ke them. This would give you an object for your needlework, and
you would not find it so wearisome perhaps."

She spoke quite eagerly, for she felt that she had hit upon an excellent
scheme which would benefit both Pennie and Keturah. It was new and
interesting, besides, to take an independent step of this kind instead
of subscribing to a charity, as she had hitherto done when she wished to
help people.

It may be questioned whether Pennie looked upon the plan with equal
favour, but she welcomed it as a sign that Miss Unity was really
beginning to take an interest in Kettles. She would have preferred the
interest to show itself in any other way than needlework, but it was
much better than none at all, and, "I should have to work anyway," she
reflected.

"I don't see why, Pennie," said her godmother hesitatingly, "we should
not buy the material this afternoon."

Pennie could see no reason against it, in fact it seemed natural to her
that after you had thought of a thing you should go and do it at once.
To Miss Unity, however, used to weigh and consider her smallest actions,
there was something rash and headlong in it.

"Perhaps we had better think it over and do it to-morrow," she said,
pausing at the door of a linen-draper's shop.

"Kettles wants clothes very badly," said Pennie, "and I shall be a long
while making them. I should think we'd better get it now. But shall
you go to Bolton's?" she added; "mother always goes to Smith's."

"Bolton's" was a magnificent place in Pennie's eyes. It was the largest
shop in the High Street, and she had heard her mother call it
extravagantly dear. Miss Unity, however, would not hear of going
anywhere else. She had always dealt at Bolton's; they supplied the
materials for the Working Societies and the choristers' surplices, and
had always given satisfaction. So Pennie, with rather an awed feeling,
followed her godmother into the shop, and was soon much interested in
her purchases; also in the half-confidential and wholly respectful
remarks made from time to time across the counter by Mrs Bolton, who
had bustled forward to serve them. Her husband was a verger at the
Cathedral, and this justified her in expressing an interest from a
discreet distance in all that went on there.

"Quite a stir in the town since the bishop's sermon, Miss," she remarked
as she placed a pile of calico on the counter. "I think this will suit
your purpose--if not too fine."

"I was think