housewife full of needles, some brass thimbles, and a roll of calico
provided, and this was the apparatus with which most village schools
would commence.

Mrs Thorpe arrived with her two little girls, the neatest of creatures,
still wearing her weeds, as indeed widows engaged in any business used
to do for life as a sort of protection. Under her crape borders showed
the smoothest of hair, and her apron was spotlessly white. The two
little girls were patterns, with short cut hair, spotted blue frocks and
checkered pinafores in the week, lilac frocks on Sundays; white capes on
that same day, and bonnets of coarse straw, tied down with green ribbon,
over little bonnet caps with plain net frilling, the only attempt at
luxury apparent in their dress. Their names were Jane and Mary, and
they looked very pretty and demure, though there was a little mischief
in Mary's eyes. Nothing could look nicer or more promising in the eyes
of the sisters when they took her to her cottage, nor could any one be
better pleased than she to work under her own young ladies, and to have
so peaceful a home for her little daughters. She was introduced to her
future scholars on Sunday in the wash-house, and very shy and awkward
did they look, nor were the numbers as large as usual.

Mr Harford came to open the school on Monday morning, and the ladies
met him there. The room was in beautiful order, and presently the
younger Moles, the George Hewletts, the Seddons, the Pucklechurch
grandchildren, and about half-a-dozen more dropped in; but no one else
appeared, and these stood handling their pennies and looking sheepish.

Mr Harford, after looking out to see whether any one else was coming,
addressed them in words a little too fine for their comprehension, and
then read a few prayers, after which he and Mrs Carbonel went away,
taking the unwilling Sophy to her lessons, but leaving Dora to follow
when she had heard the names called over, and inaugurated the work; and
their journey was enlivened by meeting a child with flying hair and
ragged garments rushing headlong, so as to have only just time to turn
off short over a gap in a field where some men who were ploughing called
out, "Run, little one, run; she'll catch thee!" with a great shouting
laugh, and at the same moment appeared, with a big stick in her hand,
Nancy Morris in full chase, her cap on the back of her head, and looking
not much less wild than her offspring.

However, she drew up