ouse, abstractedly. Nettie lifted upon her, eyes that danced with
mischief and glee.

"A profession is as bad as a family, then," said the little Australian.
"I shall remember that next time you speak to me on this subject. I am
glad to think Dr Edward, with all his prudence, is disabled too."

When Nettie had made this unguarded speech, she blushed; and suddenly,
in a threatening and defiant manner, raised her eyes again to Miss
Wodehouse's face. Why? Miss Wodehouse did not understand the look, nor
put any significance into the words. She rose up from the grass, and
said it was time for her to go. She went away, pondering in her own mind
those singular new experiences of hers. She had never been called upon
to do anything particular all her gentle life. Another fashion of woman
might have found a call to action in the management of her father's
house, or the education of her motherless young sister. But Miss
Wodehouse had contented herself with loving Lucy--had suffered her to
grow up very much as she would, without interference--had never taken
a decided part in her life. When anything had to be done, to tell the
truth, she was very inexpert--unready--deeply embarrassed with the unusual
necessity. Nettie's case, so wonderfully different from anything she
could have conceived, lay on her mind and oppressed her as she went home
to Grange Lane.

As for Nettie herself, she took her work and her children indoors after
a while, and tried on the new frock, and scolded and rehabilitated the
muddy hero of the brook. Then, with those light fairy motions of hers,
she spread the homely table for tea, called in Susan, sought Fred in his
room up-stairs with a stinging word which penetrated even his callous
mind, and made him for the moment ashamed of himself. Nettie bit her red
lip till it grew white and bloodless as she turned from Fred's door. It
was not hard to work for the children--to support and domineer over
Susan; but it was hard for such an alert uncompromising little soul to
tolerate that useless hulk--that heavy encumbrance of a man, for whom
hope and life were dead. She bit her lip as she discharged her sharp
stinging arrow at him through the half-opened door, and then went
down singing, to take her place at the table which her own hands had
spread--which her own purse supplied with bread. Nobody there showed the
least consciousness of that latter fact; nobody fancied it was anything
but natural to rely upon Nettie. T