Transcriber's note: Unusual and inconsistent spelling is as printed.

"You have had a good home and a kind mistress."

# TAUGHT BY EXPERIENCE

BY

RUTH LAMB

AUTHOR OF

"The Luckiest Lad in Libberton," "Old Cantanker," etc.

THE RELIGIOUS TRACT SOCIETY

56, PATERNOSTER ROW; 65, ST. PAUL'S CHURCHYARD
AND 164, PICCADILLY.

CONTENTS.

CHAP.

I. LEADING-STRINGS

II. EVIL COMMUNICATIONS

III. MISUNDERSTANDINGS

IV. A RIFT IN THE CLOUD

V. THE FIRST NIGHT IN A NEW HOME

VI. KATE'S SUNDAY OUT

VII. A MISTAKE CONFESSED

VIII. HOPE DEFERRED—FAITH JUSTIFIED

TAUGHT BY EXPERIENCE.

## CHAPTER I.

LEADING-STRINGS.

"IF we are servants, we are not slaves that I know of. I would not stay in the best place under the sun if I must be kept in leading-strings like a baby, and never be allowed out of the mistress's sight. Come along with me, Kate. I am going to leave, so I have no call to care what she says."

"But I am not, and I don't think I want to leave. Mrs. Bateson is very particular, but she means it for our good. It is not every mistress that would take the trouble she does, and it is no benefit to her."

"Isn't it? You may think so; but it is because you know no better, you little simpleton. Isn't it to the mistress's benefit to have us always within call? She gets more work out of us than the wages are worth. I shall be glad to turn my back on this place when Wednesday comes."

The speakers were the upper and under housemaids in a large country house. The elder of the two, who held the higher post, was a clever, capable young woman, but with a strong will, quick temper, and very decided views about her "rights" and the work belonging to her place. She had only been three months in it, and had given notice to leave, because she found the rules of the house too strict to suit her taste, especially as regarded the keeping of the Sabbath.

Mrs. Bateson was very particular in this respect. But if Fanny Ellis had only given the matter reasonable thought, she would have owned that the children of the household and the servants were bound by the same rules. Every member of the family who was in health, and not compelled to remain at home for the performance of domestic duties, was expected to occupy her seat in the house of God at least once on Sunday. There was but a single place of worship within walking distance, so that masters and servants met together under the same roof, and were near each other.

Fanny Ellis was one of the first to rebel against this rule, though she had agreed to it when she took the place of upper housemaid.

More than once her seat at church had been empty, and she had made various excuses for her absence. Next, she boldly declared that servants had little enough time for rest, or a walk in the fresh air, and that so long as her work was well done and up to hours, she meant to call her Sundays her own, and spend her "turn out" as she pleased.

Mrs. Bateson did not wish to part with the girl, but she could not allow her authority to be set at nought. At first she spoke gently to Fanny, reminded her that the Sabbath was God's day, but given for the refreshment of the soul as well as for the rest of the body, and that we should value the opportunity of going to His house as a blessed privilege, not an irksome task to be forced upon us by some one else.

"I give you the same opportunity as my own children have," she added. "You may be sure I wish to do well for them, and the fact that I am particular for you also should show that I wish you to do what is for your own good, not for any benefit to myself."

Fanny listened, but said nothing in reply, and soon after again broke the rule.

"If this should happen a third time, Fanny, I must give you notice to leave. I cannot keep any servant who sets our rules at defiance."

"I will give you a month's notice and save you the trouble," returned the girl, pertly. "The rules don't suit me. They may do in an infant school, but not for grown-up people in a free country. I'll do my work well while I stay, and I hope you will give me a character for that. I don't expect you will be asked to say how often I go to church." And Fanny, with a toss of the head, and without waiting for an answer, flounced out of her mistress's presence.

"Poor girl!" said Mrs. Bateson to herself. "I wish I could make her understand how truly I desire her good. I do hope she will be contented with throwing up her own place, without unsettling the others, especially Kate."

This was exactly what Fanny would not do. She aired her views on the subject of tyrannical mistresses and the slavery of service under such, on every possible occasion. But most of her fellow-servants knew too well the value of their places to be affected by what she said or to agree with it.

Kate Evans was younger, weaker and more easily led. Moreover, she was a little bit giddy, had a pretty face, and liked to show it elsewhere than in the servants' pew at church, "where," said Fanny, "if you look up, the mistress's eye is down on you in a minute."

Fanny was mistaken. Mrs. Bateson went to the house of God to worship, not to watch other people. She knew, too, how likely it was that the young would feel annoyed at the thought of her doing so, and she carefully avoided it.

After Fanny had given notice, she only went once to church. "I shall go for a walk instead," she said. "I will do my work so as nobody can find fault, but I have cut the leading-strings, and I will take care they are not tied again."

On the second Sunday, she urged Kate to accompany her. The weak girl yielded to persuasion and ridicule combined, but she was not happy. She dreaded the consequences of her disobedience, and was angry at herself for having been laughed into doing what conscience told her was wrong.

Kate could not forget that Mrs. Bateson had taken her from a poor home and a widowed mother who know not how to get bread for a number of younger children. She had been very ignorant when she came three years ago, and her mistress had taught her all she knew, and had been very patient with her carelessness, mistakes, and forgetfulness. She had given her better wages than she deserved at first in order to relieve the poor mother of all anxiety about her daughter's wardrobe. She had shown her how to spend her money to the best advantage, and allowed her maid to teach her how to cut out and make her clothes and economise the materials.

No one would have known the Kate Evans of to-day to be the same as the slatternly, ignorant girl who came from a poor home three years ago. She was worth her wages now, there was no doubt about it. But who had made her so? To whom did she owe it that she was well up with her duties, and that any mistress might be attracted by her smart, tidy appearance, if she were in want of a place?

Kate's conscience answered, "To Mrs. Bateson."

She could not forget that this lady had been alike her friend and her mistress, and that to treat her with disrespect and disobedience would be the grossest ingratitude. Yet she allowed herself to be laughed and taunted into both.

The first time this occurred, Mrs. Bateson spoke to Kate with more of sorrow than anger. She knew that the girl was young and weak, and would be as easily led in the wrong direction as she had hitherto been in the right. In Fanny's hands, she would be pliant as wax.

So the lady spoke kindly, told Kate all that she felt about her intercourse with the other servant, and advised her not to be induced to do wrong by a companion who could not have the same interest in her welfare as her own good mother had.

"You know, Kate," she said, "how anxious your mother is that you should be kept from wrong company, and that you should become a true child of God. I have hoped much for you, and rejoiced in your improvement, and I do not wish to be hard with you. I forgive this one act of direct disobedience, because you have been misled. But, remember, I must not allow you to repeat it without feeling the consequences, and if you again break the rules of the household, I must give you notice to leave."

Kate cried, promised that she would not offend again, and felt all the more determined to keep her word, because Mrs. Bateson had not reminded her of benefits conferred in the past. It was all for her own sake, and for her mother's, and Kate's conscience confirmed every word that her mistress had said.

## CHAPTER II.

EVIL COMMUNICATIONS.

KATE fully intended to keep her promise, and would have done so if only Fanny had been out of the way. She really felt sorry that she had grieved Mrs. Bateson, whose great kindness could not be put out of her mind, and she tried, by extra diligence and attention to her duties, to make what amends she could for her disrespect and disobedience.

Mrs. Bateson did look specially for Kate in the servants' pew on the next Sunday, and saw the girl in her place and seemingly joining with heart and voice in worship. She was very glad of this. Though a lady of high position and large means, she was a true mother. The thought of the temptations that beset the young made her watch the daughters of poorer mothers with genuine interest, and she rejoiced in their well-doing as a parent and a Christian.

Coming out of church, she gave Kate a pleasant smile and a word of encouragement, which, for the moment, made the girl more sorry for her past fault and still more anxious to make amends. But her battle was not over nor her victory so easily won.

All through the following week she had to bear many a jeer and taunt from Fanny Ellis, who was determined, as she said within herself, to "pay Mrs. Bateson out," by unsettling her younger housemaid.

"Poor little girl! So you have eaten humble pie, and begged Missus's pardon, and promised never to be naughty any more. You like to be in leading-strings and to do just as you are bid, whether you are in the house or out of it."

"It wasn't right of me to go with you instead of to church," said Kate, stoutly. "I don't see that there is any disgrace in owning one has done wrong, if one's conscience tells that we have."

"Oh dear no! But I suppose it is quite right of Mrs. Bateson to expect that we, grown-up women, should be ordered about like little children. I'm twenty-five."

"I am not, though," replied Kate.

"You are twenty and a grown-up woman, and you are worth three pounds a year more wages than she gives you."

"I don't know that. I never tried for another place, and I have no desire to change. Mrs. Bateson has been very kind to me," replied Kate.

"And to herself, too. She gets three-ha'p'orth of work for every penny she pays you, I know."

"No, indeed you are wrong. My wages may not be high, but Mrs. Bateson gave me far more than I earned when I first came," said the girl, earnestly.

"Then you need thank her for nothing, since she is taking it back again out of what you ought to have now," retorted Fanny.

The girl was so ready with her answers, so quick-witted and bold in her attacks, that she often silenced Kate's tongue, though she could not convince her that what she said was right. Kate often heartily wished herself out of Fanny's way, but that could not be, though she counted the days that must pass before she would leave, and rejoiced that the month was nearly at an end.

Mrs. Bateson had no idea of what was going on. Fanny did her work better than ever, with a double motive. She was determined her mistress should have no excuse for complaint on that score, and that she should give her a first-class character for efficiency—all that most inquirers would care about.

