e old enough?"

Martin came in furious. "They will not change it. I trow they think I
stole it."

"I am beholden to thee," said Margaret hastily, and almost snatched
it from Martin, and wrapped it up again, and restored it to its
hiding-place.

Ere these unexpected funds were spent, she got to her ironing and
starching again. In the midst of which Martin sickened; and died after
an illness of nine days.

Nearly all her money went to bury him decently.

He was gone; and there was an empty chair by her fireside, For he had
preferred the hearth to the sun as soon as the Busy Body was gone.

Margaret would not allow anybody to sit in this chair now. Yet whenever
she let her eye dwell too long on it vacant, it was sure to cost her a
tear.

And now there was nobody to carry her linen home, To do it herself she
must leave little Gerard in charge of a neighbour, But she dared not
trust such a treasure to mortal; and besides she could not bear him out
of her sight for hours and hours. So she set inquiries on foot for a boy
to carry her basket on Saturday and Monday.

A plump, fresh-coloured youth, called Luke Peterson, who looked fifteen,
but was eighteen, came in, and blushing, and twiddling his bonnet, asked
her if a man would not serve her turn as well as a boy.

Before he spoke she was saying to herself, "This boy will just do."

But she took the cue, and said, "Nay; but a man will maybe seek more
than I can well pay.

"Not I," said Luke warmly. "Why, Mistress Margaret, I am your neighbour,
and I do very well at the coopering. I can carry your basket for you
before or after my day's work, and welcome, You have no need to pay me
anything. 'Tisn't as if we were strangers, ye know."

"Why, Master Luke, I know your face, for that matter; but I cannot call
to mind that ever a word passed between us."

"Oh yes, you did, Mistress Margaret. What, have you forgotten? One day
you were trying to carry your baby and eke your pitcher full o' water;
and quo' I, 'Give me the baby to carry.' 'Nay, says you, 'I'll give you
the pitcher, and keep the bairn myself;' and I carried the pitcher home,
and you took it from me at this door, and you said to me, 'I am muckle
obliged to you, young man,' with such a sweet voice; not like the folk
in this street speak to a body."

"I do mind now, Master Luke; and methinks it was the least I could say."

"Well, Mistress Margaret, if you will say as much every time I carry
your basket, I