"I see. Well, Miss Bathgate, I wonder if you would mind if Mawson--my
maid, you know--carried away some of those ornaments and photographs to
a safe place? It would be such a pity if we broke any of them, for, of
course, you must value them greatly. These vases now, with the pretty
grasses, it would be dreadful if anything happened to them, for I'm sure
we could never, never replace them."

"Uch ay," Bella interrupted. "I got them at the pig-cairt in exchange
for some rags. He's plenty mair o' the same kind."

"Oh, really," Pamela said helplessly. "The fact is, a few things of my
own will be arriving in a day or two--a cushion or two and that sort of
thing--to make me feel at home, you know, so if you would very kindly
let us make room for them, I should be so much obliged."

Bella Bathgate looked round the grim chamber that was to her as the
apple of her eye, and sighed for the vagaries of "the gentry."

"Aweel," she said, "I'll pit them in a kist until ye gang awa'. I've
never had lodgers afore." And as she carried out the tray there was a
baleful gleam in her eye as if she were vowing to herself that she would
never have them again.

Pamela gave a gasp of relief when the door closed behind the ungracious
back of her landlady, and started when it opened again, but this time it
was only Mawson.

She hailed her. "Mawson, we must get something done to this room. Lift
all these vases and photographs carefully away. Miss Bathgate says she