r the exhausted men. But more than one woman paid heavily for
the night's experience, and Lucy Carne was among them.

For days she had lain writhing in the agony of rheumatic fever. For days
she had lain at the gates of death, and when at last she came back to
life again, it was such a wreck of her old self that she was scarcely able
to do anything. And this in Granny Barnes' eyes had been an added
grievance.

It was a greater grievance than ever now, for it meant that her
grandchild, her very own daughter's child, was to be taken from her, to
work for the stranger who had taken her daughter's place.

Fortunately, Mona had no such foolish thoughts. Her only grievance was
that the money which might have been spent on a new hat would have to be
spent on the carrier. "And nobody will be any the better for it, except
Mr. Darbie, and he's got lots already. They say he has a whole bagful in
a box under his bed."

"Your stepmother will be better off. She'll have you," said Granny Barnes
crossly. "Well, the letter's spoilt my tea for me. Anyway, I don't want
anything more. I've had enough for one while."

Mona looked surprised. "Oh, has it! I thought you were hungry, granny.
I am," and she helped herself to another slice of bread and butter.
"I wonder which day I'd better go?--and I must wear my best frock, mustn't
I? Such a lot of people go by the van, and you've got to sit so close you
can't help seeing if anybody's clothes are shabby."

"Um, you seem to have thought it all out, but you don't seem to think
anything of leaving me, nor of what my feelings may be. You'd better wear
your best frock and your best hat too, then your father and your
stepmother will see that you want something new for Sundays. It's as well
folk should learn that all the money can't be spent on doctors and
physic--that there's other things wanted too!"

But this speech only sent Mona's expectations higher, and lessened her
regrets at leaving. If going home to Seacombe and her new mother meant
having a new hat and dress, she would only be the more pleased at having
to go. She was so occupied with these thoughts that she did not notice
her grandmother rise and leave the kitchen, nor did she see the tears in
the sad old eyes. But her dreams of a journey, clad all in her best,
were suddenly broken in upon by a sharp scream. The scream came from the
backyard. Mona flew out at once. It was getting dark out of doors now,
but not to