e eyes.

"Why, Grannie, how pretty you look," said her granddaughter. "I
declare you are the very prettiest old lady I ever saw."

Grannie was accustomed to being told that she was good-looking. She
drew herself up and perked her little face.

"The Phippses were always remarked for their skins," she said;
"beautiful they was, although my poor mother used to say that wot's
skin-deep aint worth considering. Still, a good skin is from the Lord,
and he gave it to the Phippses with other good luck; no mistake on that
p'int."

The next moment the two set out. It was certainly getting late in the
day, but Alison cheered Grannie on, repeating several times in a firm
and almost defiant manner that there was not an hour to be lost. They
got to St. Paul's Churchyard, and Alison helped Grannie to get into an
omnibus. The old woman got a seat near the door, and smiled and nodded
brightly to her granddaughter as the bus rolled away. Alison went back
very slowly to her home. She had a terrible depression over her, and
longed almost frantically for something to do. All her life she had
been a very active girl. No granddaughter of Mrs. Reed's was likely to
grow up idle, and Alison, almost from the time she could think, had
been accustomed to fully occupy each moment of her day. Now the long
day dragged, while despair clutched at her heart. What had she done?
What sin had she committed to be treated so cruelly? Grannie was
religious; she was accustomed to referring things to God. There was a
Rock on which her spirit dwelt which Alison knew nothing about. Now,
the thought of Grannie and her religion stirred the girl's heart in the
queerest way.

"I don't do any good," she said to herself; "seems as if the Lord
didn't care for poor folks, or he wouldn't let all this sort of thing
come on me. It aint as if I weren't always respectable; it aint as if
I didn't always try to do what's right. Then there's so much bad luck
jist now come all of a heap: Grannie's bad hand, which means the loss
of our daily bread, and this false accusation of me, and then my losing
Jim. Oh, dear, that's the worst part, but I won't think of that now, I
won't. I feel that I could go mad if I thought much of that."

When Alison returned to the flat in Sparrow Street it was in time to
get tea for the children. The little larder was becoming sadly bare;
the Christmas feast was almost all eaten up, and Alison could only
provide the children wit