heavy gold watch-chain, or rubbing his fingers
through his hair until it stood upright from
his forehead. Mr. Fluke was a large squarely
built man, rather over the middle height,
with thick features, a ruddy face, and light
widely opened blue eyes, which recalled his
eldest daughter's eyes in the intensity and directness
of their stare. He was loud of voice,
dictatorial and absolute in manner, but a
conscientious earnest man withal; not without
kindness of heart, though a little dull in intellect.
He was a man who might even have been
gentle on occasions, if he could by any
possibility have conceived the existence in anybody
of a nervous system less robust than his own.

"It is, of course, a bare subsistence, Mrs.
Saxelby," said Mr. Charlewood; "but I think
we have done the best that could be done under
the circumstances."

"Quite the best we could do, according to
our lights, Mrs. Saxelby," Mr. Fluke put in,
shifting his balance from one leg to the other,
and bumping his shoulder violently two or three
times against the marble mantelpiece. "We
have meted with a just measure, as far as it was
given unto us so to do."

"I'm quite sure," said Mrs. Saxelby, with
her handkerchief to her eyes, "that you have
both been wise and kind; and I am very grateful
to you both for all the trouble you have taken."

"Nay," said Mr. Charlewood, "I assure you
the trouble has been small in itself, although the
occasion of it has been a sad one. Saxelby's
accounts were in perfect order. I don't think he
owed five shillings in the world, and his will
was one of the clearest I have ever read in my
life. He was an admirable man of business."

"He—was," said Mr. Fluke, with deliberate
emphasis, "a—convinced—Christian; a
practical, evangelical Christian; his earthly register,
as well as his Heavenly one, was kept with
faithful exactitude. By their fruits, Mrs.
Saxelby, ye shall know them."

"Quite so," said Mrs. Saxelby, meekly. "It
is most soothing to my feelings to have him
truly appreciated. Indeed, indeed, he was very
kind and good to me; always, always, always!"
The widow added this, with a burst of genuine
emotion.

"You'll consider of my plan for your living
at Hazlehurst, Mrs. Saxelby," said Mr. Charlewood,
after a pause. "I do believe it to be
the best plan for you. You see, if you let the
cottage, the rent wouldn't bring you in more
than sixteen or eighteen pounds a year; and
you couldn't find a place in Hammerham fit
for you to live in, at anything like that price.
Then you'd have the garden. That's a saving,
when you don't employ a fashionable scientific
gardener to eat up the profits. The man who
attended to it before (when your late
husband let it) would grow your potatoes and
cabbages for the privilege of taking what he
could consume himself. There are fruit-trees,
too, and a paddock where you might keep a
cow. In the country there are fifty ways of
eking out a small income."

"It would be very dull," sobbed Mrs.
Saxelby, "for the children. Think of Mabel.
And how ever is Dooley to get an education?
Oh dear, oh dear, I don't know what to do!"

"Mamma," said Mabel, gliding quietly into
the room, "pray, pray do not fret and distress
yourself about me."

Mabel had heard her mother's last words, and
now knelt by her side, pressing her young soft
cheek against Mrs. Saxelby's black dress.

"Remember, my dear friend," said Mr.
Fluke, in a loud clear voice, which made a glass
vase on the mantelpiece ring again, and with a
queer sudden movement of his leg, that seemed
like a kick strangled in its birth—"remember the
young ravens! An all-bounteous Providence
watches over His creatures."

Mabel merely observed: "Mamma knows,
Mr. Fluke, that I mean to earn my own living.
I am young and strong, and willing to work
hard. We have talked it over."

Mr. Charlewood said, with an approving look,
"I respect your resolution, my dear. Penny—
my daughter Penny," he added, turning to Mr.
Fluke, "always says that Miss Earnshaw is
worth a thousand every-day misses. And she is
right."

"And what do you mean to do, Mabel?"
asked Mr. Fluke, knocking down the fire-irons
with a crash that made Mrs. Saxelby start
completely off her chair, as he turned to address
Mabel.

Mrs. Saxelby pressed her daughter's hand
nervously, and answered before the latter could
speak: "Oh, we shall think. We shall see. I
cannot give my mind to the idea of parting with
Mabel yet. I shall be left desolate when she
leaves me."

"Darling mother," said Mabel, in a caressing
tone, and resolutely driving back her own tears:
"Remember all we have said. Think of
Dooley, dear little fellow. For a time we must
bear to be separated for his sake. Then, when
I have earned money enough to send him to a
good school, how proud and happy we shall be!
And, after all, you know, it won't be quite a
separation. I shall be able to see you very
often, I hope. You ask what I shall try for,
sir," she said, turning her head towards Mr.
Fluke, but keeping her arms round her mother.
"I have promised mamma to endeavour to get
a situation as governess, and I shall do as I
have promised."

Mrs. Saxelby kissed her daughter's forehead.

"But," pursued Mabel, "I know that I am
not very likely to succeed all at once. I
would do almost anything to make a beginning.
I believe that in schools they sometimes take a
pupil teacher, giving a small salary, with board
and finishing lessons, in return for her services.
I have a good stock of clothes. I could do
with very little money for the first year;
especially if the hope were held out to me that it
might lead to better things."

"Well said, Mabel!" cried Mr. Charlewood.
"That's the way to get on in the world. Look
things in the face, and begin at the beginning."