tbuildings round it
and straw scattered about. Through this they drove, jolting over a good
many rough obstacles and then through another gate and stopped. They
had arrived at last, and this was Truslow Manor. All Biddy could see,
however, was a deep stone porch, with a seat on each side of it like the
entrance to a church, and then a massive oak door, with heavy hinges and
a great brass knocker. There was no light anywhere; but presently, as
Biddy, stiff with cold, was preparing to unwind her many wrappings, the
door swung slowly back, and a little figure appeared with a lamp in its
hand. By its faint glimmer she recognised her new mistress, Mrs Roy,
whom she had already seen in London.

"Oh, Richard," said a plaintive voice, "how glad I am you're back! Is
the girl there?"

"Here we are," answered Mr Roy cheerfully, as he helped Biddy to climb
out of the cart.

"It's an awful night. How's the baby?"

"I don't think she's _worse_, but the spots are still there, and Mr
Smith hasn't been. Come in, Biddy."

Following her mistress Biddy found herself in a narrow stone passage,
and caught through an open door to the left a glimpse of a panelled room
lighted up by a great glowing wood fire. It looked splendidly
comfortable after the cold dreariness outside. Mrs Roy opened another
door at the end of the passage.

"Mrs Shivers," she said to some invisible person within, "here's Biddy
Lane. Please, give her some tea, and let her get warm, and then send
her to me in the drawing-room."

The door closed on Biddy, and Mrs Roy returned to the panelled room,
where her husband, having emerged from his wet wrappings, was spreading
his hands over the blaze and shivering.

"Well, Richard," she said earnestly, "what do you think of her?"

"Of whom?" asked Richard.

"Why, of the girl."

"Well, I think, judging by myself, she must be cold and hungry."

"She's _very_ small," continued Mrs Roy, sitting down in a low chair
and glancing thoughtfully at the cradle which stood near it--"smaller
than I thought."

"Who? The baby?"

"No. Of course, I mean the girl. I wish you wouldn't joke, Richard,
when you know how anxious I am."

"I didn't mean to, really," said Mr Roy penitently, as his wife looked
up at him with distressed blue eyes. "Only, as you always call the baby
`She,' how was I to know? As to being _small_, you know--well, the last
girl was _big_ enough, I'm sure."

"And stupid enough," added Mrs Roy