"And I mean to let her see that I am better worth keeping than some of her demure sort, though I won't be driven to spend my Sundays as my mistress chooses for the best place going."

Kate could not and would not tell what she had to put up with, so as the two were much thrown together during working hours, she had to listen in spite of herself.

By degrees Fanny's words made an impression. Kate insisted that, if you undertook a place on certain conditions, these should be observed.

"You knew the rules when you came, and ought to abide by them."

"Well, I am going because they are too hard and strict for me. You will say the same before long."

Fanny was right. The month was not out, yet Kate had begun to think that it was a shame to bind grown-up people by such rules, and in her heart to rebel against them and to wish them changed.

It was on the last Sunday, and Fanny was to leave on the following Wednesday morning. She was in high spirits, having secured a promising situation, and fully determined to show off her independence to the end.

Some little thing had happened between Kate and the cook, an old and valued servant, who had been a true friend to the young one. She guessed that Fanny meant mischief, and warned the younger girl against being carried away by bad advice.

"You have had a good home and a kind mistress, don't throw them away, Kate," she said. "Remember what you were when you came here first, with hardly a shoe to your foot, or a gown to your back, and don't be ungrateful."

"I had good shoes and gowns too," retorted Kate, angrily.

"Well, yes, you had, but the mistress bought for you every decent bit of clothing you had, I know that," replied cook.

"I paid her back, out of my wages, the money laid down to buy the clothes with, so you need not fling that in my face," said Kate, angrily. She did not like those old days to be talked about, now that she was so much better off.

Cook had tried to speak a word in season, and she was full of good will for Kate. But, unfortunately, she said the wrong words, and did harm where she meant to do good. She had not her mistress's wisdom or forbearance in dealing with the young, and as Kate said, "She flung my poverty in my face, and I didn't like it."

"I should wonder if you did," replied Fanny; "if I were you, I would not stop in a place where either mistress or servant could do it by me."

Cook had roused Kate's temper instead of awakening afresh her gratitude by reminding her of past favours. Fanny resolved that the fire thus kindled should not go out for want of stirring, and said further irritating things with such success that Kate went to bed that night in a thoroughly rebellious and discontented spirit.

She shed many a bitter tear at the thought of having been taunted with being too poor to buy her own clothes when she came to the place, and felt humiliated and disgraced.

"I should like to get right away from them all, and I do not care about staying in a place where I may be talked to again as cook spoke last night," she said to herself.

Morning—Fanny's last Sunday morning,—found her in no better spirit, and she was more than ready to yield when tempted to disobey once again, though she made a show of refusing at first, and said, "Mrs. Bateson is particular, but it is for our good. It is no benefit to her."

She ended by falling in with Fanny's proposal, and spent the Sunday morning without going near church.

Mrs. Bateson said nothing to the girl until Monday, but Kate saw a sorrowful expression on her mistress's kind face which spoke to her heart more loudly than words would have done.

She had felt very defiant and independent when she came in from her walk with Fanny, but as the quiet hours passed, she realised the position in which she had placed herself. She would have a night to sleep on it before anything could be said, but there was little rest for Kate. She heard the clock strike hour after hour, as she lay awake thinking of her mistress's kindness, of the home she had enjoyed, the regular habits, the plentiful food, the quiet Sabbaths.

She seemed compelled to think of them again and again, and she knew that her present health and strength were largely owing to all these advantages.

She remembered too how, during a rather severe illness she had in her second year of service, she had been nursed and cared for, attended by the family doctor at her master's cost, and nourished with all the little dainties that could tempt her appetite when she was able to take food again. She knew that in most cases a servant who breaks down at her post is sent away, perhaps to a poor home or lodgings, to recover as best she may.

Kate had cried out of vexation and wounded pride the night before. She wept yet more bitterly at the thought of her own ingratitude, and of the pain which the knowledge of it would cause her mother.

"What a poor-spirited thing you are!" said Fanny, as she saw Kate's red eyelids and pale face. "You have been fretting half the night, and what for?"

"I shall lose my place, and I know I deserve to be sent away. I promised, and I have broken my word. It is not pleasant to think of that, to say nothing of my mistress. She has been good to me and my mother."

"Well, you are a goose!" replied Fanny, contemptuously. "And you are like a weathercock, going round from one side to the other. I never know where to have you. If you do lose your place, there are plenty of better ones to be had for looking after, and to have stayed here three years is character enough for anybody. Give notice yourself as I did, and then Mrs. Bateson will see how much you care for her place. You need not tell your mother directly. Let her know when you have another situation to go to."

But Kate felt that she had already followed Fanny's advice once too often. No fear of her going the length proposed. She was not kept long in suspense; directly after breakfast she was summoned to her mistress's room.

"You will know why I have sent for you, Kate. I have never broken my word when I have promised you anything, and I cannot break it now. I have no need to explain why I am parting with you. You know, without any word from me, that you will have to leave on this day month. And you must feel that no mistress could possibly keep a girl who repeatedly set her orders at defiance, and broke the rules of the household," said Mrs. Bateson.

Kate had indeed known what was coming, and she bitterly regretted the conduct which had brought it upon her. She dared not lift an appealing look to the face of her kind mistress, and felt unable to utter a word in her defence, so stood there with downcast eyes, in which tears were already rising.

What could she say? Only confess her ingratitude and folly, and plead that she had listened to evil counsel, and acted contrary to her better judgment.

She would gladly have said this if she had felt the least hope that she would be forgiven. But she did not.

And, after waiting for a few moments in silence, Mrs. Bateson said, "You can leave the room, Kate; I have nothing further to say to you at present."

The girl turned away to hide the tears which were now streaming down her cheeks, and left her mistress's presence without a word. If she had but looked up, and noted the expression of pity and sorrow in Mrs. Bateson's kind face, she would surely have tried to tell what was in her heart. But she did not; and as she walked slowly away, she left the lady with the impression that the girl, for whom she had done so much, was ungrateful as well as wilfully disobedient.

Fanny was not far off. Through that day and the next she strove, after her fashion, to cheer Kate, by repeating all her old arguments against being kept in leading-strings and treated like babies. But her words produced no sense of comfort, for whilst she could not help hearing them, Kate was looking back on the past three years of comfort, plenty, and peace in that fair home, and of the kindness shown her under its roof, and saying to herself, "But for listening to you, I might be looking forward to more such happy years. As it is, I must soon turn my back on all here, and they will feel that I have behaved so badly."

Fanny departed in high spirits on the Wednesday morning, and despite the evil effects of her companionship, Kate felt more unhappy still when she was gone. She had offended her old friend the cook, by resenting her well-meant advice, so very few words now passed between them.

"Kate may take her own way for me," said cook. "She's only a bit of a girl of twenty, and I am twice her age, and might be her mother. And I've tried to act like one to her, and helped her in many a way, because I thought she was willing to be taught and wanted to do right. But now she has set herself up to go straight against the mistress's orders and rules, and turned huffy with me, because I just put her in mind what had been done for her and advised her for her good; she may take her own way for me. I shall not interfere again, come what may. I'll be civil, and speak when I have house matters to speak about, but that shall be all. If Kate wants to be friends, it is for her to say so, not me. I am not going to eat humble pie, for I have only tried to do her good—the ungrateful thing!"

Fanny's last words were, "Cheer up, Kate, and don't go about looking miserable. I will soon get you a better place, and better wages too, never fear."

Even this promise did not take the weight from Kate's mind. Happily for the girl, conscience was not silenced. Its voice made itself heard, and rendered her very unhappy. She would have gladly done anything in her power to show her regret and her honest desire to hear words of forgiveness from Mrs. Bateson, even though she could not hope that the notice would be withdrawn.

She would have liked to speak to cook, but received no encouragement from that quarter. The older servant adhered to her resolution, said "Yes" or "No" when asked a question, put what she was obliged to say into the fewest words possible, and then closed her lips and "kept herself to herself."

So, seeing that she was shunned, and that even her fellow-servants condemned her conduct towards her mistress, Kate spent as little time in their company as possible, but stole away to her own room, and regretted in solitude the fault she would have been only too thankful to acknowledge, if by so doing she could have regained her mistress's favour.

## CHAPTER III.

MISUNDERSTANDINGS.

MRS. BATESON at first thought of sending word to Kate's mother that the girl would leave her place at the month's end. But after a little consideration, she decided to wait and see how she conducted herself in the meanwhile, as well as to give her an opportunity of asking forgiveness.

Mrs. Bateson naturally felt that the girl ought to do this, and would do it if she were sensible of her fault and anxious to retain her place.

She attributed what had passed to Fanny's evil influence, and regretted that Kate had been brought within it. Now Fanny was gone, and if Kate were really sorry, she had nothing to prevent her from saying so.

Yes, there was something which neither Mrs. Bateson nor cook quite understood. The same disposition which made Kate susceptible to any outside influence, also rendered her timid and fearful of receiving a rebuff.

She was easily led and easily frightened. The one thought in her mind was, "Everybody is against me; I have done wrong, I know, but they need not be so hard. Cook will not speak if she can help it, the rest are sure to do the same as she does, and Fanny, that persuaded me and got me into trouble, has gone and left me in it. If only my mistress would give me one kind look or word, I could speak. But I am so frightened."

It is a great pity that people are so often brave enough to take a wrong step, and so frightened of turning back. And it is a great pity, too, that the elders do not always remember, that words which would come easily from their tongues are hard to be uttered by the young, not on account of unwillingness, but of dread as to how they will be received and answered.

Kate Evans went about her work with increased diligence, leaving nothing undone, and doing everything as well as possible. She hoped this would speak to her mistress in one way, and show her that she was sorry and wished her to know it. But whenever Mrs. Bateson was near, the girl seemed to shrink into herself, and she dared not express the feelings with which her heart was full.

