as a most important part of elementary education--in fact, to take
youngsters straight on from the kindergarten stage.'

'Did I tell you,' put in Alma, 'that our little boy goes to Mrs
Abbott's?' and her eyes were on both men at once.

'I should say you couldn't have done better than send him there,'
replied Thistlewood, shuffling his feet and fidgeting with his hands.
'Mrs. Abbott is an admirable teacher. She quite agrees with me--I
should say that I quite agree with her. But I am forgetting, Mrs.
Rolfe, that you know her better than I do.'

Hughie was allowed to come into the room for a little while, and to
give an account of what he learnt at school. When at length Thistlewood
took his leave, it was with a promise that he would come again and dine
a few days hence. His visit at Mrs. Langland's would extend over
another fortnight. Before the day of his departure northwards, Alma met
him several times, and succeeded in establishing almost an intimate
friendship with him. He came to bid her goodbye on a black and bitter
January afternoon, when it happened that Harvey was away. As soon as he
entered, she saw upon his face a look of ill augury, a heavy-eyed
dejection very unlike the twinkling hopefulness with which he had
hitherto regarded her.

'What's the matter?' she asked, holding his hand for a moment. 'Don't
you like going back to work?'

'I enjoy my work, Mrs. Rolfe, as you know.'

'But you are not like yourself.'

'My friends here have made the time very pleasant. Naturally, I don't
like leaving them.'

He was a little abrupt, and decidedly showed the less genial phase of
his disposition.

'Have some tea,' said Alma, 'and warm yourself at the fire. You will
thaw presently, Mr. Thistlewood. I suppose, like other unregenerate
men, you live in rooms? Has that kind of life an irresistible charm for
you?'

He looked at her with a frown which, to say the least, was
discouraging; it changed, however, to a more amiable expression as she
handed him his tea.

'What do you imagine my income is, Mrs. Rolfe?' came growlingly from
him.

'I have no idea. You mean, I'm afraid'--Alma's voice fell upon its
gentlest note--'that it doesn't allow you to think of--of any change?'

'It _ought_ not to allow me,' replied the other. 'I have about two
hundred pounds a year, and can't hope much more for a long time.'

'And that,' exclaimed Alma, 'seems to you insufficient? I should have
thought in a little town--so far aw