restored the box to David. Nancy knew, when she saw
that, that Pennie's support in the matter of shoes and stockings for
Kettles was secure.

CHAPTER SIX.

"DANCING."

The even course of Miss Unity's life in her dark old house at
Nearminster had been somewhat ruffled lately. A troublesome question,
which she could neither dismiss nor answer, presented itself so
continually before her that her peace of mind was quite destroyed. It
was always there. It sat with her at her wool-work, so that she used
the wrong shades of green; it made her absent while she dusted the
china, so that she nearly dropped her most valuable pieces; and more
than once it got mixed up with her marketing, and made her buy what she
did not want, to Betty's great surprise.

Every morning when she woke it was ready for her, and this was the form
of it:

"Am I doing my duty to my god-daughter, Penelope Hawthorne?"

Miss Unity's conscience pricked her. There were, in truth, several
things she considered important which she did not approve of in Pennie;
and yet, being a timid lady as well as a conscientious one, she had
always shrunk from interference.

"Mary ought to know best," she argued with herself in reply to the
obstinate question; "she is the child's mother. I shall offend her if I
say anything. But then, again, as godmother, I have some responsibility
too; and if I see plainly that Penelope pokes over her books and writing
too much, and is getting high-shouldered, and comes into the room
awkwardly, and does not hold herself upright, I ought to speak. I owe
it to the child. I ought not to consult my own comfort. How I should
have to reproach myself if she were to grow up untidy, rough-haired,
inky, the sort of woman who thinks of nothing but scribbling. And I see
signs of it. She might even come to write books! What she wants is a
refining influence--the companionship of some nice, lady-like girls,
like the Merridews, instead of romping about so much with her brothers
and Nancy, who is quite as bad as a boy. But how to make Mary see it!"

Miss Unity sighed heavily when she came to this point. She felt that
Pennie's future was in some measure in her hands, and it was a very
serious burden. One afternoon, feeling it impossible either to forget
the subject or to find any answer to it, she put away her work and went
to call upon the dean's wife, Mrs Merridew. If anything could change
the current of her thoughts it would