Mrs. Bateson noted the careful work, but she also noticed Kate's silence and averted looks, and mistook both. She said to herself, "Kate is determined that she will deserve a good character for the way in which her work is done, but she is too proud to ask forgiveness, if indeed she wishes to stay, which I begin to doubt. She seems so sullen, and evidently tries to avoid me as much as possible."

Then Mrs. Bateson spoke to cook on the subject. "Do you think Kate is sorry that she will have to leave?" she asked.

"Indeed, ma'am, I cannot tell," was the reply. "When I spoke to her before that pert Fanny went away, and put her in mind of what you had done for her, and how you took her with scarce a gown to her back, and had her clothed and taught and made into what she is, she flew up at me like anything. That's just the way with these young girls. You take them out of a poor place where they have had bare bread, and you bring them into a home like a palace by comparison, and they neither know how to value their blessings nor to be thankful for them."

"I never used to think Kate an ungrateful girl," said Mrs. Bateson. "I have wondered whether she was troubled and afraid to speak to me, or stubborn and resolved not to own that she has done wrong. I feel grieved about the girl, both for her own sake, and her mother's."

"Indeed, ma'am," said cook, "and so do I, and disappointed too, for being so much older I have tried to help and advise her. But when she turned on me so, I made up my mind that unless she came to me again of her own accord, she should take her own way.

"I am civil to Kate, I never give her a cross word, but I only speak about work and house matters. I think she is just 'stunt,' and having turned in the wrong way, has made up her mind to go on. She takes herself off to her room when she can, and is close and quiet to all alike."

"She is doing her work better than ever, I think."

"Yes, ma'am, and thanks to you, she knows how it should be done, and Fanny has told her that a three years' character from this place will get her a pick of good situations without people troubling about how she spends her Sundays out."

Mrs. Bateson was very sorry to find her own impressions as to Kate's feelings confirmed by her old and faithful servant.

She came to the conclusion that Kate was sullen and too proud to own her fault, whilst the girl was longing for an opportunity to speak, but dreading that all she might say would avail nothing.

This state of things continued for a fortnight, when Kate received a second letter from Fanny Ellis. She had written as soon as possible after leaving to tell Kate that she was looking out for her, and that there were plenty of places to be had, only she wanted to get her "a real good one," and near to herself.

Kate was doubtful by this time whether Fanny's idea of a real good place and her own would agree, and whether such a neighbour would benefit her or otherwise.

By degrees, as the girl saw that no notice was taken of her painstaking work, no kind look or word of encouragement reached her, she began first to despair, then to feel indignant. She shed bitter tears in the quiet of her own little room as she said to herself, "Mrs. Bateson might give me another chance. She must know that I am sorry, for I do try my very best to please her. I think if I were a lady and mistress of a great house, I would not be so hard on a young girl. It is not likely she will ask me to stay, but she need not look so hard and cold as to frighten me out of trying to speak. She just passes me as if she never saw me now."

Then angry thoughts came, and Kate began to say to herself, "I don't care for stopping now. I should only be miserable here with cook, too, that used to be so kind. Everybody has turned against me, and all for one little thing. It is too bad. I know mother will be vexed at me leaving; but she'll have to get pleased again. Mrs. Bateson cannot have written to her yet, and I shall not till I am sure of a place."

The certainty came just when Kate had got to this stage.

Fanny wrote:

"I have got you a first-rate place, and three pounds a year more wages than you have now. All is as good as settled, for the lady, Mrs. Maybrick, is writing for your character to-day. Mrs. Bateson cannot help speaking well of your work.
"Your mistress that is to be said that it was only a matter of form writing for a character at all. Three years' service in such a place as you are at was good enough for any one. I told you it would be, Kate, and now you may snap your fingers at the crabby old cook, and make yourself comfortable, for you will be quite independent of her, and Mrs. Bateson too.
"You will have every third Sunday out, and all to yourself. Nobody will ask you where you go, or preach at you if you take a walk instead of sitting in a stuffy pew with a mistress's eye on you all the while. I'll try and get out on the same day whenever I can, and we shall not be far off one another at any time.
"There's just one thing you may not quite like. You will have to come straight to Mrs. Maybrick's the day you leave your place. Her housemaid goes four days earlier, and she is expecting company and cannot be for longer without, but she will wait so long for you.
"Now I hope you think I have done well for you, so with love, and reckoning on seeing you soon, your affectionate friend,—
"FANNY ELLIS."

This letter confirmed Kate's indignant and independent feelings. She wrote at once, expressing her willingness to go straight to Mrs. Maybrick's.

She was glad to be spared seeing her mother at present—glad, too, that now Mrs. Bateson would have to speak to her when she was applied to for a character, and that she should soon turn her back on all those who had been so ready to take sides against her.

Mrs. Maybrick's letter of inquiry surprised and pained Kate's mistress. She did not think the girl would have gone to this length and acted independently of her mother, for she felt sure that, had Mrs. Evans known that her daughter was about to leave, she would at once have come, or communicated with herself.

When Kate was summoned to Mrs. Bateson's presence, the change in her manner was sufficiently apparent, and all the lady's previous impressions were confirmed.

The girl no longer met her with downcast eyes, but stood erect, waiting to be addressed. There was nothing pert or disrespectful, only an air of independence about her, which could not be mistaken.

"I do not wish to answer a letter I have just received without first speaking to you about it, Kate," said Mrs. Bateson. "I suppose you knew there would be an inquiry as to your character, from a Mrs. Maybrick."

"Yes, ma'am. I heard this morning that the lady was going to write to you," replied Kate.

"I am afraid your mother knows nothing of this. Have you told her that you are leaving your place, and why I was obliged to give you notice?"

"No, ma'am. I did not want to trouble mother if I could help it. She has plenty to do for the young ones at home, so I thought I would make sure of another place before she knew that I was leaving here."

"And do you think it will be no trouble to your mother that you are acting in such a matter without asking her advice, or treating her with the confidence a daughter is bound to give that best of earthly friends, a loving parent?"

Kate hesitated a little before replying, and for the moment, a slight trembling of the lip and a flush on her cheek showed that the question had touched her. But she conquered the softer feelings, and answered steadily, "I did it for the best, ma'am. I had to get a place, for I did not want to be hanging on mother."

"Perhaps you may think I have no right to ask you any questions of this kind as you are leaving my service, Kate, but for your mother's sake, and for your own, too, I should like to know how you heard of the situation at Mrs. Maybrick's," said Mrs. Bateson.

"Fanny Ellis went after it for me. She is living at Manchester now, and if I get the place, I shall not be very far away from her, so I shall have one friend to speak to," replied Kate.

"I was afraid Fanny was answerable for this, as well as for having induced you to set our household rules at defiance when she was here. She is not the friend your mother would choose for you, and I, too, regret that you ever met her.

"I must answer Mrs. Maybrick's letter at once. It will be a very easy matter, because she only asks how you do your work; there is no question about matters of more importance still."

"That is," thought Kate, "she does not trouble herself whether I pretend to be very religious or not, or make a fuss about church-going and keeping Sunday in Mrs. Bateson's fashion. So much the better. I'll show her I can do my work well; and I don't see that a mistress has a right to interfere with us servants beyond the doorstep. I've had enough of that sort of thing."

Perhaps Mrs. Bateson read something of what was passing through the girl's mind in the expression on her face, for there was now no sign of softening or regret visible.

That allusion to Mrs. Maybrick's inquiries had touched a jarring chord, and Kate was thinking, "I've begun, and I will go through with it. I should have been glad enough to give in and ask to be forgiven at first; but I have had cold shoulder all round, and I do not mean to eat humble pie to finish with."

What the girl said aloud was, "I hope you have nothing to find fault with about my work, ma'am. I 'have' always tried to do that well."

In her heart, she could not help adding, "I have you to thank for all the pains and patience, the telling and teaching that have made me into a capable servant." But she did not say it aloud.

It was a pity she did not, for the same thought was in her mistress's mind, and she could not help deeply feeling Kate's indifference and ingratitude. If only the girl had so far conquered the foolish pride which made her unwilling to own the obligations she was under as to utter a word of thanks! Just one short sentence would have been enough to prove that all the kindness of three past years was not forgotten, and that, in spite of the fault which had led to her dismissal, she was not ungrateful.

Kate had the chance and let it slip, and Mrs. Bateson felt that there was nothing for it but to let her go.

"I shall tell Mrs. Maybrick that you know the duties of such a place, and that you do your work well. She does not ask why you are leaving."

"I think Fanny told her all about it to save trouble," replied Kate, who also knew that the lady had laughed on hearing the particulars, and remarked that she should not be likely to send away a good servant for such a trifle.

"I feel it my duty to write to your mother now, Kate. She ought to know both what has passed here and what you purpose doing," said Mrs. Bateson.

"I hope you will tell her, ma'am, that you gave me notice. I did not want to leave, I am sure."

"I shall tell your mother exactly what occurred, Kate, and let her know that on Monday week I shall cease to be in any way responsible for your movements. I can only hope that this change may be overruled for your good, and not be the means of bringing fresh anxiety upon your mother."

Mrs. Bateson did not condescend to answer Kate's remark that she did not want to leave. Unaccompanied by any word of regret, it seemed almost impertinent. What could it mean but that the girl wished to stay, yet on her own terms and provided that she might disobey her mistress with impunity, and set her rules at defiance whenever she chose?

## CHAPTER IV.

A RIFT IN THE CLOUD.

