ely this morning. Do you know, Miss--Miss----" And here she
hesitated and smiled, waiting for Phillis to fill up the blank.

"My name is Challoner,--Phillis Challoner," replied Phillis, coloring
a little; and then she added, frankly, "I am afraid you thought me
rude, and that I stared at you, but my thoughts were all topsy-turvy
this morning and refused to be kept in order. One feels curious,
somehow, about the people among whom one has come to live."

"Have you come to live here?" asked Mrs. Cheyne, eagerly, and a gleam
of pleasure shot into her dark eyes,--"you, and your mother and
sisters?"

"Yes; we have just come to the Friary,--a little cottage standing on
the Braidwood Road."

Her manner became a little constrained and reserved as she said this:
the charming frankness disappeared.

"The Friary!" echoed Mrs. Cheyne; and then she paused for a moment,
and her eyes rested searchingly on Phillis. "That shabby little
cottage!" was the thought that filled up the outline of her words;
but, though she felt inward surprise and a momentary disappointment,
there was no change in the graciousness of her manner. Never before
had she so thawed to any one: but the girl's sweet ministry had won
her heart. "Then you will be near me,--just at my gates? We shall be
close neighbors. I hope you will come and see me, Miss Challoner."

Poor Phillis! the blood suddenly rushed over her face at this. How was
she to answer without appearing ungracious?--and yet at this moment
how could she explain?

"If you please, we are dressmakers." Oh, no! such words as these would
not get themselves said. It was too abrupt, too sudden, altogether:
she was not prepared for such a thing. Oh, why had she not gone to the
White House instead of Nan? Her officiousness had brought this on her.
She could not put the poor foot off her lap and get up and walk away
to cool her hot cheeks.

"Thank you; you are very good," she stammered, feeling herself an
utter fool: she,--Phillis,--the clever one!

Mrs. Cheyne seemed rather taken aback by the girl's sudden reserve and
embarrassment.

"I suppose you think I should call first, and thank you for your
kindness," she returned, quickly; "but I was afraid my foot would keep
me too long a prisoner. And, as we are to be neighbors, I hardly
thought it necessary to stand on ceremony; but if you would rather
wait----"

"Oh, no," replied Phillis, in despair; "we will not trouble you to do
that! Nan and I will c