ll, grave looking young man, in
clerical attire, came out quickly upon them, and then drew back to let
them pass.

"I suppose that is the new vicar?" whispered Phillis, when they had
gone a few steps. "You know poor old Dr. Musgrave is dead, and most
likely that is his successor."

"I forgot that was the vicarage," returned Nan. But happily she did
not turn round to look at it again; if she had done so, she would have
seen the young clergyman still standing by the green door watching
them. "It is a shabby, dull old house in front; but I remember that
when mother and I returned Mrs. Musgrave's call we were shown into
such a dear old-fashioned drawing-room, with windows looking out on
such a pleasant garden. I quite fell in love with it."

"Well, we shall be near neighbors," observed Phillis, somewhat
shortly, as she paused before another green door, set in a long blank
wall; "for here we are at the Friary, and I had better just run over
the way and get the key from Mrs. Crump."

Nan nodded, and then stood like an image of patience before the
shabby green door. Would it open and let them into a new untried life?
What sort of fading hopes, of dim regrets, would be left outside when
they crossed the threshold? The thought of the empty rooms, not yet
swept and garnished, made her shiver: the upper windows looked blankly
at her, like blind, unrecognizing eyes. She was quite glad when
Phillis joined her again, swinging the key on her little finger, and
humming a tune in forced cheerfulness.

"What a dull, shut-in place! I think the name of Friary suits it
exactly," observed Nan, disconsolately, as they went up the little
flagged path, bordered with lilac-bushes. "It feels like a miniature
convent or prison: we might have a grating in the door, and answer all
outsiders through it."

"Nonsense!" returned Phillis, who was determined to take a bright view
of things. "Don't go into the house just yet, I want to see the
garden." And she led the way down a gloomy side-path, with unclipped
box and yews, that made it dark and decidedly damp. This brought them
to a little lawn, with tall, rank grass that might have been mown for
hay, and some side-beds full of old fashioned flowers, such as lupins
and monkshood, pinks and small pansies; a dreary little greenhouse,
with a few empty flower-pots and a turned-up box was in one corner,
and an attempt at a rockery, with a periwinkle climbing over it, and
an undesirable number of oyste