year that I do not spend some hours
here. But here comes the tea."

"Well, well," said Mrs. Palling, as she set down the tray on a table in
front of Isabella. "That means it's gone, for sure."

"Means what?" asked Isabella in surprise.

"I was just a-liftin' the kettle off," said the good lady, speaking
quite cheerfully, "when a little coffin that jumped out of the
fire--just as plain as plain--a little small thing that were. And that
means, for sure, that Mrs. Milsom's eighth is gone. I did hear as how
that were wonderful sickly, and no doubt but what that's all for the
best. 'Tisn't as if she hadn't plenty more."

"You are a heartless woman," cried Isabella. "What grudge do you bear
Mrs. Milsom's eighth that you speak so cheerfully of its early demise?
It can't be more than ten days old at the most, for it certainly seems
no time since a cradle jumping out of the fire announced its undesired
arrival. Think of the poor mother's feelings. Mothers as a race have
an unfortunate tendency to value their offspring, even when, as in this
case, the supply exceeds the demand."

Mrs. Palling seemed rather doubtful as to whether Isabella was not, in
her own phraseology, making game of her, for she was silent for a
moment, and then repeated positively--

"That were a coffin, sure enough. Wonderful small that were. I'll be
goin' over presently. But if some folks won't believe I don't feel no
manner of doubt but what that's true," and so saying she departed.

Isabella laughed. "You must forgive Mrs. Palling," she said. "She is
an excellent, hard-working woman, and most kind-hearted, although
perhaps she hasn't given you that impression. Now let us have our tea
comfortably."

CHAPTER IX

A SQUARE IN THE PATCHWORK

"Reading into the Unknown
Hopes that we have long outgrown.
Weaving into the Unseen
Tidings of the Might-have-Been."--S. R. LYSAGHT.

"What do you do for companionship?" asked Philippa presently. "Don't
you find it a little lonely here sometimes?"

"Yes, I am lonely sometimes. There is no use in denying it," answered
Isabella. "But I am not more lonely here than I should be anywhere
else. Some people are born to be alone, it seems to me; it must just
be accepted as a fact and made the best of. But I lead a very busy
life in my own way, and I have plenty of books, as you see."

"Oh," cried Philippa, as she turned to a small bookcase which stood
close at hand, "I see you h