attention--always a difficult task with her for any length of time.

One wet afternoon Vassie found she was not in the house, though when she
had slipped out no one could say. Ishmael, alarmed--for nothing could
have been more unlike Annie's habits--was about to set out in search of
her, when the kitchen door was thrust open and slammed again and Annie
stood before them, soaking with wet, her arms clasping a bundle of
little books and a light of sly triumph in her eyes. Boase, shutting a
dripping umbrella, was behind her. She had been across to the Vicarage
in all the wet and cold to make the Parson talk to her about her soul,
and to get rid of her he had finally given her a host of little cheap
devotional books that had from time to time been sent to him from the
publishers, and which he himself, disliking most modern books of
devotion, had not troubled to read. He knew they were suited to the
mentality of the average child of ten, and that therefore Annie with an
effort might understand them and would certainly think them full of the
Spirit.

He stood behind Annie, grave and quiet, signalling to Ishmael and Vassie
with his eyes. Vassie sprang forward.

"Why, Mamma, you're soaked!" she cried. "Come! it's up to the bed you
must go at once, and I'll bring you a hot drink when you're undressed.
You can look at your books better in bed, you know."

"That's a true word," said Annie; "so I can. I can have 'en all around
me on the bed, can't I, Vassie? I'll take en up, though; don't you touch
en, I fear you'm nought but an unconverted vessel, and I won't have 'ee
touchen my books."