There was rain on the Thursday and Friday, but when Ida drew up her blind at six o’clock on Saturday morning, the sky gave promise of good things.  She was walking in the garden long before breakfast-time, and gladdened to rapture as she watched the sun gain power, till it streamed gloriously athwart cloudless blue.  By one o’clock she was at the end of Litany Lane, where the cart with long seats was already waiting; its arrival had become known to the little ones, and very few needed summoning.  Of course there were disappointments now and again.  In spite of mothers’ promises, half the children had their usual dirty faces, and showed no sign of any preparation.  Five or six of them had nothing to put on their heads; two had bare feet.  It was too late to see to these things now; as they were, the children clambered, or were lifted, on to the cart, and Ida took her seat among them.  Then a crack of the driver’s whip, and amid the shouts of envious brothers and sisters, and before the wondering stare of the rest of the population, off they drove away.

“Who’d like an apple?” Ida asked, as soon as they were well clear of the narrow streets.  There was a general scream of delight, and from a hamper by her side she brought out apples and distributed them.  Only for a minute or two had there been anything like shyness in Ida’s presence; she knew how to talk and behave to these poor little waifs.  Her eyes filled with tears as she listened to their chatter among themselves, and recognised so many a fragment of her own past life.  One child, who sat close by her, had been spending the morning in washing vegetables for the Saturday-night market.  Did not that call to mind something?—­so far off; so far, yet nearer to her than many things which had intervened.  How they all laughed, as the big, black houses gave way to brighter streets, and these again began to open upon glimpses of field or garden!  Not one of them had the slightest conception of whither they were being taken, or what was to happen to them at length.  But they had confidence in “the lady.”  She was a sorceress in their eyes; what limit could there be to her powers?  Something good and joyous awaited them; that was all they knew or cared; leagues of happiness, stretching away to the remote limits of the day’s glory; a present rapture beyond knowledge, and a memory for ever.

Mr. Woodstock stood within the gate of the garden, his hands in his pockets, and as the vehicle came in sight he drew just a little back.

They streamed along the carriage-drive, and in a minute or two were all clustered upon the lawn behind the house.  What was expected of them?  Had an angel taken them by he hand and led them straight from Litany Lane through the portals of paradise, they could not have been more awed and bewildered.  Trees and rose-bushes, turf and beds of flowers, seats in the shade, skipping-ropes thrown about on the open—­and there, hark, a hand-organ, a better one than ever they