ch cheek. But she
was not the least hurt by her father's words. She simply did not
understand them: what are called 'class distinctions' were quite unknown
to her innocent mind. Had she been alone with her mother she might have
asked for some explanation, but she was too much in awe of her father to
question him.

Her mother turned to her somewhat abruptly.

'I want some more water; the kettle, Celestina love,' she said; and as
the little girl brought it, 'I will explain to you afterwards, but don't
say any more. Father is tired,' she whispered.

And Celestina quickly forgot all about it; the sight of Eleanor and Amy
still reposing on the hearthrug as she replaced the kettle drove out of
her mind all thoughts of the possible little Misses Vane.

After tea, when the things were cleared away and Celestina had helped
her mother to make the room look neat and comfortable again, fox the
little servant in the kitchen was seldom seen in the parlour, as she
fidgeted Mr. Fairchild by her awkward clattering ways, Mrs. Fairchild
went upstairs to fetch some sewing that needed seeing to.

'I will look for a scrap or two for you,' she said to Celestina as she
went. 'But I'm not sure that you should sew any more to-night. It's
trying for your eyes.'

'And what about your sums, child?' said her father. 'Have you done all I
set you?'

'Yes, father, and I've read the chapter of _Little Arthur's History_
too,' Celestina replied.

'Well, then,' said Mr. Fairchild, drawing his chair nearer to the table
again--he had pushed it close to the fire--'bring your slate and your
books. I'll correct the sums and set you some more, and then we'll have
a little history. I will question you first on the chapter you have read
to yourself.'

Celestina could not help an appealing glance at her mother--she had the
two little dolls in her hand, poor Amy still looking very deplorable in
her skirt-less condition. Mrs. Fairchild understood her though no word
was spoken.

'I thought you were going back to write in the shop,' she said gently to
her husband. 'The stove is still hot.'

'I am too tired,' he replied, and indeed he looked so. 'There is nothing
so very pressing, and it's too late for the London post. No--I would
rather take Celly's lessons; it will be a change.'

Mrs. Fairchild said no more, nor did Celestina--father's word was law.
The little girl did not even look cross or doleful, though she gave a
tiny sigh as she fetched her books