KATE was not left long in suspense. She soon received a letter from Mrs. Maybrick to say that she was satisfied with the character given by her present mistress, and would engage her on the terms named by Fanny Ellis.

She would require her to go straight from Mrs. Bateson's to her new situation, as the servant whose place she was to take would leave three days earlier, and it would be inconvenient to wait longer than this for Kate.

The girl was not sorry, for she could not feel comfortable at the prospect of meeting her mother. For the first time in her life, the thought of going home was not a cause of unmixed pleasure. She was longing to see her mother, and the young brothers and sisters who always looked forward to a visit from Kate as a something which made home a little brighter for a while.

During the year, the girl was accustomed to devote many of her spare hours to the making of little garments, and turning odds and ends to account for mother and the children.

If all had gone well and she had been remaining in her place, she would have had a fortnight's holiday almost directly. Many a time she had pictured the young faces' brightening at her coming, and mother's patient, careworn look giving place to one that was all joy and welcome.

She would not see them now, or hear the cries of surprise and delight as she distributed her treasures amongst the eager children. They would have the things all the same, but not from her hand, and she could not tell when she would see them, for Mrs. Maybrick would make no definite promise as to holidays later on in the year.

The lady had said to Fanny Ellis, "I will not tie myself to any particular time, or say how long I will give. Kate must come to me at once, and when quite convenient to the family, she shall have two or three days. She cannot expect me to begin by giving her any length of time."

This seemed reasonable enough, but it cost Kate a pang, because of the nearness of the holiday season, to which she had looked forward for almost a year, and it was eight months since she had seen any one from home. Seventy miles of distance was not worth naming amongst people with plenty of money. But it meant a great deal in railway fare, and loss of time besides, to a hard-working mother with six children under fourteen, and only the eldest earning a trifle. Kate might well sigh as she thought over all these things, and dread the effect of a letter from Mrs. Bateson to her mother with the news that had to be told.

She wished it could have been delayed until she could send a triumphant message to say how well she was doing in a new place, and that she would be able to spare more out of her increased wages for mother and the little ones.

Day after day passed, and Kate heard nothing from home. She began to think that Mrs. Bateson had not written after all. Then a letter came in a far better hand than her mother was able to write. It was enclosed in one to her mistress and brought sorrowful news. Three of the children, the youngest, were down with scarlet fever. It was hoped the elder ones would not take it, for two of them had had it before.

John's earnings were stopped. He was not allowed to go to his work for fear of carrying infection. In the village where Mrs. Evans lived, there was no cottage hospital or place within reach to which fever cases could be taken. So the poor mother's hands were full, and there was little doubt that her pocket would be empty or very nearly so.

Kate could picture the state of things. Her mother was counted the best laundress in or near Garsfield, and had thankfully said many a time that she was never short of work. But hers was just the kind of employment that would stop now, for even if attendance on her sick children allowed her to carry it on, who would send their linen to an infected house?

"I was just going to send word that you must not come home for your holidays," wrote Mrs. Evans by a friend's hand. "Then a letter came from your mistress to say that you were going to leave. Oh, Katie, I 'was' sorry to read that news. Mrs. Bateson has been good to you and far better and kinder to me than ever you knew of. Many's the parcel of clothes, all clean and neatly mended, that I have had from her, and such kind letters cheering me up with nice texts, telling me to trust in God's goodness, and helping me to do it by showing me that He did not forget our need, but put it into that dear lady's heart to supply it.
"Only the last time she wrote, she put such nice words in her letter about you that I cried for joy as I read them. This was what she wrote, 'Kate is a good girl; very quiet and painstaking about her work. She does it well, and is daily improving in every way. The sight of her as she now is repays me for all the teaching and trouble bestowed upon her. A good servant is a blessing in a family, and a good daughter a treasure to a mother. I believe Kate will be a comfort to her employers, and a true help to you and to the children as they grow up.'
"And to think you are leaving such a home, and a mistress that has done far more for you than ever I could, and for what? Just a bit of wilfulness and disobedience, and to show how independent you could be and set your mistress at defiance.
"Oh, Katie, you will be sorry for what you have done when you come to see the difference between a home at Heyington Hall, and the place you have chosen to take at Manchester, without even asking your mother's advice. I have trouble enough now, for I believe Tom is beginning with the fever too, but the thought of you makes me more anxious than all the rest. May God preserve you from harm!
"Your loving mother, SARAH EVANS."

Kate's tears fell fast as she read this letter, and she made two resolutions, and kept them. The first was that she would send off to her mother every penny that she could spare, reserving only the month's wages she would receive when she left Heyington for travelling expenses, and her own immediate needs.

The second, that she would not leave her place without telling her mistress that she was sorry for her disobedience and asking her to forgive it.

"And I will go just now," she exclaimed to herself, as she stood in her own room with her mother's letter in her hand. "May be if I put off, I shall get frightened again."

Kate was right in this. It is dangerous put off the fulfilment of a good resolution. If conscience shows us that a thing ought to be done, better do it at once, for there is no time like the present.

Kate went to Mrs. Bateson's morning-room and tapped at the door, then entered in compliance with her mistress's call. Her eyes were full of tears, her heart of true sorrow for her ingratitude and disobedience.

She began, "I wanted to tell you, ma'am, that I am so sorry for—" and then the faltering tongue and quivering lips failed her, and she broke down and sobbed bitterly.

Mrs. Bateson thought that Kate wanted to tell about the state of things at home, and despite the reason she had to be displeased with the girl, she sympathised with her present distress.

"Do not try to repeat the sad news, Kate," she said, kindly. "I know all about it, for your note came in one addressed to me. I am truly grieved for your poor mother and sorry for you too."

"I was not going to speak about that," sobbed out Kate. "Mother said she had told you, ma'am. I only wanted to—to tell you that I see I have done wrong, and I am ashamed and sorry for having displeased you. You have been a deal too good to me and so kind to poor mother. But please forgive me before I go away, for I am sorry—indeed I am."

Kate hid her face in her apron and sobbed like a very child, and she stood awaiting her mistress's answer.

Mrs. Bateson believed that the girl was in earnest. She had always been truthful and straightforward, and she could not doubt that she was equally so in her acknowledgment of wrong-doing.

"I do forgive you, Kate," she said, "and I am truly glad that you have been enabled to see that you were wrong. Of course, we must part now; but if you had come to me sooner, as you have come to-day, and asked to remain, I should have kept you, because I thought you had been misled."

"I wanted to come," said Kate, "but I was afraid. I tried to do my work 'so' well, and I hoped you would notice and maybe say a word or just look as if you were pleased. But you mostly looked the other way, and I thought it would be no use, for I had twice done what was against rules, and I felt sure you would keep your word, and I should have to go. You always do keep your word, ma'am," said Kate, simply. "And then cook scolded me and told me how you had taken me without clothes to my back and given me wages when I wasn't worth my salt. That you'd clothed me and taught me and made me what I am, and now I was turning round and showing how impudent and ungrateful I could be.

"It was all true—I know that—only cook needn't have flung it at me in that way. Then she never spoke to me if she could help it, and the others seemed to take sides against me. So I felt that it would be of no use for me to do anything; I should only be miserable whilst I stayed, and the sooner I was gone the better, for I could never bear either to be 'set at,' as cook did, or to be without a friend to speak to. And cook used to be so good to me," added Kate, with a fresh flood of tears.

"She meant to be kind then, Kate, only I am afraid she did not set about it quite in the right way. Many people think that if what they say is true, it does not matter how truth is spoken. They forget that Jesus bade us speak it in love.

"Well, now, I am glad you have owned that you were wrong, and sorry you did not speak sooner. I am afraid I mistook your timidity for pride, and thought you were determined not to bend. I did feel, like cook, that you were proud and ungrateful. I am truly glad you have opened your heart to me, and shown that in this I was mistaken."

Kate smiled through her tears. She was very much of a child still, impulsive and easily led, though she had been boasting of her womanhood and right to judge for herself so short a time ago. Now she poured out her eager thanks for past kindnesses, present forgiveness, and all the goodness shown to her mother. If she could have read her mistress's thoughts, she would have found she was regretting that she could not keep the penitent girl, and care for her as she had done in the past.

"You know, Kate, that you must keep your engagement, and go to Mrs. Maybrick," she said.

"Yes, ma'am; it would not be right to do anything else."

"You will find life in a large city different from your peaceful home at Heyington; but remember God will be no farther from you, and you will more than ever need His Holy Spirit's aid to show you what you ought to do. Pray for it, Kate. Ask God to forgive all past sins and failures for the sake of that dear Saviour who died to buy pardon for us poor helpless sinners, who shed His blood that it might wash us from every stain of guilt, and pay the debt we could never pay by any work of ours.

"We will ask His pardon and blessing now," added Mrs. Bateson.

And kneeling side by side, mistress and maid joined in prayer, the one uttering the petitions, the other uniting heart and soul therein.

Kate had not felt so happy for a long time as she did when she left her mistress's room, for she carried with her a blessed sense of forgiveness, an assurance that Mrs. Bateson would still act as a friend and helper to her poor mother, and that should a season of difficulty come to herself, she might write and ask for advice which would not be withheld.

Cheered by her success, Kate said a few words to her old friend the cook, which cleared away the cloud from between them. Cook was ready to meet the girl more than half way, having probably been enlightened by her mistress as to her real feelings.

"I know I am hasty," she said, "and may be I spoke a bit sharper than I need have done. But I meant to be kind, and now I am real sorry you are going. However, we shall hear how you get on, and if you are not comfortable, there's no saying what may happen. The mistress is always better than her word, even though that is good enough."

