in' to the young leddy, but she seemin'ly doesna understand. I
see my work's dune; mebbe I'm no' to come back?'

'No; my niece can do the little that is necessary, so you needn't come
back, Mrs. Macintyre, and I'm much obliged to you,' said the old man,
who was polite always, in every circumstance, out of policy.

'Ye're awn me wan an' nine, fork it oot,' she answered brusquely, and
held out her brawny hand, into which Abel Graham reluctantly, as usual,
put the desired coins.

'Yer brither's dochter, genty born?' said Mrs. Macintyre, with a jerk of
her thumb. 'Gie her her meat; mind, a young wame's aye toom. Puir thing,
puir thing!'

Abel Graham hastened her out, but she only remained in the street until
she saw his visage at one of the upper windows, then she darted back to
the kitchen, and laid hold of the astonished Gladys by the shoulder.
'If ye ever want a bite--an' as sure as daith ye will often--come ye to
me, my lamb, the second pend i' the Wynd, third close, an' twa stairs
up, an' never heed him, auld skin o' a meeser that he is!'

She went as quickly as she came, leaving Gladys dimly conscious of her
meaning, but feeling intuitively that the words were kindly and even
tenderly spoken, so they were not forgotten.

When the water had boiled, the old man came down to supervise the making
of the porridge--a mystery into which Gladys had not been yet initiated.
Three portions were served on plates, a very little tea put in a tiny
brown teapot, and breakfast was ready. Then Abel went into the passage
and shouted to his young assistant to come down.

Gladys was conscious of a strong sense of curiosity as she awaited the
coming of the 'imp,' which was his master's favourite name for him, and
when he entered she felt at first keenly disappointed. He was only a
very ordinary-looking street boy, she thought, rather undersized, but
still too big for his clothes, which were stretched on him tightly, his
short trousers showing the tops of his patched boots, which were several
sizes too large for him, and gave him a very ungraceful appearance. He
had not even a collar, only an old tartan scarf knotted round his neck,
and from the shrunk sleeves of the old jacket his hands, red and bony,
appeared abnormally large. But when she looked at his face, at the eyes
which looked out from the tangle of his hair, she forgot all the rest,
and her heart warmed to him before he had uttered a word.

'This is Walter Hepburn--my niec