It was certainly a gloomy little place, though scrupulously clean and neat.

The sunshine of a July day filtered reluctantly through the small, opaque-looking window.

Caleb's bench and tools were placed just underneath it, and above his head a linnet hopped and twittered in a green cage.

Kit's perambulator occupied one corner, while Kit herself, seated at the table in a high chair, was busily engaged in ironing out some ragged doll-garments with a tiny bent flat-iron.

Anna regarded her pitifully--the small shrunken figure and sunken chest, and the thin white face with its halo of red curls.