the stairs, and the postman's sharp knock sounded on
the little door. Alison went to get the letter. It was for Grannie,
from a large West End shop; the name of the shop was written in clear
characters on the flap of the envelope.

Grannie took it carefully between the thumb and finger of her left
hand--she used her right hand now only when she could not help it. No
one remarked this fact, and she hoped that no one noticed it. She
unfastened the flap of the envelope slowly and carefully, and, taking
the letter out, began to read it. It was a request from the manager
that she would call at ten o'clock the following morning to take a
large order for needlework which was required to be completed in a
special hurry. Grannie laid the letter by Alison's side.

Alison read it. She had been accustomed to such letters coming from
that firm to Grannie for several years. Such letters meant many of the
comforts which money brings; they meant warm fires, and good meals, and
snug clothes, and rent for the rooms, and many of the other necessaries
of life.

"Well," said the girl, in a cheery tone, "that's nice. You have nearly
finished the last job, haven't you, Grannie?"

"No, I aint," said Grannie, with a sort of gasp in her voice.

"I thought I saw you working at it every day."

"So I have been, and in a sense it is finished and beautiful, I am
sure; but there aint no feather-stitching. I can't manage the
feather-stitching. I can never featherstitch any more, Alison. Maybe
for a short time longer I may go on with plain needlework, but that
special twist and the catching up of the loop in the quilting part of
the feather-stitching, it's beyond me, darlin'. 'Taint that I can't
see how to do it, 'taint that I aint willing, but it's the finger and
thumb, dearie; they won't meet to do the work proper. It's all over,
love, all the money-making part of my work. It's them letters to
Australia, love. Oh, dear! oh, dear!"

Grannie laid her white head down on the table. It was a very sad sight
to see it there, a much more pathetic sight than it had been to see
Alison's golden head in the same position an hour or two ago. There
was plenty of hope in Alison's grief, heart-broken as it seemed, but
there was no hope at all in the old woman's despair. The last time she
had given way and spoken of her fears to Alison she had sobbed; but she
shed no tears now--the situation was too critical.

"_Ef_ you had only learned th