Half an hour after Alice began to cry; and Mary, knowing she was hungry, laid her upon the bed and started for the milk.  She trembled as she drew near the garret stairs, and trod softly that she might not be heard, but as she was passing the mysterious door, a voice entirely different in its tone from the one assumed towards Mrs. Grundy, called out, “Come here, little dear, and see your Aunty.”

Mary’s circle of acquaintances was quite as large as she cared to have it, and quickening her steps, she was soon in the kitchen, where she found several old ladies still lingering over cups of very weak and very red looking tea.  As she entered the room they all suspended their operations, and looking hard at her, asked if she were the little English girl.  On being told that she was, three of them returned to their cups, while one shook her head, saying.  “Poor child, I pity you.”

Mary had heard that remark many times, but she knew that the words now conveyed other meaning than what referred to her face or teeth.

“Where can I find Mrs. Grundy?” she at last ventured to ask.

“Where can you find who?” asked a spiteful looking woman.  “Did she tell you to call her so?”

“She told me that was her name,—­yes, ma’am,” said Mary.

“Well, Mrs. Grundy is in the but’ry,” indicating with her elbow the direction.

Mary had no trouble in finding “the but’ry,” but on trying the door, she found it fastened inside.  In answer to her gentle knock a harsh voice replied, “Who’s there?”

“It’s I. I’ve come after the milk for Alice.”

With a jerk Mrs. Grundy opened the door, and putting a pint cup two thirds full of blue milk in Mary’s hand, she hastily shut and fastened it again.  Quick as her movements were, Mary caught a smell of strong green tea, and the sight of a sugar bowl and a slice of white bread.  She knew now why the door was buttoned, but thinking it was none of her business, she started to return to the kitchen.  As she passed the outer door, an old gray-haired man, with a face perfectly simple and foolish in its expression, stepped towards her, stretching out his hands as if to reach her.  With a loud cry she rushed headlong into the kitchen, where one of the women was still sitting.

“What’s broke loose now?” asked the woman, to which Mary replied, “Look at him!” at the same time pointing to the man, who with his hand thrust out was still advancing towards her.

“Don’t be scared,” said the woman.  “It’s uncle Peter.  Let him touch you and he’ll go off;” but Mary didn’t choose to be touched, and retreating towards the chamber door, she fled rapidly up the stairs.

This time she was not accosted by any one, but as she passed the dark closet, she was surprised to hear a musical voice singing the national air of her own country, and she wondered, too, at the taste of the singer in finishing every verse with “God save Miss Grundy.”