Kate knew this. All the past time at Heyington told her that Mrs. Bateson had done more for her than she at first promised, and how much for her mother beside.

"I shall never have such another mistress," she said to herself, "and if I wanted to come back, there is sure to be no opening for me. All the servants stay on here. Except Fanny Ellis, they have known when they were well off."

The last days seemed to go faster than any, and the last hour of all came when Kate's good-byes had to be said. Hers were hindered by tears, and she felt as if it had gone dark all at once as she lost sight of the kind faces and waving handkerchiefs of her old companions, and a turn of the road shut out her view of Heyington Hall.

But she was resolved to do her best in her new place, and she had heard again from her mother, to whom also Mrs. Bateson had written, oh, so kindly, and she had left in peace and goodwill with everybody—that was something. She must look onward and upward, seeking God's help, and not make herself unfit for work by grieving over what was past mending.

## CHAPTER V.

THE FIRST NIGHT IN A NEW HOME.

MRS. BATESON had arranged that Kate should reach her new place by daylight, as she was little used to travelling. The double journey from Heyington to her village home and back, once in the year, was the limit of her experience.

She had sent word to Fanny Ellis that she would reach Victoria Station at four o'clock, and half hoped that she might see her familiar face greeting her with a look of welcome. But no; all faces were alike strange, and Kate found herself bewildered and lonely as she stepped into the midst of a hurrying crowd.

She had rather a long drive, and the cab fare seemed a great deal for her to pay, especially now that her mother's need made every penny doubly precious.

She had cherished many dreams of city life, and thought it would be nice to be where there was so much to be seen, and people were not always looking at the same few faces. At Heyington, everybody knew everybody else, and one day passed very much like another, and in the same round of duties.

Fanny Ellis used to say that she would as soon be buried alive as stay there. It might do for mistresses who could go away for weeks or months at a time and whenever they liked, but not for servants who had a bit of life in them. Yet until brought into contact with Fanny, Kate had been more than contented, and thanked God for having given her a good home and a kind friend in her mistress.

During her drive to her new place of service, Kate was not very pleasantly impressed by what she saw.

The buildings were everywhere blackened with smoke, the very sky seemed to be grey instead of blue, though the day was hot and the sun was shining brightly.

When she got out of the cab, she noticed that the very leaves, instead of being a vivid green like those at Heyington, were coated over with black, and yet she was by no means near the heart of the city. Evidently her new home was in a good neighbourhood, for the houses were mostly detached and with more or less ground about them.

"Any way," thought Kate, "I shall be away from the dreadful noise of the streets. It bewildered me and made me wish myself back at Heyington."

She was met at the door by another servant, who said, "I suppose you are the new housemaid-waitress. I'm glad you are come in good time, for being short of one pair of hands we are rather at sixes and sevens. I'll help you upstairs with your things. They call you Kate, don't they?"

Kate thanked her and said, "Yes."

"Well, my name is Sarah. I'm waitress and housemaid number one, and you are to be number two, you know. Mrs. Maybrick says you have not been much used to waiting, but she has arranged for you to help me, same as the last one did. This is our room."

It was a long way up, and seemed to Kate very large and desolate looking, though there were three beds in it—so different in comfort to the one she had left that morning.

"I suppose some one else sleeps here beside me?" said Kate, glancing from side to side, and noticing that there were no drawers in the room, or anything but the servants' boxes for holding their clothes.

"I should think so," replied Sarah, with a laugh. "You didn't expect a room to yourself, I hope. It is what I never had in a town place."

"I had at Heyington Hall, the only situation I have lived in till now," replied Kate. "Such a nice little room it was."

"You were in luck's way, then. I wonder you left. Well, you see, this is not a nice little room, or a nice big one for that matter, for there are only scraps of carpet just to step on to, and three chairs, one apiece for us—cook, and you, and me. We three join at this room. Nurse is lower down with the children. This great barn of a place and a box-room run over the whole house, and are top of all.

"We are well out of Mrs. Maybrick's way up here, that is one comfort, though it does not look very cheerful in summer, and it is very cold in winter time."

"It does seem rather bare," said Kate, who in her passage upstairs had noted the handsome furniture and profusion of ornaments to be seen in every direction in the lower part of the house.

Heyington Hall.

"I can guess what you are thinking of," said Sarah, with a knowing look. "You did not shut your eyes as you came up here, and now you are saying to yourself, that when they were furnishing, they might have put a thing or two less down below, and some decent sets of drawers and such like in our bedroom. You see we have to hang our gowns on nails, up and down as we can, and cover them from the dust with wrappers made out of old morning frocks. And Manchester dust 'is' black, I can tell you."

"Everything looked dingy to me, coming from a bright country place, where there are no big chimneys and so little smoke," said Kate.

"Yes, you'll find it out soon enough," replied Sarah, who was quite delighted at being able to air her own grievances, and, perhaps, took some pleasure in heightening them in the eyes of the new comer.

"You'd better make haste," she added, "and get your things off, so as to come down and help me. This is your bed. You can pop your gowns on it till you have time to hang them up. I must go or I shall be behindhand. We have company to dinner, and I believe the missis has come in. I'll tell her you are here. Don't be afraid, she will not trouble to come up so high. She seldom sees this place. I wish she would just come straight from her own room to this, then she might notice the difference, and mend matters a bit for us servants."

Sarah hurried away, and Kate lost no time in following her. She thought Mrs. Maybrick would want to speak to her, for at Heyington a new comer was always called into Mrs. Bateson's room, and, after a few words of kindly welcome, spoken to about her duties and the rules of the household, so that there could be no mistake.

She was encouraged to go to her mistress in any time of difficulty, and cheered by the assurance that she would find not only an employer, but a friend who would advise and help her in time of need, if she strove to do right.

Kate could remember her own arrival at the Hall—a raw, untaught, frightened girl, with hardly courage to answer when she was asked a question.

She could picture again Mrs. Bateson's kind face, and hear her inquiries after the mother and those she had left behind. And she remembered, too, how she bade her kneel down, and kneeling beside her, asked God that her coming might prove a blessing to herself, her friends at a distance, and all under that roof.

Kate seemed again to hear her old mistress asking that God's Holy Spirit, the one unfailing Guide and Teacher, might be given to lead her in the right way, and strengthen her for the duties before her.

The memory brought tears to the girl's eyes, and surely it was by the enlightening power of that Holy Spirit that she was enabled to see more clearly her ingratitude towards her best earthly friends, her want of consideration for her mother, her own unthankfulness for the pleasant places in which, by the good providence of God, her lines had been cast during three peaceful past years.

She could not help taking a few moments to kneel in that desolate looking room, to repeat again the prayer formerly offered on her behalf by her mistress, to cry for pardon for Jesus' sake, and to thank God for her safe journey. Then she went down, feeling brighter and happier, to begin her new duties.

Sarah noted traces of tears on Kate's cheeks, and being a really good-natured girl, though much given to gossip, she half regretted that she had said what might perhaps have frightened the new comer.

"Don't you get down-hearted," she said to Kate. "There's worse places than this, you may take my word for it; and I have been here over a twelvemonth. There's good food and plenty of it, for master is rich, and Mrs. Maybrick has money of her own, as she'd need to have, seeing what goes on fads and finery in this house.

"She doesn't bother us servants much, so long as things are fairly done. We are kept going—no mistake about that, for there's a deal of company invited, and no stinginess. Mrs. Maybrick isn't one to take care of the pence, or pounds either, for that matter.

"And when you have a holiday, it is your own day. No poking and prying, as Fanny Ellis says you had in your old place. You were right not to stand it. I wouldn't be obliged to go here and there, like a child, in the time that I call my own, for the best mistress that ever stepped."

The words were kindly meant, and Kate forced a smile and thanked the speaker. But she was already beginning to realise that the mistress who did not trouble herself as to the going out and coming in of a young girl who was far away from her home and her mother, was not likely to be a friend to whom she might venture to go in any time of trouble, or who, in sickness, would have much sympathy to bestow.

Kate did not see Mrs. Maybrick until she was seated at the dinner table. Her own share of the waiting was small, and chiefly confined to fetching and carrying, as there were hired helpers. It was very late before she went to her own room, and she was feeling wearied out in mind and body by her anxious thoughts, the journey, and the unaccustomed long hours.

Before she could lie down, she must put her clothes into something like order, though she scarcely knew how to begin, and wondered how she would ever be able to maintain the tidy careful habits which she had been taught by her late mistress.

There were no spare nails for her gowns, so she guessed rightly that when her predecessor left, those used by her had been taken by the others. In spite of this, there were articles of clothing, both clean and soiled, lying about in corners, and the very untidiness of the room made her feel oppressed and miserable.

The cook and Sarah were asleep before she extinguished the gas. The latter bade her good-night, and added, "I will help you to straighten up a bit to-morrow, and we'll drive in some more nails. It's too late now for anything but sleep, for I'm dead tired."

Too tired for prayer evidently, for both cook and Sarah dispensed with that, or at any rate they did not kneel before they got into bed.

Kate moved as gently as she could, and when the light was out, she knelt to pray with perhaps a greater sense of want than she had ever felt in her life before. Absent from all whom she could call her true friends, she realised for the first time what a blessed thing it is that Our Father in heaven is always near and willing to hear and answer even his ungrateful and disobedient children, if they come to Him with the name of Jesus on their lips, and pleading the merits of His love, and life, and death for sinners.

After she lay down, Kate could not sleep, though greatly in need of rest. The bed had been hastily made up, and the bedding thrown on after any fashion, for servants are not always careful for each other's comforts, and the thought, "If she does not like it, let her do it herself," is not an uncommon one amongst those who serve under the same roof.

