her reward.

"This is my red-letter day," she said, quaintly; "it is always a
red-letter day when I can really help someone. I have my black-letter
days when I can do nothing special, when it is all noughts and crosses
in my diary, I have had my Christmas treat beforehand, and I shall be
quite happy till bed-time thinking about Dot's pelisse and the new
hat-trimming; by-the-bye, what colour is the pelisse to be?"

"Blue, baby is so fair, and blue suits her best; I think I shall get
some cotton-backed velvet just to trim it;--I must not dream of fur."

"How would miniver look round the cape and neck? I have two or three
yards in very good condition. Deb picked it off my wadded satin mantle
years ago. I was keeping it for some special occasion. If you buy a
really good cashmere, and trim it with my old miniver, Dot will have a
grand pelisse," and then Mrs. Broderick hunted in her key-basket for a
certain key, and instructed her niece to unlock a drawer in her
wardrobe.

It was growing late by this time, and Olivia was obliged to take her
leave. Marcus had promised to be back by seven, and it was six o'clock
now; but as she walked briskly through the quiet streets she felt as
light-hearted as a child.

What a happy evening she and Marcus would spend! There would be no
need now to tell him about Martha, or to beg him to give her the few
shillings for Dot's pelisse; he should have a nice tea. Aunt Madge had
made her take a couple of the new-laid eggs and a pot of Deb's
delicious marmalade home with her, and she knew how Marcus would enjoy
the little treat.

"Dear Aunt Madge, how I love her? I think she is the very best woman
in the world;" but here Olivia gave a surprised start. She had reached
the print-shop at the corner of Harbut Street, and in the strong glare
of the gas-lamp she distinctly saw the tall, bent form of her
mysterious neighbour.

He was coming out of the shop, and walking stiffly and with difficulty
in the direction of his house. She had never known him out so late
before. His afternoon walk was always timed for him to be back by
four. She glanced at the shop window, but there was no picture of "The
Prodigal Son" to be seen.

Had he bought it? Was this the reason why he was out so late? Olivia
felt a little anxious as she noticed how feebly he walked; the greasy
pavements were rather slippery, and Galvaston Terrace was not a
well-lighted thoroughfare. Perhaps it was nonsense, but