upon them to the extent of an annual nine pounds. A trifle, but it
would buy her clothing--and then Monica was sure to marry. Thank
Heaven, she was sure to marry!

Without notable event, matrimonial or other, time went on to this
present year of 1888.

Late in June, Monica would complete her twenty-first year; the
elders, full of affection for the sister, who so notably surpassed
them in beauty of person, talked much about her as the time
approached, devising how to procure her a little pleasure on her
birthday. Virginia thought a suitable present would be a copy of
'the Christian Year'.

'She has really no time for continuous reading. A verse of Keble--
just one verse at bedtime and in the morning might be strength to
the poor girl.'

Alice assented.

'We must join to buy it, dear,' she added, with anxious look. 'It
wouldn't be justifiable to spend more than two or three shillings.'

'I fear not.'

They were preparing their midday meal, the substantial repast of the
day. In a little saucepan on an oil cooking-stove was some plain
rice, bubbling as Alice stirred it. Virginia fetched from downstairs
(Mrs. Conisbee had assigned to them a shelf in her larder) bread,
butter, cheese, a pot of preserve, and arranged the table (three