her money, and taken possession of her
book, and he politely held open the door
for her. A small, dirty snow was falling
thickly: the pavements were already wet,
for it thawed as it fell; and the darkness
seemed to have come on suddenly, perhaps
from contrast with the bright gaslight
inside. Mary stood still for a moment
bewildered; then tried, in the failing light, to
hail an omnibus; but the man took no notice
of her signal, and she perceived that his
vehicle was over-loaded already. It was
disagreeable to find herself belated so far
from home, especially as she was very tired
and laden with small parcels which were
troublesome to carry; but Mary was
always more disposed to make light of
misadventures than to turn them into heavy
grievances, so she prepared to walk. As
she put up her umbrella, a voice close to
her said, "I beg your pardon. Have you
no carriage here? no cab?"

"No," she answered frankly, looking
straight up into the speaker's face, as her
custo'm was. She then perceived that the
speaker was the gentleman whom she had
seen before, and moreover that his face was
young and pleasant,—" but it doesn't matter
—I am a good walker."

"But it is coming on to snow harder.
I have a cab waiting here. Will you allow
me to put you into it?"

"Oh! no! you are very kind, but indeed
I would rather walk; I think it is going to
clear." Herewith, as if to contradict her,
came a gust of wind and sleet which nearly
knocked her over. The stranger laughed.
Mary could not help following his example,
and next moment found that he was handing
her into a Hansom cab. She made one
more horrified protest.

"Oh! no, I can't think of it. What will
you do! With that box of books too——"

"I will wait here, and send for another
cab; it is no inconvenience to me, I assure
you. Where shall I tell him to drive?"

A rapid calculation passed through Mary's
mind. " How far can I go for a shilling?"

"To the further end of Piccadilly, if you
please," she said, and it struck her that there
was a little look of vexation, of disappointment
even, on the face of her kind friend, as
he bowed and raised his hat, as respectfully
as if the little parcel-laden woman in her old
plaid cloak had been a royal princess.

"Oh! dear, I know he'll catch cold, and
then it'll be all my fault!" was Mary's first
reflection; " one thing is, I shall never know
it, if he does. If only I could have dared to
ask him to get in too! When I first came
from home I really think I should have done
so—but I know better now. Well! this is
comfortable certainly; much better than
that stuffy omnibus. And how delightful
to have got my book!"

And she went off into a vision of the plea-
sure which her gift would bring to the hard-
working, underpaid curate, whose cultivated
mind and scholarly tastes were always
suffering a famine, as his daughter well knew.

In a very short time she had reached the
house, and was seated by the snug fire in the
school-room, wrapped in a warm shawl while
her dress was drying, and thoroughly enjoying
the mutton chops and tea brought to her
by Susan, the little school-room maid, who
regarded her as the first of human beings.

"You must not forget all your learning,
Susan, while I am away," said she; " I have
set you ever so many copies, and I think
now you can manage to write to me by
yourself, can't you? And ah! Susan, my
canary- bird, and my poor geraniums—I
trust them all to you."

Susan promised th'e utmost attention,
while she stowed away package after package
in Miss Mackworth's trunk, with more
zeal than dexterity, as Mary soon perceived.

"Oh, take care!" she cried, springing up
to the defence of Cilia's prettinesses: then
checking herself, as Susan looked blank
and vaguely self- reproachful, " thank you,
that is very nice,—but I can finish packing
myself now, if you will hand me the things.
There were a few moments of busy silence.
"Now, Susan, I want something small and
soft, just to fill up this corner. Is there
anything that will do?"

"Yes, miss," responded Susan; "here's
a brown-paper parcel as will just fit in,"
and she handed to Mary a small parcel
carefully tied with pack-thread and further
secured with sealing- wax.

"What can this be?" exclaimed Mary;
"how carefully the shop-people have done
it up. Are you sure it is one of my things,
Susan?"

"'Twas here on the sofy, miss, along with
the rest."

"Oh! then, it must be aU right; Cilia's
gloves, I suppose," she said, fingering it,
and finding its contents soft and yielding;
"anyhow, it will just do to fill up my
corner. Now, Susan, please come, and help
me with the cover of my box. It looks as if
it didn't mean to shut. That's it! Beautifully
shut! And now for the direction."

With a thrill of satisfaction which made
it hard to keep her pen steady, she wrote
in her bold clear hand the well-known and
dearly loved address, of Farley- in- the-
Fields, Brigham.