woman and the fierce, pathetic child--a veil that was not to be
lifted until, in some mysterious way, life should make them
change places.

The two elders looked at each other, Robert Ferguson with meager
amusement; Mrs. Richie still grave at the remembrance of that
furious little face. "What did she mean about 'biting her arm'?"
she asked, after Elizabeth had been sent home, the bewildered
David being told to accompany her to the door.

"I believe she bites herself when she gets angry," Elizabeth's
uncle said; "Miss White said she had quite a sore place on her
arm last winter, because she bit it so often. It's of no
consequence," he added, knocking his glasses off fiercely. Again
Mrs. Richie looked shocked. "She is my brother's child," he said,
briefly; "he died some years ago. He left her to me." And Mrs.
Richie knew instinctively that the bequest had not been welcome.
"Miss White looks after her," he said, putting his glasses on
again, carefully, with both hands; "she calls her her 'Lamb,'
though a more unlamblike person than Elizabeth I never met. She
has a little school for her and the two Maitland youngsters in
the top of my house. Miss White is otherwise known as Cherry-pie.
Elizabeth, I am informed, loves cherry-pie; also, she loves Miss
White: ergo!" he ended, with his snort of a laugh. Then he had a
sudden thought: "Why don't you let David come to Miss White for
lessons? I've no doubt she could look after another pupil."

"I'd be delighted to," Mrs. Richie said, gratefully. So, through
the good offices of Mr. Ferguson, the arrangement was made. Mr.
Ferguson did not approve of Mrs. Richie's rings, but he had no