ly not be, with those honest grey eyes;
but one easily imagined him weak in character, and his attitude as he stood
just within the room, half respectful, half assertive, betrayed an
embarrassment altogether encouraging to Miss Rodney. In her pleasantest
tone she begged him to be seated.

'Thank you, miss,' he replied, in a deep voice, which sounded huskily, but
had nothing of surliness; 'I suppose you want to complain about something,
and I'd rather get it over standing.'

'I was not going to make any complaint, Mr. Turpin.'

'I'm glad to hear it, miss; for my wife wished me to say she'd done about
all she could, and if things weren't to your liking, she thought it would
be best for all if you suited yourself in somebody else's lodgings.'

It evidently cost the man no little effort to deliver his message; there
was a nervous twitching about his person, and he could not look Miss Rodney
straight in the face. She, observant of this, kept a very steady eye on
him, and spoke with all possible calmness.

'I have not the least desire to change my lodgings, Mr. Turpin. Things are
going on quite well. There is an improvement in the cooking, in the
cleaning, in everything; and, with a little patience, I am sure we shall
all come to understand one another. What I wanted to speak to you about was
a little practical matter in which you may be able to help me. I teach
mathematics at the High School, and I have an idea that I might make
certain points in geometry easier to my younger girls if I could
demonstrate them in a mechanical way. Pray look here. You see the shapes I
have sketched on this piece of paper; do you think you could make them for
me in wood?'

The carpenter was moved to a show of reluctant interest. He took the paper,
balanced himself now on one leg, now on the other, and said at length that
he thought he saw what was wanted. Miss Rodney, coming to his side,
explained in more detail; his interest grew more active.

'That's Euclid, miss?'

'To be sure. Do you remember your Euclid?'

'My own schooling never went as far as that,' he replied, in a muttering
voice; 'but my Harry used to do Euclid at the Grammar School, and I got
into a sort of way of doing it with him.'

Miss Rodney kept a moment's silence; then quietly and kindly she asked one
or two questions about the boy who had died. The father answered in an
awkward, confused way, as if speaking only by constraint.

'Well, I'll see what I can do, miss,