Kate found her bed hard and lumpy, her bedding uneven and rumpled, and two-thirds of it on one side reaching the floor, whilst the other barely covered the mattress. She would amend these things for herself on the morrow, but in the meanwhile, they and her troubled thoughts kept her from enjoying the much-needed sleep.

She felt thankful to Mrs. Bateson as she lay, wakeful yet weary, for having encouraged her to commit to memory texts of Scripture, and for having called her into the room when she gathered her children to give them simple Bible lessons, and allowed her to share them.

Kate was as ignorant of these precious truths as of the household duties she would have to perform when she first went to Heyington. She owed everything that was best, under God, to her late good mistress.

The texts meant more to her now than they had hitherto done.

"The Lord is nigh unto all them that call upon Him, to all that call upon Him in truth;"
"Call upon Me in the day of trouble, I will deliver thee,—"

were amongst those which came to mind for her comfort.

And she could take the comfort, though feeling her unworthiness, because she was in earnest in her sorrow for her wilfulness, and in now as earnestly desiring guidance from above.

## CHAPTER VI.

KATE'S SUNDAY OUT.

IT was late on the following morning when Mrs. Maybrick made her appearance. Sarah had taken her breakfast upstairs, but she said to Kate afterwards, "It will be your work to carry breakfasts to bedrooms when they are wanted, but mistress wished me to do it this time, you being a new comer. She seems rather taken with you, for she said to me, 'The new housemaid is one of the neatest looking girls I have seen for a long time.'"

Kate was glad that she had made a good impression, and later on, Mrs. Maybrick meeting her on the landing said a few careless words to her.

"Sarah will show you where things are, and tell you how the work has always been divvied between her and the housemaid. If there is anything special you want to ask about, such as you might want to come to me for, you may see nurse. She will tell you as well as I can, or perhaps better."

Before Kate had time to say a word, Mrs. Maybrick had swept past her and was going down to her carriage, which had already been waiting for nearly an hour on the drive.

From Sarah, Kate heard all about the establishment.

There were really six female servants, though only four slept in the house. Two young girls, the coachman's daughters, filled the places of kitchen-maid and under-nurse, but went home at nights. The latter carried up the nursery meals, and was entirely under the orders of the head-nurse, a good, trustworthy woman, as Sarah acknowledged.

"Mrs. Maybrick does not spend much time with the children. She 'calls on them' in a morning, and sometimes besides. She buys them lots of finery, though the eldest is but six and the other three are younger, and she is very proud of their prettiness, for they are darling little things.

"However, she does what is next best to looking after them herself, she gives them somebody that does, for Mrs. Ashley is a real good woman, and no children are better cared for. All the washing is done out."

Kate's looks seemed to say that there must be little for the servants to do, and Sarah read the expression.

"I daresay you are thinking that we have easy times, but don't you run away with that notion. When a house is crammed with gimcracks till you can hardly turn, there's work enough for one keeping them dusted. Then there's no order. No two days' dinner at the same time, and no knowing when breakfast can be cleared away, whether Mrs. Maybrick will have it upstairs or down, or at what time one will get to bed.

"The master lunches in the city, but mostly dines at home, and we seldom miss having some company on a Sunday. That is why we only get one out in three."

"But don't the master and mistress go to church, or anywhere on Sundays?" asked Kate.

"Sometimes, but quite 'unregular,' like everything else here," said Sarah.

"And I suppose you do not have family prayers, or on other Sundays a chance of going to a place of worship if you want to, just once, I mean, and nowhere else?" said Kate.

"Well, you are a queer one!" exclaimed Sarah, wiping her eyes after a hearty fit of laughter. "Why, I thought it was because you had too many prayers and too much church-going that you left your last place. Fanny Ellis said so. And here the first thing you ask about is whether you can get out once on Sunday just for church, and if we have prayers in the house? I'm sorry for you, but you'll have to do without family Bible reading and every week church-going, and when your Sunday out comes, I fancy you will be glad enough to get as much pleasure out of it as you can."

Kate's face flushed as she listened to Sarah's bantering remarks, but she did not answer sharply as she at first felt tempted to do. She found courage to say, "I am afraid I was very foolish, and did not know how to value all the privileges I had and the kindness I received in my last place.

"I did not like the notion of being forced to go to a place of worship, but I never thought of that until Fanny put it into my head, and I shall miss my old quiet Sundays very much, I am sure. It seems a dreadful long time to wait three weeks for a chance of going, but I do not think I shall stay away when I get one."

This conversation was repeated to Fanny Ellis by Sarah at the first opportunity, and the two girls laughed over it together.

"I told you she was just as weak as water," said Fanny. "You may turn her round your fingers. Before I went to Heyington, she was as meek as a mouse, and did not know she was being treated like a baby till I showed her the leading-strings. Then she turned straight round and fell in with everything I said. She got notice through it, and as I had, in a way, drawn her into a scrape, I thought I must get her out of it. Now she is in another place, she will have to shift for herself."

"She seems likely to shift round again to her old ways. Just what might be expected from her sort. Give her plenty of a thing, and she does not want it. Take it from her, and she cries after it. However, her Sunday out can never be mine, thank goodness! So she will not be in my way."

"Nor in mine," said Fanny, with a laugh.

"Why, I reckoned your Sunday and hers would come together. They ought to do."

"But I've changed with cook."

"What have you done that for?" asked Sarah, seeing a meaning look on Fanny's face.

The latter laughed, coloured, and then replied, "Well, if you must know why, I am managing to have my day different from Kate's, it is because two's company and three's none."

"Oh, you sly thing! Tell me all about it this minute," said Sarah.

And the two became at once so deeply interested in giving and receiving confidences, that they forgot Kate altogether for the time.

The three weeks came to an end at last, and Kate was free to make what use she chose of the day of rest. Never in her life had she so felt the need of it. The days had gone quickly enough, though the working hours had been much longer in her new place than they used to be at Heyington.

Her life was such an unrestful one now. Want of regularity in the domestic arrangements increased the work, and Kate found that there was indeed a vast difference between the effect of the pure country air and the smoke-laden atmosphere of Manchester, both upon clothing and furniture. She desired to be as neat in the city as she had been in the village, and to keep everything in a state of spotless cleanliness. But to do this, she had to change her gowns oftener, and to work harder.

She had always been used to put in a stitch in time. Now she found it difficult to secure a few moments for this purpose until bedtime, and then was often too tired to do it. These three weeks had shown her that the extra wages would barely meet the increased wear and tear of clothes, and that she might give up the hope of doing more for her mother out of her earnings.

Kate had some sources of comfort, however.

The children were getting better. There was no gap in the little flock at home. Friends and neighbours had been good and hopeful, Mrs. Bateson had increased her aid according to the special need for it, and there was every prospect that this season of trouble would be tided over better than could have been expected.

Kate wept over the letter, written this time in her mother's unscholarly hand, but doubly precious because it was her very own. And from her heart, she echoed the words,—

"I do believe that Mrs. Bateson is one of the best and dearest ladies in the world. May God bless her and pay her back, is my daily prayer."

Kate was glad to know too that Mrs. Maybrick was satisfied with the way in which she did her work. Ashley, the head-nurse, told her this, and said that her mistress had noticed how orderly she was, and how thoroughly she performed her duties. She hoped she would be strong enough for the place.

"Did Mrs. Maybrick say that you were to tell me she was pleased?" asked Kate, with a brightening face.

"No," replied the nurse, "but I thought you would like to know how she spoke about you. The mistress seldom does praise a girl to her face. I believe she is afraid it might make her think too much of herself, or want higher wages, or something."

Kate's countenance fell a little at this; so different again from Mrs. Bateson, who was ever on the look out for something to praise, and whose encouraging words had many a time cheered the girl on to new efforts in the right direction.

These occasional visits to the nursery were Kate's greatest comfort, for Ashley was a motherly woman, and strove to say a word in season to the lonely girl.

Then the pretty children reminded her of those at Heyington, whom she had dearly loved, and of the small flock in her humble home. There might be little else in common, but there were dear child faces in hall and cottage, and in Kate's memory pictures, they gathered in one group.

The girl had never felt so lonely. Sarah troubled herself little about her, except to joke her about carrying such a long face; Fanny Ellis was too much occupied by her own private affairs to care whether Kate was or was not happy. The cook was devoted to her art, elated with success, and very grumpy if anything went wrong. Dinners and dishes were the only subjects she cared to talk of, and Kate could only listen patiently when she chose to speak of these. Out of doors she knew no one.

On that first Sunday morning out, she hesitated which way to go, but she was quite resolved that it should be to some place of worship, and following a stream of people evidently bent on a similar errand, she soon found herself once more joining in prayer and praise as a member of a Christian congregation.

Oh the comfort, rest, peace it gave her to enjoy again the Sabbath blessings to which she had been accustomed, though without realising all she would lose if deprived of them. Words in the lessons, psalms, and from the preacher's lips seemed meant expressly for her, and she listened as if she could not bear to lose one.

To the surprise of her fellow-servants, she went back to the house, had her dinner with them, and took her share of waiting at lunch time.

"You need not have come in at all till ten o'clock," said Sarah, astonished at seeing Kate in the middle of the day.

"I knew that, but where could I go? I have no relations in Manchester," replied Kate.

"There are places enough for walking in and plenty to see for a country girl like you even on Sundays, though shops are shut. Before your next day out, you must let me contrive for you.

"I dare say you will not mind about going out this afternoon, and if so, may be you will take my—not work—it would only be answering the door if anybody came," suggested Sarah.

"I am going out again, Sarah. I need all I can get, seeing I have but one Sunday in three," returned Kate.

