the first great shock in a family. Mr. Pringleson's
death was sudden. He had sat in his
little court and discharged his usual duty, and
next day that court had no judge. Our
Oxford fellow could not now indulge in dreams.
The father was dead, and the mother must be
kept. Thus it was that he came to London to
fill a mastership at Duke's College, and, looking
out for lodgings, knocked at Mrs. Stalman's
door. As it was one of his school-days, he
concluded all arrangements, and had actually
been three days in possession of his rooms
without being aware of his landlady's identity.

He was sitting at his breakfast one morning,
when he heard a regular and peculiar noise on
the stairs outside. While puzzling over it, a
voice called from below:

"Miss Laura! That ain't you a-battledoring
and shuttlecocking again, is it ? And after all
your ma said, and you know you oughtn't to
it. Come down directly, miss!"

The voice had become louder as its owner
ascended the stairs, and now there followed a
sharp sound and a cry of distress. Miss Laura
was receiving manual correction.

Edward opened his door in a hurry.

"What are you beating that child for?" he
said to the aggressor, who was a very grimy
servant.

"Why, sir, she's been told 'undreds of times
she ain't to make that noise, but it ain't of no
use. She won't mind one bit."

"Do you suppose knocking her about will
do any good?" said Edward, whose eyes were
angrily observing a red mark on the child's
wrist where the servant had clutched her, and
a black smear on the back of her hand inflicted
by a blacking-brush. Taking out his handkerchief
to remove this smear, he noticed the hand,
which was peculiar, more closely. He looked
at the child, and with a sudden exclamation
drew her into his room and shut the door.

This unexpected move rather astonished her,
and though she looked Edward straight in the
eyes with a defiant air, there were certain little
signs that she was not altogether easy in her
mind. Edward had by this time satisfied
himself that his little heroine of the train stood
before him. His first remark was highly
diplomatic, intended to elicit a final proof, and also
to introduce a pleasing subject.

"Do you like sugar-plums now?" he asked.

It was a complete success. The child had a
very pliant and expressive figure. In an
instant its defiant rigidity disappeared, and she
approached a thought nearer, before answering
"Yes," in a shy whisper.

Edward sat down by the fire, and she leaned
against one of his knees.

"Now," said he, "if I were to find some
sugar-plums what would you do?"

She was a practical person, and so inquired:

"If you was to find them for me?"

"Yes, for you. What would you do with
them?"

"Give mamma some, and Miss Price some,
and me some."

That evening Mrs. Stalman received a message
from her new lodger begging to see her. This
ending in an invitation from Mrs. Stalman to tea,
Mr. Pringleson came down to her room with a
packet in his hand. The fellow-travellers
recognised each other at once, and Laura was sent
to find the identical bonbonnière, which had been
carefully preserved. Edward's packet soon
refilled it, and for the second time it became a
bond of friendship.

Laura was now eight years old, and beginning
to be a care to her mother.

"What am I to do about her, Mr. Pringleson?"
she asked, one evening; "she is beginning
to get a big girl now, and her education
ought to be attended to. She spells shockingly,
and I fear she never will write well. I cannot
spare time to teach her, if I were able, and yet
I don't like schools. What shall I do?"

Edward was really younger than Mrs. Stalman,
but she was beginning to look up to him
as family umpire.

"Don't send her to school," he answered.

"You think not? But how else she is to
learn anything, I don't know. Poor Eliza Price
has enough on her hands, looking after the
house, besides being no great scholar, I am
quite sure Laura would never mind a word from
her."

It was a difficult question. Edward Pringleson
was engaged in looking over a pile of
examination-papers. The particular note-book
under his scrutiny required much revision. Its
owner, who wrote an untidy sprawling hand,
and signed his name with irritating illegibility
as " W. Payne Shepherd," gave the master
great trouble. Edward again and again shook
his head over Shepherd's note-book, and scored
it with marks of displeasure. It was a busy
time; as the examinations were coming on, he
could give no further attention for the moment
to Laura and her education. At the end of
the term he hurried out of town for rest and
to see his mother, and returned in a week to
make out the boys' reports. It had become
a habit with him now to frequently join the
circle down-stairs in the evening, and even to
take his work there with him. His first evening
was so passed.

"Where's Laura?" he inquired at once.

"Ah, poor Laura!" sighed mamma, "I shall
never forget her sorrowful little face as she
went away! I have been obliged to act without
consulting you, as I should have liked, Mr.
Pringleson. But time pressed. Mrs. Welling,
the wife of my dear Allan's successor in the
Spikehurst living, is really a very nice person,
and, on hearing of my difficulties, wrote in the
kindest manner and offered to take Laura as a
pupil. She has no children of her own, and, as
they are not well off, will be glad of both salary
and occupation. You don't look pleased, Mr.
Pringleson! I hope you don't disapprove of
what I have done?"

"Oh dear no. Of course you have the first
right over the little woman, and no doubt you
have done the best for her."

"Oh, but dear me!" cried the widow, who
was very accessible to doubts, "I should be