for her. Meanwhile May was to go and
spend part of every Sunday with Miss Lillycrop at Number 9 Purr Street.

"Well, Grannie," said May, returning to the front room, where the
sausages were already hissing deliciously, "what news have you for me
to-night?"

She sat down beside the old woman, took her hand and spoke in that
cheery, cosy, confidential way which renders some women so attractive.

"Deed, May, there's little but the auld story--Mercies, mornin', noon,
and night. But, oo ay, I was maist forgettin'; Miss Lillycrap was here,
an left ye a message o' some sort."

"And what was the message, Grannie?"

"She's gone and forgot it," said Solomon Flint, putting the sausages on
the table, which had already been spread for supper by a stout little
girl who was the sole domestic of the house and attendant on Mrs Flint.
"You've no chance of getting it now, Miss May, for I've noticed that
when the old 'ooman once forgets a thing it don't come back to her--
except, p'r'aps, a week or two afterwards. Come now, draw in and go to
work. But, p'r'aps, Dollops may have heard the message. Hallo!
Dollops! come here, and bring the kettle with you."

Dollops--the little girl above referred to--was particularly small and
shy, ineffably stupid, and remarkably fat. It was the last quality
which induced Solomon to call her Dollops. Her hair and garments stuck
out from her in wild dishevelment, but she was not dirty. Nothing
belonging to Mrs Flint was allowed to become dirty.

"Did you see Miss Lillycrop, Dollops?" asked Solomon, as the child
emerged from some sort of back kitchen.

"Yes, sir, I did; I saw'd 'er a-goin' hout."

"Did you hear her leave a message?"

"Yes, sir, I did. I 'eard 'er say to missis, `Be sure that you give May
Maylands my love, an tell 'er wotever she do to keep 'er feet dry, an'
don't forgit the message, an' say I'm so glad about it, though it's not
much to speak of arter all!'"

"What was she so glad about?" demanded Solomon.

"I dun know, sir. She said no more in my 'earin' than that. I only
comed in w'en she was a-goin' hout. P'r'aps it was about the findin' of
'er gloves in 'er pocket w'en she was a talkin' to missis, which she
thought she'd lost, though they wasn't wuth pickin' up out of the--"

"Pooh! be off to your pots an' pans, child," said Flint, turning to his
grandmother, who sat staring at the sausages with a blank expression.
"You can't remember it, I s'pose, eh?"

Mrs Fl