to the cottage door--no such cottage as some of my readers
will picture, with roses and honeysuckle hiding its walls, but a
dreary little house with nothing green to cover the brown stones of
which it was built, and having an open ditch in front of it with a
stone slab over it for a bridge. Did I say there was nothing on the
walls? This morning there was the loveliest sunshine, and that I was
going to leave behind. It was very bitter, especially as I had
expected to go with my elder brother to spend the day at a
neighbouring farm.

Mrs. Mitchell opened the door, and led me in. It was an awful
experience. Dame Shand stood at her table ironing. She was as tall as
Mrs. Mitchell, and that was enough to prejudice me against her at
once. She wore a close-fitting widow's cap, with a black ribbon round
it. Her hair was grey, and her face was as grey as her hair, and her
skin was gathered in wrinkles about her mouth, where they twitched and
twitched, as if she were constantly meditating something unpleasant.
She looked up inquiringly.

"I've brought you a new scholar," said Mrs. Mitchell.

"Well. Very well," said the dame, in a dubious tone. "I hope he's a
good boy, for he must be good if he comes here."

"Well, he's just middling. His father spares the rod, Mrs. Shand, and
we know what comes of that."

They went on with their talk, which, as far as I can recall it, was
complimentary to none but the two women themselves. Meantime I was
making what observations my terror would allow. About a dozen children
were seated on forms along the walls, looking over the tops of their
spelling-books at the newcomer. In the farther corner two were kicking
at each other as opportunity offered, looking very angry, but not
daring to cry. My next discovery was terribly disconcerting. Some
movement drew my eyes to the floor; there I saw a boy of my own age on
all-fours, fastened by a string to a leg of the table at which the
dame was ironing, while--horrible to relate!--a dog, not very big but
very ugly, and big enough to be frightened at, lay under the table
watching him. I gazed in utter dismay.

"Ah, you may look!" said the dame. "If you're not a good boy, that is
how you shall be served. The dog shall have you to look after."

I trembled, and was speechless. After some further confabulation,
Mrs. Mitchell took her leave, saying--

"I'll come back for him at one o'clock, and if I don't come, just keep
him till I do come."

The d