came to go to her room, only she so dreaded the morrow, that would
have to be passed in Aunt Rachel's company, without her father's
protecting presence.

Soon after breakfast in the morning the doctor had to say goodbye. It
was a hard parting for both father and daughter. Edith had never known
how dearly she loved that busy and often-anxious father till she was
called to let him go. As for the doctor, he was scarcely less moved, and
Miss Rachel had to hurry him away at last, or he would have lost the
train it was so important he should catch.

Somehow the doctor never could be spared from Winchcomb. There was no
other medical man for miles round, and people seemed to expect Dr.
Harley to work on from year's end to year's end, without ever needing
rest or recreation himself.

[Sidenote: A Close Examination]

As soon as they were left alone, Miss Rachel called Edith into the
parlour, and bidding her sit down, began a rigorous inquiry as to her
capabilities and accomplishments--whether she had been to school, or had
had a governess; whether she was well grounded in music, and had studied
drawing and languages; what she knew of plain and fancy needlework; if
her mother had made her begin to learn cookery--"as all young women
should," added Miss Rachel, sensibly enough.

Poor Edith's answers were very far from satisfying Miss Harley.

"You say you have had no teacher but your sister since Miss Phelps, or
Phipps, or whatever her name was, left. And how old is your sister, may
I ask?"

"Jessie is eighteen," answered Edith. "And she is very clever--every one
says so, especially at music."

"Why didn't she teach you, then, and make you practise regularly? You
tell me you have had no regular practice, and cannot play more than two
or three pieces."

"It is not Jessie's fault," said Edith, colouring up. "Papa and mamma
liked us all to learn, but I am afraid, aunt, I have no natural talent
for music. I get on better with some other things."

Aunt Rachel opened a French book that lay on the table.

"Read that," she said shortly, pointing to the open page.

Edith was at home here; her pronunciation was rather original, it is
true, but she read with ease and fluency, and translated the page
afterwards without any awkward pauses.

"That is better," said her aunt, more graciously. "You shall have some
lessons. As for the music, I don't believe in making girls, who can't
tell the National Anthem from the Old Hundredth, s