skin, to be sure!'

Why, where were her eyes? To Mr Robins it was little Edith over again.
He wondered that all the village did not see it and cry out on him.

But it was not likely that after this his confidence should go further,
and just then the child began a little grumble, and he took her back
hastily to Mrs Gray with a disappointed, crest-fallen feeling.

Jane Sands was conscious that her reception of the baby had not been
satisfactory, and she tried to make amends by little complimentary
remarks, which annoyed him more than her indifference.

'A fine, strong child, and does Mrs Gray great credit.'

'It's a nice bright little thing, and I daresay will improve as it
grows older.'

She could not imagine why the organist grunted in such a surly way in
reply to these remarks, for what on earth could it matter to him what
anyone thought of a foundling, gypsy child?

CHAPTER VII.

Gray Taken to the Hospital--Bill and the Baby--Mrs Gray Home
Again--Edith, Come Home!

It was near the end of September that John Gray broke his leg. They
were thrashing out a wheat-rick at Farmer Benson's, and somehow he
tumbled from the top of the rick, and fell with his leg bent under him,
and found that he could not stand when he tried to struggle up to his
feet.

They ran to tell 'his missus,' who came straight off from the washtub,
with the soapsuds still about her skinny red elbows, catching up Zoe
from the cradle as she passed, at sight of whom Gray, in spite of the
pain and the deadly faintness that was dimming his eyes and clutching
his breath, made an effort to chirrup and snap his fingers at the
little one.

'It's his innerds as is hurted,' explained one of the bystanders, with
that wonderful openness and way of making the worst of everything that
is found in that class.

'The spine of his back most like,' said another, 'like poor Johnson,
over to Stokeley, as never walked another step arter his fall.'

'Ay, he do look mortal bad! 'Tis a terrible bad job!'

'Cut off like a flower!' sighed one of the women. 'There, bear up, my
dear,' to Mrs Gray, with whom she had not been on speaking terms for
some weeks, owing to a few words about her cat's thieving propensities,
'Dontee take on! I knows well enough what you feels, as is only three
weeks since father was took with his fit.'

'Don't be skeered, old gal,' sounded Gray's voice, odd and unnatural to
the ears of the hearers, and far away and independent