rose grew round the door, that sweet old-fashioned rose with its
delicious scent which makes the air delightful wherever it blows.

The cottage door stood open, and the afternoon sunlight fell across the
old red tiles of the kitchen floor. The tiles were a little broken, and
here and there they were sunk and worn; but they were as clean as hands
could make them, as Mrs. Kane would have said. A little window at one
side looked down the garden, and across it was a frilled curtain, and
on the sill a geranium in full flower. On the other side was the
fire-place, with chintz frill and curtains, and the grate filled with a
great bush of green beech-leaves. A table set on the red tiles was
spread for tea, and by it sat Mrs. Kane and her friend Mrs. Ford
enjoying a friendly cup together.

"She _is_ late this evening," Mrs. Kane was saying; "but she'll turn up
all right by and by. If she's wild she's sharp, which is still
something. She never gets under horses' feet, nor drops into the pond,
or anything of that sort. If she did those sort of things, being such a
rover, Mrs. Ford, you see I never should have an easy moment in my
life."

"I must say it's very good of you to take to do with her," said Mrs.
Ford, "and she nobody belonging to you. If she was your own child--"

"Well, you see, my own two dears went to heaven with the measles," said
Mrs. Kane, "and I felt so lonesome without them, that when John walked
in with the little bundle in his arms that night, I thought he was just
an angel of light."

"It was on the Long Sands he found her, wasn't it?" asked Mrs. Ford,