singularly quick perceptions, she was also very keenly alive to
other and graver impressions.

Her anger had passed, but still, as she paced round and round her
small domain, her heart was very heavy. Life seemed perplexing to
her; but her mother had somehow struck the right key-note when she
had spoken of the vexations which might be shared. There was
something inspiriting in that thought, certainly, for Erica
worshipped her father. By degrees the trouble and indignation died
away, and a very sweet look stole over the grave little face.

A smutty sparrow came and peered down at her from the ivy-colored
wall, and chirped and twittered in quite a friendly way, perhaps
recognizing the scatter of its daily bread.

"After all," though Erica, "with ourselves and the animals, we
might let the rest of the world treat us as they please. I am glad
they can't turn the animals and birds against us! That would be
worse than anything."

Then, suddenly turning from the abstract to the practical, she took
out of her pocket a shabby little sealskin purse.

"Still sixpence of my prize money over," she remarked to herself;
"I'll go and buy some scones for tea. Father likes them."

Erica's father was a Scotchman, and, though so-called scones were
to be had at most shops, there was only one place where she could
buy scones which she considered worthy the name, and that was at
the Scotch baker's in Southampton Row. She hurried along the wet