ST. OLAVE'S.



you to tea a month ago; the same who comes
to morning prayers sometimes, and has a face
just like one of Mozart's Masses."
   Miss Bruce looked puzzled. Not being given
 to the use of figurative language herself she was
 at a loss to comprehend it from others.
   " I don't know about Mrs. Amiel Grey's face
 looking like a Mass, Davie; but it is a very kind
 face, and she always wears a clear-starched
 widow's cap, with a plaited frill coming down
 under the chin, like that picture of our grand-
 mother."
   David and Janet turned involuntarily to the
 portrait of an old lady which hung over the
 piano. The clear chiselling of the face, together
 with the finely moulded hands and taper fingers,
 indicated high descent and noble blood. He
 looked at it until an unquiet expression came
 into his rugged face; but after a single glance
 Miss Bruce returned to the subject in hand.
   " That old black tie of yours, Davie, I should
like you to change it too. I have no doubt, as
you say, it's gey comfortable, but it really
doesn't do to receive company in. You'll find a
new one that I bought you last week in your
dressing-table drawer,-black corded silk with
violet spots. And mind how you tie it, Davie,
for you haven't had it on before; and if they get
a wrong set the first time you can never make
them look nice afterwards. And about the collar,
don't get one of those marked ' Napoleon.'
They're just a thought too wide for you, and
don't fit exactly behind.  I must have them
sorted.  
  Miss Bruce gave all these directions with the
same quiet, earnest gravity which she would have
used in dictating her will, or giving evidence in
a court of justice. There were not many points
of interest in her life now, and one of them was
that her brother should be well cared for in
everything to which her oversight could reach.
  "You're just a continual plague to me,
Jeanie," but as David said the words he took
the hand which still rested on his shoulder, and
drawing it to him, leaned his cheek down upon
it in a quiet unconscious sort of way which be-
trayed how natural the gesture was.
  " I was getting on fine with this alto solo, and
if I put it away, the thoughts will never come
back in the same track. I wish you hadn't
asked any one. I'll be sair weary the night if
she stays long. What did you say her name
is "'
  "Alice Grey."
  "Alice Grey; it's a bonnie name, and what i
like is she"
  "Well, I've only seen her once without her i
bonnet, for she was away when I went to the
Old lodge. But she is a pleasant girl, very
lady-like. You know her aunt belongs to one i
of the best families in St. Olave's, and she has a 4
nice manner."
  Here Miss Bruce paused, having nothing
more to say in the way of elucidation. She wasI
by no means skilful in the art of delineating i
character.
  "Well, it can't be helped. She is the first 1
lady who has taken tea with us since we came I
here, and how long is that ago It wasn't so in I
Scotland, Jeanie."                         I
  Miss Bruce ignored the latter part of the sen-
tence.



   "Three months, Davie, just. You know we
 left Perth at the spring cleaning time."
   " And we've lived very quietly ever since. I
 don't think anybody cares for us here. Is that
 as God intended it to be, Jeanie "
   "I daresay there are a great many things in
 this world as God never intended them to be,
 Davie," and with that Miss Bruce drew her hand
 gently out of his, and began to clear away the
 scattered music sheets. Her brother took the
 hint, gave one more wistful look at his manu-
 scripts, and then went away to dress for the ex-
 pected visitor.
   When he was gone Janet began to "sort the
room." She was the very soul of neatness, not
indeed one of those monstrosities of method who
seem to have been born with a dusting brush in
their hands, and think no perfume equal to that
of yellow soap, no music so sweet as the rattle
of moving furniture; yet somehow there gathered
round her, wherever she went, an atmosphere of
tidiness, so that quietly and without any show of
effort, things seemed to faWl into their right
places.
  She began with the table where David had
been sitting, and put the loose sheets of music
back into the portfolio. Then she gathered up
his pencils and one or two old pens which he had
thrown upon the floor. This was done with a
tender, loving carefulness, her hands lingering
over the work, her face wearing a contented,
peaceful smile. This brother of hers was the
only outlet for any home kindness she had to
give, and it was given very reverently. When
the table was cleared, she went round the room,
giving little touches of arrangement here and
there, and looking often at the timepiece, whose
hands were fast approaching the stroke of seven.
  It was a pleasant room, such as one sees in
old-fashioned, well-built houses. The window,
which was broad ana low, and draperied with
curtains of drab moreen, looked out upon a
wide plot of grass, spotted with buttercups and
daisies. In the centre of this plot was a great
sun-dial, half covered with moss, the gnomon
tangled over with wild convolvulus and clusters of
briony. Round it wound a broad gravel walk,
and beyond that a second grass plot, bounded by
a belt of linden trees, whose branches shut out
all view of the road, except where space was left
for the gate. From this gateway the entire East
front of the Cathedral, with the grand sweep of
its arched window could be clearly seen.
  As fo- the interior of the Westwood sitting-
room, it as furnished simply enough, for David
Bruce was only just beginning to make his way
in the world, and hard work he found it. The
mrpet of crimson ground, interlaced with a small
running pattern of black, was somewhat worn,
and to judge from sundry side piecings had not
originally been intended for its present place.
Upon the square table, which stood near the
window, was a crimson cloth, embroidered round
the border with armorial bearings, in old-fash-
ioned cross and tent stitch. The paper was very
pretty, fresh and spring-like--a silvery grey
background, traced over with tiny leaves and
tendrils. There was no cornice to the ceiling,
for it had been made before this modern devico
came into fashion; but to supply its place was a
belt of crimson scroll pattern. A very plain
looking piano stood in one corner, open now with



6