The young attendant stooped to unbutton the cloak, to take it away and wrap it in a parcel, but Miss Carew stopped her.  “I think she may as well wear it home,” she said.  “It is cold, and it will be the easiest way of carrying it.”

“Yes, madam.  I will give you the bill.”

When the stranger’s back was turned, Huldah found her tongue.  “Oh, Miss Rose, isn’t it lovely!  It’s so warm, I can feel it already, and—­and oh, I can’t believe it is mine!”

“I am glad you like it, dear.  Now get out your purse, and pay the bill.”

That was indeed a proud moment!  From the depth of her pocket, and from beneath the wonderful cloak, Huldah produced a small, rather shabby purse, an old one of Miss Carew’s, and from its pockets she produced all her worldly wealth.  Her fingers trembled so, she could scarcely separate the coins, but at last it was all managed; and, still in a maze of delight, she found herself walking out of the shop behind Miss Carew, clutching her thin little purse, in which reposed one solitary shilling, and proudly wearing her own purchase.

To have walked out in it between that double fire of staring eyes, would have been an ordeal she could scarcely have endured, if it had not been that her thoughts were more occupied with her shilling than with herself, for with it she was going to buy something to take home to Mrs. Perry, and what that something was to be was a matter for grave consideration.

However, with Miss Rose’s help, the money was at last laid out on some tea and some biscuits, and, greatest treat of all, a smoked haddock, to make a feast for the tea which was to crown the end of that glorious afternoon.

The tea and the fish and some of the biscuits were for Mrs. Perry, and some of the biscuits were for Dick, as his share of the rejoicing, but for Miss Rose Huldah had nothing, and that was the one cloud on that happy, wonderful day.  It was rather a big cloud, too, for she did long to do something for her, to show how grateful she was, and the thought of it kept her very quiet and grave for a part of the drive home.

“Are you tired, brownie?” asked Miss Rose, presently, noticing her silence.

Huldah looked up with grateful, happy eyes.  “Oh no, miss.  I am too happy to be tired! and it’s lovely to feel the warmth of my cloak coming in to my shoulders.  I think it is so beautiful.  Do you like it, miss?”

“Very much indeed, and I like to have our brownie in brown again; it seems just right!”

Huldah laughed happily.  “I wish”—­she began, then stopped, as a sudden idea flashed on her mind.  Why, of course, she could be a real brownie, and by getting up very early she could, without anyone’s knowing anything about it, make one of her prettiest and nicest baskets for Miss Rose!  Her spirits went up, and up with pleasure at the thought all her gravity left her, and when at last they drew up before the cottage in Woodend Lane, her face was one big radiant smile.  Mrs. Perry was at the door as soon as they had reached the gate.