stitch on her except that ragged, faded dress. Una was full of pure pity, Carl of amused wonder, and all of them of curiosity.
"Now come out to the graveyard and tell us about yourself," ordered Faith, when Mary's appetite showed signs of failing her. Mary was now nothing loth. Food had restored her natural vivacity and unloosed her by no means reluctant tongue.
"You won't tell your pa or anybody if I tell you?" she stipulated, when she was enthroned on Mr. Pollock's tombstone. Opposite her the manse children lined up on another. Here was spice and mystery and adventure. Something had happened.
"No, we won't."
"Cross your hearts?"
"Cross our hearts."
"Well, I've run away. I was living with Mrs. Wiley over-harbour. Do you know Mrs. Wiley?"
"No."
"Well, you don't want to know her. She's an awful woman. My, how I hate her! She worked me to death and wouldn't give me half enough to eat, and she used to larrup me 'most every day. Look a-here."
Mary rolled up her ragged sleeves and held up her scrawny arms and thin hands, chapped almost to rawness. They were black with bruises. The manse children shivered. Faith flushed crimson with indignation. Una's blue eyes filled with tears.
"She licked me Wednesday night with a stick," said
