my dress has grown so shabby--I don't look so--so nice as I did--yet if
his father were not hard I might have more." And poor Nancy being now
far from any habitation gave herself the relief of a good cry, knowing
she could not be observed.

In the meantime the organ at the church had ceased playing, and the
young man who was seated at it began turning over a pile of music which
lay beside him. But this he did mechanically--he was not going to play
again that evening, he did it as an accompaniment to perplexed thought.
He remained so long silent that Benny Dodd, who had been "blowing" for
him, ventured out from among the shadows cast by the organ pipes and
asked, "Please, Mr. Fred, are you going to play any more?"

Fred Hurst looked up smiling, and feeling in his waistcoat pocket for
the customary coin, said cheerfully, "I had quite forgotten you, Benny!
No, I shall not play any more to-night."

The small boy clattered down the stone aisle noisily, and Fred Hurst
began to push in the stops preparatory to closing the organ. In doing so
he caught a glimpse of his face in the small mirror which hung at one
side, and he burst out laughing.

"What a tragic look I have managed to put on," he thought. Then he
locked the organ, and was about to blow out the candles, when he changed
his mind and took out a scrap of printed paper from his pocket and read
it by their light. It was a favourable review of a song he had composed,
and which had just been published. "Though there is no genius displayed
in this little composition, it is extremely pleasing; the air is
catching, and the accompaniment is tuneful without ostentation. 'Winged
Love' should become a popular favourite." This is what he read; and