ietly and contentedly there, Mrs Rowland broke the
seal of Margaret's letter, turning her eyes from the writing, laid the
blistered sheet in the hearth, and set fire to it. The child set up a
loud crow of delight at the flame. At that moment, even this simple and
familiar sound startled its mother out of all power of self-control.
She snatched up the child with a vehemence which frightened it into a
shrill cry. She feared the nursemaid would come before all the sparks
were out; and she tried to quiet the baby by dancing it before the
mirror over the mantelpiece. She met her own face there, white as
ashes; and the child saw nothing that could amuse it, while its eyes
were blinded with tears. She opened the window to let it hearken to the
church clock; and the device was effectual. Baby composed its face to
serious listening, before the long succession of strokes was finished,
and allowed the tears to be wiped from its cheeks.

One thing more remained to be done. Mrs Rowland heard a step in the
hall, and looked out: it was Betsy's.

"I thought it was you. Pray desire cook to send up a cup of broth for
Miss Rowland's lunch; and be sure and let Miss Rowland know, the moment
it is ready. Mr Enderby is in the shrubbery, I think."

"Yes, ma'am; seeing he was there, I was coming to ask about the letter,
ma'am, to carry it to him."

"Oh, that letter--I sent it to him. He has got it. Tell cook directly
about the broth."

At lunch-time, one of the children was desired to summon Uncle Philip.
Mrs Rowland took care to meet him at the garden door. She saw him cast
a wistful eye towards the study mantelpiece, as he passed the open door.
His sister observed that she believed it was past post time for this
half-week. He sighed deeply; and she felt that no sigh of his had ever
so gone to her heart before.

"Why, mamma! do look!" cried George, as well as a mouthful of bread
would allow. "Look at the chimney! Where are all the shavings gone?
There is the knot at the top that they were tied together with, but not
a bit of shaving left. Have they blown up the chimney?"

"What will poor baby say?" exclaimed Matilda. "All the pretty pink and
green gone!"

"There is some tinder blowing about," observed George. "I do believe
they have been burnt."

"Shut the window, George, will you? There is no bearing this draught.
There is no bearing Betsy's waste either. She has burned those shavings
somehow in cleaning the gra