'I saw ye lookin' at her a meenit ago, Maister Graham, an' maybe ye was
thinkin' the same as me, that she's no' lang for this world. Is't no' a
sin an' a shame for a cratur like that to work in a place like this? but
it's waur, if it be true, as folk say, that there's nae need for it.'

So astonished was Abel Graham by this plain speaking on the part of a
girl he had never seen in his life, that he could only stare.

'It's true,' added Liz significantly; 'she's yin o' the kind they mak'
angels o', and that's no' my kind nor yours. If I were you, I'd see
aboot it, or it'll be the waur for ye, maybe, after.'

Happily, just then Gladys returned for her boots, and in her mild
excitement over having a companion to walk with, she did not observe the
very curious look on her uncle's face. But Liz did, and gave an inward
chuckle.

'How's your father and mother?' he asked, making the commonplace
question a cover for the start he had got.

'Oh, they're as well as they can expect to be,' Liz replied. 'He cam'
oot on Monday. I spiered if they had gi'en him a return ticket available
for a week.'

The hard little laugh which accompanied these apparently heartless words
did not in the least deceive Gladys, and, looking up from the lacing of
her boots, she flashed a glance of quick sympathy upon the girl's face,
which expressed more than any words.

'They're surely very ill-kinded,' was Abel Graham's comment, in rather a