e, Mary Graham; and you may as well be
friendly, because I can't have any quarrelling here,' was the old man's
introduction; then, without a word of thanksgiving, he fell to eating
his porridge, after having carefully divided the sky-blue milk into
three equal portions.

The two young persons gravely nodded to each other, and also began to
eat. Gladys, feeling intuitively that a kindred soul was near her, felt
a wild desire to laugh, her lips even trembled so that she could
scarcely restrain them, and Walter Hepburn answered by a twinkle in his
eye, which was the first bright thing Gladys had seen in Glasgow. But
though she felt kindly towards him, and glad that he was there, she did
not by any means admire him, and she even thought that if she knew him
better she would tell him of his objectionable points. For one thing, he
had no manners; he sat rather far back from the table, and leaned
forward till his head was almost on a level with his plate. Then he made
a loud noise in his eating, which disturbed Gladys very much--certainly
she was too fastidious and delicate in her taste for her present lot in
life. When that strange and silent meal was over, the old man retired to
the warehouse and left the children alone. But that did not disconcert
them, as might have been expected. From the first moment they felt at
home with each other. Walter was the first to speak. He leaned up
against the chimneypiece, and meditatively watched the girl as she began
deftly to clear the table.

'I say, miss,' he said then, 'do you think you'll like to be here?'

The English was pretty tolerable, though the accent was very Scotch.

'No. How could I?' was the frank reply of Gladys. 'But I have nowhere
else, and I should be thankful for it.'

'Um.'

Walter thrust his hands into his diminutive pockets, and eyed her with a
kind of meditative gravity.

'Are you always thankful when you should be?' he inquired.

'I am afraid not,' Gladys answered, with a little shake of her head.
'You live here all the week, don't you, till Saturday night, when you go
home?'

'Yes; and I'm always thankful, if you like, when Monday comes.'

Gladys looked at him in wonder.

'You are glad when Monday comes, to come back here? How strange!--and
the other place is home. Have you a father and mother?'

'Yes, worse luck.'

Again Gladys looked at him, this time with strong disapproval.

'I don't understand you. It is very dreadful, I think, that you sho