ut that hand is
practically useless. At your age, there is not the most remote chance
of recovery. The hand will be powerless in a few months' time,
whatever you do; but if you spare it--in short, give it complete
rest--it may last a little longer."

"And do you mean, sir, that I'm never to do sewing again?"

"I should recommend you to knock it off completely and at once; by so
doing you will probably save yourself a good deal of suffering, and the
disease may not progress so rapidly--in any case, the power to sew will
soon leave you. Use the liniment by all means, take care of your
health, be cheerful. Good-morning."

The doctor accompanied the little woman to the door of the
consulting-room; he opened the door for her, and bowed as she passed
out. He treated her almost as if she were a lady, which in very truth
she was in every sense of the word. But she did not notice his
politeness, for his words had stunned her. She walked slowly, with a
dazed look in her eyes, through the crowd of people who were waiting to
be admitted to the different physicians, and found herself in the open
street. Her name was Patience Reed, she was sixty-eight years of age,
and was the grandmother of six orphan children.

"Good Lord, what do it mean?" she murmured as she walked quickly
through the sloppy, dark, disagreeable streets. "I'm to lose the power
of this 'and, and I'm not to do any more needlework. I don't believe
it's true. I don't believe that doctor. I'll say nothing to Alison
to-day. Good Lord, I don't believe for a moment you'd afflict me in
this awful sort of way!"

She walked quickly. She had by nature a very light and cheerful heart;
her spirit was as bright and cheery as her appearance. She picked up
her courage very soon, stepped neatly through the miry, slippery
streets, and presently reached her home. Mrs. Reed and the six
grandchildren lived in a model lodging-house in a place called Sparrow
Street, off Whitechapel Road. The house possessed all the new sanitary
improvements, a good supply of water was laid on, the rooms were well
ventilated, the stoves in the little kitchens burned well, the rents
were moderate, there was nothing at all to complain of in the home.
Mrs. Reed was such a hearty, genial, hard-working woman that she would
have made any home bright and cheerful. She had lived in Whitechapel
for several years, but her work lay mostly in the West End. She
belonged to the old-fashioned or