She astonished a barefooted boy,
on the outskirts of the crowd, by a gift of sixpence, and asked her way
to the farm. The little Irishman ran on before her, eager to show the
generous lady how useful he could be. In less than half an hour, Iris
and her maid were at the door of the farm-house. No such civilsed
inventions appeared as a knocker or a bell. The boy used his knuckles
instead--and ran away when he heard the lock of the door turned on the
inner side. He was afraid to be seen speaking to any living creature
who inhabited the "evicted farm."
A decent old woman appeared, and inquired suspiciously "what the ladies
wanted." The accent in which she spoke was unmistakably English. When
Iris asked for Mr. Arthur Mountjoy the reply was: "Not at home." The
housekeeper inhospitably attempted to close the door. "Wait one
moment," Iris said. "Years have changed you; but there is something in
your face which is not quite strange to me. Are you Mrs. Lewson?"
The woman admitted that this was her name. "But how is it that you are
a stranger to me?" she asked distrustfully.
"If you have been long in Mr. Mountjoy's service," Iris replied, "you
may perhaps have heard him speak of Miss Henley?"
Mrs.
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