"Yes, you may, if you'll be careful," she said, somewhat mollified; here, "you may carry these books out to the cart."
Bert looked curiously at the pile of shabby books she gave him. On the top lay a small old Bible. As he carried it out, the breeze lifted the old, broken cover, almost carrying it away, and Bert caught sight of a name written on the fly-leaf, "Priscilla Grant, from her loving mother."
Slowly he spelt out the long name, then tried in a whisper to pronounce it.
"Pris—cilla! That sounds like the name Mr. Corney said was his sister's. How odd that it should be in this book! I wonder if it's Mrs. Kay's?"
But Bert kept his wonder to himself. He did not dare to ask any more questions.
Mrs. Kay's possessions were not very numerous. In a short time they were all packed into the cart, and having given up the key of her room to the landlady, she took her departure, walking beside the cart.
"So she's gone," said Bert, with a sigh. "I'm sorry."
"Then it's more than I am," said Mrs. Brown, as she glanced round the dusty, littered room her lodger had vacated. "She's good riddance, I say, for I never knew when I should get her money, and she was a nasty-tempered woman."
"Where has she gone?" asked Bert.
"I'm sure I don't know," returned the landlady; "that's no business of mine. She's paid me what she owed, and that's all I care about."