es, running at
me open-mouthed, and as dry as his own waistband. It makes one thirsty
to look at him. I'll catch you up in five minutes!"

So the three went off to the school.

* * * * *

Grace was telling, in her own sweet way, that charming story of the
Three Trouts, which, by the by, has been lately pirated (as many things
are) by a religious author, whose book differs sufficiently from the
liberal and wholesome morality of the true author of the tale.

"What a beautiful story, Grace!" said Valencia. "You will surpass Hans
Anderssen some day."

Grace blushed, and was silent a moment.

"It is not my own, my lady."

"Not your own? I should have thought that no one but you and Anderssen
could have made such an ending to it."

Grace gave her one of those beseeching, half-reproachful looks, with
which she always answered praise; and then,--"Would you like to hear the
children repeat a hymn, my lady?"

"No. I want to know where that story came from."

Grace blushed, and stammered.

"I know where," said Campbell. "You need not be ashamed of having read
the book, Miss Harvey. I doubt not that you took all the good from it,
and none of the harm, if harm there be."

Grace looked at him; at once surprised and relieved.

"It was a foolish romance-book, sir, as you seem to know. It was the
only one which I ever read, except Hans Anderssen's,--which are not
romances, after all. But the beginning was so full of God's truth, sir,
--romance though it was,--and gave me such precious new light about
educating children, that I was led on unawares. I hope I was not wrong."

"This schoolroom proves that you were not," said Campbell. "'To the
pure, all things are pure.'"

"What is this mysterious book? I must know!" said Valencia.

"A very noble romance, which I made Mellot read once, containing the
ideal education of an English nobleman, in the middle of the last
century."

"The Fool of Quality?" said Mellot. "Of course! I thought I had heard
the story before. What a well-written book it is, too, in spite of all
extravagance and prolixity. And how wonderfully ahead of his generation
the man who wrote it, in politics as well as in religion!"

"I must read it," said Valencia. "You must lend it me, Saint Pere."

"Not yet, I think."

"Why?" whispered she, pouting. "I suppose I am not as pure as Grace
Harvey?"

"She has the children to educate, who are in daily contact with coarse
sins