She did not say what it was she needed, neither did her companion guess, but replied, "That is right enough, and I don't blame you. I only wonder at your coming in now."

If she had followed Kate, she would have seen her at the door of the same church she attended in the morning, hoping for an afternoon service. There was none, however, but the person of whom she inquired told her there was a Bible-class for grown-up people, open to all comers, and she could attend that if she liked, and he would show her the room where it was held.

Kate thanked him and gladly took her place amongst a number of others, and thus spent a profitable hour. At the close, the teacher, a grey-haired lady, said a few kind words to the stranger, and asked her to come again.

Kate explained that she could only be present every third Sunday.

"Come when you can then," said the lady. "You will always be welcome." And she shook hands with the girl and bade her "good-bye for the present."

Ah! It was like Heyington days to see that kind face and listen to the sweet messages telling of God's love in Christ Jesus, of the blood that cleanseth from all sin, and of the blessed Spirit who shows the sinner his need, and then bids him find enough to satisfy his longing soul in the Saviour, the Lamb provided by God Himself.

Again Kate walked homeward, taking a little longer road, for the sake of quiet thought out of doors. There was no refuge for her within, for cook's custom was always to spend the early Sunday afternoons on her bed, in the large attic shared by the three, and only to rise in time to prepare the late dinner. No quiet little nest of a room in which Kate might think, read, or pray.

"But God is everywhere," she said to herself, with a joyful heart. "And God's true servants are alike everywhere too, for that dear lady at the Bible-class spoke and looked with a loving tone and a face that just put me in mind of my dear good mistress at Heyington."

Kate sighed at the memory, but rejoiced that she had been guided to this little haven of rest and of Christian communion and sympathy. The girl was indeed right. One and the same spirit animates God's true people wherever they are found, and they are ever mindful of the commandment, "That he who loveth God, love his brother also."

Evening saw Kate again amongst the greater gathering of worshippers, and saying to herself, "At my old place I could only go once to church, and I sometimes thought that once too often. Now, I am so glad to be here as frequently as I can, for this Sunday's service will have to last me for three whole weeks."

But even Sarah could not help noticing that night what a much brighter look there was on Kate's face, though she would never have guessed what brought it there.

Far from it. She thought to herself, "Quiet as Kate is, she has picked up some acquaintance or other. She said something about a Bible-class to nurse, and by all accounts Sunday schools and such like are not so bad for making friends at.

"I remember an old mistress of mine that would not let a young servant go to a Sunday-school when the parson asked her, and said, * 'Such schools are only meeting places for lads and lasses.' And the parson took it in real good part and said, 'Don't you think they had better meet there, as teachers and scholars, than in the streets, low places of amusement, or the public-house?' He got over the old lady with that quite nicely.

"Well, if Kate has picked up a young man, I'll get it out of her. Let me alone for ferreting out a secret."

* Quite true.

If Sarah could have seen the face of the grey-haired lady, Kate's new acquaintance, she would have been surprised.

## CHAPTER VII.

A MISTAKE CONFESSED.

MRS. MAYBRICK had felt doubtful whether Kate would be strong enough for her place, and at the end of two months, the girl herself was beginning to doubt it too.

The long hours, the ceaseless round of work, the rare Sabbath rest, the general unquiet of a house, where dress, costly entertainments, and outdoor amusements were the only things thought of by the heads of it, began to tell upon the girl.

Her face became pale, her step slower and heavier, and though she continued to do her work in the old painstaking way, she could scarcely get through it.

At Heyington, wages were paid monthly and to the day, but at the two months' end, Kate had received nothing from Mrs. Maybrick. She ventured to ask Ashley about this, and the nurse told her that she need not be anxious about her money.

"No scarcity of that in this house," she said, "only the mistress does not care to be troubled with monthly payments. You will get your wages at the quarter or thereabouts, perhaps a week or two after date, or just as likely that much before, according as it comes into her head. If you had made a bargain beforehand, I dare say you would have got it monthly, with a little grumble, for asking for it out of the regular way."

"Regular! As if anything were regular in that house," thought Kate, "when even the quarterly payments depend on the mistress's memory."

"Don't you think Mrs. Maybrick puts the dates down?" she asked, with a face of alarm which appealed to Ashley's kind heart.

"To be sure she does, only she is so busy with her parties and things that she may not look at her book just when the reminder is wanted, you know. Are you short of money? Because if you are, I can lend you a little," said the nurse.

"I have not a penny," said Kate, tears filling her eyes as she owned her poverty.

Then she told how, counting on monthly payments, she had sent all she could to her mother, and that sundry necessary expenses had exhausted the few shillings left after paying for her journey to Manchester.

"And things dirty sooner and wear faster here," she said, "for I cannot get time for sewing."

"I know that, for I was once a young girl in a town place like you are. Here, take this ten shillings, and if you want more before the quarter, you shall have it. City hours do not suit you, I am afraid," she added. "You made a mistake when you left the country to better yourself."

"I did, indeed," said Kate, after gratefully thanking the nurse for the loan. "If I had to choose again—but it is of no use grieving. This is a good place in many ways. I ought not to complain, for Mrs. Maybrick never scolds."

Nurse knew that she never would. If a girl did not suit or neglected her work, no trouble was taken with her. She had to leave, and another came in her stead. If she broke down in health, the result was the same. She was there to do certain work for wages, not to be waited on or nursed.

Mrs. Maybrick did not scold or sympathise. The incapable—whether through her fault or misfortune—had to go, and there was an end of the matter. As a rule, there was not even an inquiry where she would go to. Work and wages. No work, no wages, and mistress and maid parted, to be equally "out of sight, out of mind, for the future."

Kate held on till the quarter's end. She had come to Manchester in June, and now it was the middle of September. It would evidently be the few days after time in her case before her wages were paid, for Mr. and Mrs. Maybrick were away from home. But Ashley kindly took care that she suffered no inconvenience from the want of them.

"I'll tell you what it is, my girl," said the nurse; "you will have to get back to the country. You get thinner and paler every day, and it is plain that town air does not suit you."

"I don't feel well," replied Kate; "and yet I hardly know what is the matter with me, because I have no particular aches and pains. Only my limbs feel heavy, and I find the work harder to get through than I did. I am not so young as I was," she added, borrowing one of cook's excuses for sleeping on Sunday afternoons, and making a poor attempt at a laugh over her weakness.

Ashley looked pityingly at the girl and said, "If I were you, Kate, I would write to your old mistress, and ask her if she will help you to a place any where near where you lived before. It is not likely she would take you back even if she could, but from all you have told me, she is very kind, and the best friend you ever had."

"I do not think I ought to ask her to help me," replied Kate, sadly enough.

"Is it that you don't like to humble yourself to ask? If you have any feeling of that sort, put pride in your pocket, my girl. Setting aside even the thought of whether it is right or wrong, let me tell you nobody can afford to lose such a friend as that lady has been to you, if they can any way keep her."

"I am not proud, nurse. Mrs. Bateson knows how sorry I was for having behaved so ungratefully to her. There is never a day that I do not think of her goodness, and of the happy home I had at Heyington. But I do not deserve that she should take any trouble for me, or that I ought to ask for more when she has done so much for mother and the children beside, even since I left."

"I think that sort of feeling often keeps us from going to a greater and better Master than all earthly employers," said nurse. "And yet, if we would but believe it, those who most feel that they deserve nothing are most welcome. It is the good-for-nothings, and the people who are 'all wants,' as one may say, and who are over head and ears in debt, and have neither money nor price to bring along with them, to whom God by His Holy Spirit is always crying, 'Come.'

"And if they listen and go to Him, He supplies their wants, forgives their sins, applies Christ's righteousness to them so that they are accepted for the sake of what He did. He shows them that Jesus paid that debt of theirs which has been troubling them so sorely, and that, though He has done and given so much already, the more they ask, the more ready He is to give."

"I believe that," said Kate. "Indeed, I know it is true."

"You are a happy girl then," replied Ashley, "and the thought of it should make you willing to go to Mrs. Bateson. Go, I mean by writing and opening your heart to her."

"I don't quite see," said Kate, in a hesitating way.

"Do you not feel sure that Mrs. Bateson is a real Christian lady?"

"Yes, indeed, or she never would have been so good to me."

"Then she must have in her something of the spirit that is in Jesus Himself. You say she forgave you. I suppose you don't think she would profess to do it without meaning what she said, that would be a poor sort of half-and-half forgiveness. Our Father forgives and blesses. The disciples are told, 'Be tender-hearted, forgiving one another, even as God for Christ's sake hath forgiven you.'

"Now you see, Kate, the forgiveness of the Christian will be like that of the Master. Depend on it, your old mistress would be glad to do you good, if she could see how. She has seen it and done it, too, already, through your mother and the children."

"I will write, nurse," said Kate; "and thank you with all my heart for your kindness. You have cheered me many a time, and with such a friend as you, I could work on, if only I felt strong enough."

"God bless you, my girl," was Nurse Ashley's answer, as she put her motherly arms round Kate and kissed her as she would have kissed her own absent daughter—for she was a widow with an only child who was cared for by an aunt—"I wish you were fit to stay, but it will be better for you to go if you can."

Kate lost no time in carrying out her resolution, and before she slept that night, she had written to Mrs. Bateson.

It was a very simply-worded letter, but it came from a full heart and in it the girl, encouraged by Ashley's advice, ventured to tell all that had befallen her since she came to Manchester. Her loneliness, her longings after the home she had left behind, and of the sense of its value which so soon came to her amidst her new surroundings.

