42 Turnaside Cottage.

 

“T didn’t!” cried I; though now, looking back
on it, I confess that there was some truth in Nance’s
irritating remark.

My father interrupted us by saying, “ Where’s
that book the lady gave you, Reuben? You have
never shown it me.”

Off I ran to get it, and was surprised to find how
well my father knew the history of each picture.
It was, then, as Miss Churchill had said ; he did know
about all these things which she had taught me,
only he did not talk of them. I felt glad at the
thought, and drew alittle closer to him. We spent
avery pleasant evening over the book, and before
IT went to bed my father asked whether church was
at the same hour next Sunday.

“Not next Sunday,’ I said, “but the Sunday
after.” I feared to add more, though I should have
liked to ask my father to come with me. But his
good intention, if he had formed it, was forgotten
before the day came round, and I went again under
Tommy’s guardianship. I was not adorned, how-
ever, with the red comforter ; for Nance, grumbling
to herself all the time, washed my shirt and mended
my jacket, and at the last moment stuck a new cap on
my head, observing that she could not see, not she,
what pleasure there was in going about a disgrace
to one’s family. Neither could I, for the matter of