emselves by honest endeavors; and also, she had a
plan for raising the quality of National School teaching by introducing
into the ranks of the teachers young gentlewomen unprovided by fortune.
She advised no more than she would have done, and all she said was good,
if Bessie's circumstances had been what she assumed. But Bessie,
conscious that they were about to suffer a change, felt impelled at
last to set Lady Latimer right. Her shy face mitigated the effect of her
speech.

"I have kindred in Woldshire, my lady, who want me. I am the only child
in this generation, and my grandfather Fairfax says that it is necessary
for me to go back to my own people."

Lady Latimer's face suddenly reflected a tint of Bessie's. But no
after-thought was in Bessie's mind, her simplicity was genuine. She
esteemed it praise to be selected as a fit child to teach children; and,
besides, whatever my lady had said at this period would have sounded
right in Bessie's ears. When she had uttered her statement, she waited
till Lady Latimer spoke.

"Do you belong to the Fairfaxes of Kirkham? Is your grandfather Richard
Fairfax of Abbotsmead?" she said in a quick voice, with an inflection of
surprise.

"Yes, my lady. My father was Geoffry, the third son; my mother was
Elizabeth Bulmer."

"I knew Abbotsmead many years ago. It will be a great change for you.
How old are you, Bessie? Fourteen, fifteen?"

"Fifteen, my lady, last birthday, the fourth of March."

Lady Latimer thought to herself, "Here is an exact little girl!" Then
she said aloud, "It would have been better for you if your grandfather
had recalled you when you were younger."

Bessie was prepared to hear this style of remark, and to repudiate the
implication. She replied almost with warmth, "My lady, I have lost
nothing by being left here. Beechhurst will always be home to me. If I
had my choice I would not go to Kirkham."

Lady Latimer thought again what a nice voice Bessie had, and regarded
her with a growing interest, that arose in part out of her own
recollections. She questioned her concerning her father's death, and the
circumstances of her adoption by Mr. and Mrs. Carnegie, and reflected
that, happily, she was too simple, too much of a child yet, for any but
family attachments--happily, because, though Bessie had no experience to
measure it by, there would be a wide difference between her position as
the doctor's adopted daughter amongst a house full of children, and as