She told of the Sundays spent indoors, and of that first day out, when she could choose her own way of spending it,—of the thankfulness with which she sought the House of God, and availed herself of its privileges, and of the Bible-class to which she had so fortunately been led.

She did not forget to mention the grey-haired lady who had shown a kindly interest in her from that first meeting, or nurse's advice which had decided her to write to her old mistress, though she could not help feeling that she was taking a great liberty in doing it.

There were no complaints of Mrs. Maybrick, or of the difference in comfort and order between the two places. She was glad to tell that her present mistress had never found fault with the way in which her work was done, only Manchester did not seem to suit her health. And she was nearly always feeling tired now, but she thought if she could only get back to a quiet country place, she should be well directly. This was why she ventured to ask if Mrs. Bateson knew of any such place and would speak for her.

Kate felt as if a load were lifted from her mind when that letter was posted. She did not think the answer would be long in coming, for Mrs. Bateson was always particular about replying soon.

Hope made the girl look brighter, and brought a little flush to her cheeks, but it did not last.

On the following day, Mr. and Mrs. Maybrick returned, and the former noticed Kate's pallor, and spoke of it to his wife.

"I think," said he, "that young housemaid of yours is going to break down. She looks wretchedly ill, so different from the rosy, healthy-complexioned girl that came here—how long is it since?"

"About three months. And by the way, her wages must be due."

And Mrs. Maybrick, on referring to her book, found that they ought to have been paid a fortnight before. She was not ungenerous, and she at once called Kate, gave her the amount, and added a trifle as a present, saying, "I have been pleased with your work so far, and hope you will go on as you have begun."

Then she left Kate without giving her an opportunity of answering.

"You are right about that girl's looks, Arthur," she remarked to her husband. "She has gone off terribly."

"Did you ask her if she had been ill during our absence?"

"No, I am certain she has not been laid by. And unless a girl actually tells me she is ill, I think it is better to take no notice. Servants are generally ready enough to complain if a finger aches. I should be sorry to part with Kate. She has been thoroughly trained, knows her work, and does it without any fuss.

"But we have visitors coming in a fortnight, and I could not keep her to be waited on. I hope, if she is going to break down, it will be before they arrive, or not until they have left us again."

And that was all the feeling excited in Mrs. Maybrick by the sight of Kate's pale cheeks, and the dark rings round her heavy eyes. Her remark about the readiness of servants to complain was less than just, and particularly in Kate's case, for the girl had said nothing, except on the one occasion to the nurse, and then with no desire that her words should be repeated to her mistress. She was really most anxious to do her work and to remain where she was until, after proper notice, she might leave for some place the duties of which would not be beyond her strength.

She looked eagerly for a reply from her old mistress, and after the time arrived at which it might have been expected, she waited the postman's coming with feverish anxiety. But for ten days she looked in vain. No letter came from Mrs. Bateson.

## CHAPTER VIII.

HOPE DEFERRED-FAITH JUSTIFIED.

"HAVE you not heard yet, Kate?" asked nurse, as she noted the girl's disappointed face, after opening the door to the postman on the tenth morning after her letter went.

Kate shook her head.

"Then depend on it Mrs. Bateson is from home."

"But, think how long it is since my letter went. When she is away, the letters are always forwarded. She must have had mine before now, and she is not going to answer."

Ashley would not agree to this. Her faith was stronger than Kate's, though she had never seen the object of it.

"Depend on it, if Mrs. Bateson has got your letter, she is trying to hear of something before answering it. Places of the sort you want are not quite so common as blackberries," said Ashley.

This was reasonable enough, and Kate replied, "I dare say you are right, only it would have been more like Mrs. Bateson to send me just a line, to tell me as much.

"I am beginning to be afraid that I shall not be fit for a place of any sort, if I get no stronger. I can hardly keep on, and when there is company beside, what I shall do, I know not."

Two days later, and Kate, all unconscious of what was going on around her, was lying in a sick ward in the Infirmary.

She had broken down hopelessly, and, as Mrs. Maybrick said, "At the most inconvenient time possible. On the very day before visitors were expected to be a servant short, and with only a few hours in which to look for another, was enough to try the patience of an angel.

"What to do with the girl I cannot tell, for the doctor forbids a railway journey, and her friends live—I really forget where—if I had any one to send with her."

This difficulty was solved by Mr. Maybrick, who, more pitiful than his wife, arranged for Kate's admission to the Infirmary, and made himself responsible for the expenses incurred on her behalf.

Thus it happened, that when Mrs. Bateson's letter came, the girl was not in a condition to receive it.

Fortunately, Ashley was on the look out for the precious missive, feeling always convinced that it would come, or it might have been carelessly laid aside and never reached Kate's hand at all.

The nurse would have liked to take it to the Infirmary herself, but this Mrs. Maybrick would not allow, though there was nothing infectious in her late housemaid's illness.

"You must not think of it, nurse," she said. "Who knows what you might bring home to the children by going to such a place, even if Kate's illness is not of that character?"

Ashley could only obey, but she wished to serve the girl, and as she knew the name and address of the lady who conducted the Bible-class, she ventured to call on her, and told her story.

"The grey-haired lady," as Kate called her, Mrs. Ashton, was ready both to listen and to help.

She had, from the first, felt greatly interested in her country scholar, and thus it happened that, when Kate became aware of what was passing around her, the first familiar face she saw by her bed was Mrs. Ashton's. She gave a little cry of gladness, but had to be contented to be still and listen, instead of trying to talk. Only between her thin fingers was placed a letter, addressed in the well-known writing of Mrs. Bateson.

That letter was better than medicine to the invalid. It was full of kind words and promises of help. Nay, there was even the assurance of a suitable place for Kate, so soon as she could be honourably free to leave Mrs. Maybrick's service.

At this, the tears came into the girl's eyes. Alas! She was not fit to undertake the lightest duties, and when would she be? Perhaps never again.

She was not allowed to dwell on the dark side. A sweet-faced nurse whispered hopeful words, which were but an echo of the doctor's. Only time, patience, and good nursing were wanted. Then a stay at a convalescent home in the country, and she would be as well as she had ever been in her life.

It was such a comfort to hear this, and to know, beside, that the delay in answering her letter was owing to Mrs. Bateson's absence. She, her husband, and eldest children had been travelling on the Continent, and moving about from place to place, so that they did not receive letters regularly.

Mrs. Ashton undertook to write, on Kate's behalf, both to her former mistress and her mother. And then the girl, glad and thankful beyond expression, could only lie quietly, and obey to the best of her power the injunction to get well as fast as she could.

Having youth on her side, she made good progress, and her heart was cheered from time to time by news from Heyington and home. The place would be kept for her until she was fit for it.

This news seemed almost too good to be true, but if Mrs. Bateson "said" it, there could be no room for fear or doubt.

The day came when Kate was considered well enough to be removed to the convalescent home, and carefully wrapped and prepared for the journey, she was conveyed to the railway station.

"I am going to see you safe to the end," said the pleasant-faced nurse. And Kate thought this was not the usual way of sending patients, who went from the Infirmary, a batch at a time, in a sort of omnibus, as the Home was but a few miles out of Manchester.

She said something of this to the nurse, who smiled in reply, and told her that was not the Home they were going to.

"We go by train. A good friend of yours has settled all for you." And the nurse busied herself in making Kate comfortable in a first-class carriage.

"Are you taking me to mother?" asked Kate, wistfully.

"Not to your own home. It would not do for you yet. If you could get a sleep now, it would help you over the journey nicely."

And Kate, weak and easily wearied, did go to sleep, and only awoke when the train stopped amid scenes familiar to her eyes.

Surely this was Heyington! And that must be the carriage from the Hall waiting for somebody, just outside the gate.

Nearer still, on the platform, and looking eagerly towards the train stood—yes, there could be no mistake about it—Kate's mother. There she was, with a whole world of love in her eyes, waiting to welcome her child, given back, it seemed, from the very verge of the grave, to her loving arms.

Neither Mrs. Evans nor Kate will ever forget the joy of that moment.

Mrs. Bateson might well be envied for having both the power and the will to make two people so intensely happy, as were this mother and daughter.

Their happiness did not end with the meeting. It hangs about them still, though years have passed since that bright day. It has grown with each year, and Kate's store of precious memories increases every day.

Well, the girl found out for whom the carriage was sent to meet the train she arrived by. It was to take her in the easiest way to the Hall, which was to be first her "convalescent home," then her permanent one. Kate's successor had not proved efficient, and it was her old place that was being kept for her until she was able to take it.

Truly Mrs. Bateson's goodness justified Nurse Ashley's faith. She did not forgive by halves, but strove both to pardon, restore, and bless.

Need it be told that Kate learned a lesson during her time of weakness and suffering that she never afterwards forgot, learned to value what she had once been indifferent about—the Christian mistress, the well-ordered home, and the peaceful Sabbaths, which are God's good gifts for the refreshment of weary bodies and longing souls.

Mrs. Bateson and her family have ever since had the most self-devoting service from Kate, and the good mistress of the Hall has never regretted that, following the example of her Divine Master, she was enabled to forgive fully and freely.

Kate has not forgotten Nurse Ashley's kindness to her, and now this good friend's young daughter is under-housemaid at Heyington. Kate has the higher place, and strives, by being a true friend to Margaret Ashley, to repay in some degree the goodwill shown to her by the mother.

More than one suitor has thought what a good wife Kate Evans would make, but so far she has not been won. She is very happy, and in no hurry to leave Mrs. Bateson's service.

So we, instead, will leave her where we found her, only adding that she has a mind at ease about her mother and those who are still left in her cottage home. Blessed with strength to work and work to do, they are equally happy and useful.