poverty and sickness, stared helplessly about.

"We've brought you some blanc-mange, marm--I mean Mrs. Plunkett"--for
grandma did not like them to use the village nickname--said Cricket,
after a moment, "and Auntie Jean will be here to-morrow."

"An' it's a pretty-spoken lady she is," answered Marm Plunkett. "But
it's Mis' Maxwell that I allers wants ter see most. When'll she git to
see me agin?"

Cricket coloured furiously.

"Grandma's lame, now," she said, speaking up bravely. "I was wrestling
with her, and I threw her, and sprained her ankle. She can't stand on it
much yet."

"Good Land o' Goshen! a-wrestlin' with Mis' Maxwell! you little snip of
a gal! and throwed her! for goodnes