elder, as if she feared he was going to conspire with
Margery, and that, after all, her offering would be rejected.

"Missy! are you mad? What will your aunt say? Really, sir, will you be
so kind?"--and Margery did not finish her sentence, but looked piteously
at the elder, who was glancing at the little girl with a kindly, though
questioning expression in his eyes, saying presently:

"You may have your locket back, if you wish it, my child. Perhaps you
have given it hastily, and may regret it afterwards, and we would not
like to have your jewel in these circumstances."

"Oh, thank you, sir," Margery was beginning to say, in a grateful tone,
when Grace interrupted her.

"No, please don't, sir, I will not take it back. It was my very own, and
I have given it to God, to use for these poor, sad boys and girls,"
Grace added, in a tremulous tone.

Then the old elder looked at Margery, and said, "My friend, I cannot
help you further. Neither you nor I have anything to do with this gift;
it is between the giver and the Receiver."

There was something solemn in his tone which kept the still indignant
Margery from saying more, and she prepared to move away with her charge.
But, as she turned to go, she caught a glimpse of her acquaintance the
tinsmith, who was in the act of dropping into the plate a crumpled
Scotch bank-note, which he held in his broad palm.

"Bless me, they're all going daft together," muttered Margery, with
uplifted hands, as she hurried away. "It was a very good discourse, no
doubt, but to think of folk strippin' themselves like that--a pun'-note,
forsooth, near the half of the week's work; the man's gone clean
demented."

But the tinsmith's serene, smiling face showed no sign of any aberration
of intellect, and Margery took Grace's hand, and hurried her through the
crowd, resolved that she should not, for another instant, stand by and
countenance such reckless expenditure.

Grace was conscious that her old nurse was still possessed by a strong
feeling of disapproval regarding her donation, so she rather avoided
conversation; besides, she had a great deal to think about as she walked
along the crowded lamp-lit streets by Margery's side.

At last they reached the quiet square where Miss Hume lived, and as they
crossed the grass-grown pavement and went up the steps to the house,
Grace glanced up to the curtained window of her aunt's sitting-room, and
suddenly remembered, with a feeling of discomfort