breakfast. 'I'm a man of my
word.'

'Don't come bawling here!' cried the other, with a face of scorn.

And at noon the house knew him no more.

Miss Rodney, on that same day, was able to offer her landlady a new lodger.
She had not spoken of this before, being resolved to triumph by mere force
of will.

'The next thing,' she remarked to a friend, when telling the story, 'is to
pack off one of the girls into service. I shall manage it by Christmas,'
and she added with humorous complacency, 'it does one good to be making a
sort of order in one's own little corner of the world.'

*****

A CHARMING FAMILY

'I must be firm,' said Miss Shepperson to herself, as she poured out her
morning tea with tremulous hand. 'I must really be very firm with them.'

Firmness was not the most legible characteristic of Miss Shepperson's
physiognomy. A plain woman of something more than thirty, she had gentle
eyes, a twitching forehead, and lips ever ready for a sympathetic smile.
Her attire, a little shabby, a little disorderly, well became the occupant
of furnished lodgings, at twelve and sixpence a week, in the unpretentious
suburb of Acton. She was the daughter of a Hammersmith draper, at whose
death, a few years ago, she had become possessed of a small house and an
income of forty pounds a year; her two elder sisters were comfortably
married to London tradesmen, but she did not see very much of them, for
their ways were not hers, and Miss Shepperson had always been one of those
singular persons who shrink into solitude the moment they feel ill at ease.
The house which was her property had, until of late, given her no trouble
at all; it stood in a quiet part of Hammersmith, and had long been occupied
by good tenants, who paid their rent (fifty pounds) with exemplary
punctuality; repairs, of course, would now and then be called for, and to
that end Miss Shepperson carefully put aside a few pounds every year.
Unhappily, the old tenants were at length obliged to change their abode.
The house stood empty for two months; it was then taken on a three years'
lease by a family named Rymer--really nice people, said Miss Shepperson to
herself after her first interview with them. Mr. Rymer was 'in the City';
Mrs. Rymer, who had two little girls, lived only for domestic peace--she
had been in better circumstances, but did not repine, and forgot all
worldly ambition in the happy discharge of her wifely and maternal duties.
'A charming