is, of course, new to you. Think it very quietly
over, and we can talk about it next time you come over from Birmingham."

"Yes, sir, thank you very much," Jack said, quietly; "only, please tell
me, do you yourself recommend it?"

The schoolmaster was silent for a while.

"I do not recommend one way or the other, Jack. I would rather leave it
entirely to you. You would be certain to do well in one way there. You
are, I believe, equally certain to do well here, but your advance may be
very much slower. And now, Jack, let us lay it aside for to-night. I am
just going to have tea, I hope you will take a cup with us."

Jack coloured with pleasure. It was the first time that such an
invitation had been given to him, and he felt it as the first
recognition yet made that he was something more than an ordinary
pit-boy; but for all that he felt, when he followed his master into the
next room, that he would have rather been anywhere else.

It was a tiny room, but daintily furnished--a room such as Jack had
never seen before; and by the fire sat a girl reading. She put down her
book as her father entered with a bright smile; but her eyes opened a
little wider in surprise as Jack followed him in.

"My dear Alice, this is my pupil, Jack Simpson, who is going to do me
great credit, and make a figure in the world some day. Jack, this is my
daughter, Miss Merton."

Alice held out her hand.

"I have heard papa speak of you so often," she said, "and of course I
have seen you come in and out sometimes when I have been home for the
holidays."

"I have seen you in church," Jack said, making a tremendous effort to
shake off his awkwardness.

Jack Simpson will to the end of his life look back upon that hour as the
most uncomfortable he ever spent. Then for the first time he discovered
that his boots were very heavy and thick; then for the first time did
his hands and feet seem to get in his way, and to require thought as to
what was to be done with them; and at the time he concluded that white
lace curtains, and a pretty carpet, and tea poured out by a chatty and
decidedly pretty young lady, were by no means such comfortable
institutions as might have been expected.

It was two months from the commencement of the strike before Jack
Simpson returned from Birmingham, coming home to stay from Saturday till
Monday. Nothing can be more discouraging than the appearance of a
colliery village where the hands are on strike. For the first