‘No; not your papa,’ replied Mrs Murray, laying her hand compassionately on my shoulder, ‘but a new friend—a lady whom you will like very much indeed.’ ‘A _lady_!’ I repeated, in utter bewilderment, whilst my schoolmates crowded round Mrs Murray, with the question, ‘Is she come to take Vere home?’ ‘Perhaps! most probably,’ was her answer, whilst exclamations of, ‘Oh, I say, that’s a jolly shame. It isn’t fair. School doesn’t break up till to-morrow. _We_ sha’n’t get off to-day, try as hard as we may,’ greeted her supposition from every side, and I, trembling like a culprit, affirmed that I would much rather not be introduced to the pleasures of home one hour earlier than was needful. ‘Come into the parlour, dear, and see the lady,’ Mrs Murray replied, ‘and we will decide what to do afterwards.’ So my face and hair were hurriedly washed and arranged, and I sheepishly followed my master’s wife to the formal little apartment dedicated to the reception of visitors, where we found the lady she had alluded to. Shall I ever forget her face as she rose to greet me, and drew me into her arms! Such a fair, sweet, fresh face as it was, but with an amount of sorrowful thought pictured in the serious eyes. ‘And so this is Charlie Vere,’ she said, as she gazed into my features. ‘I should have known you anywhere, my darling, from your likeness to your father! And now do you guess who I am?’ ‘No!’ I answered, shyly; for Mrs Murray had slipped away and left me all alone with the stranger. ‘I am your mother, dear; your new mother who means to love you very dearly, and I have come to take you home!’ Mother and Home! How sweet the dear familiar words sounded in my ears; familiar alas! to everyone but me. The hawthorn blossoms in the playground seemed to smell sweeter than they had done before, as she pronounced them, and the birds’ chorus rang out harmoniously. ‘Will papa be there?’ I asked, nervously. ‘Papa! of course! What would home be without your father?’ I had found it much pleasanter without him than with him hitherto, but some instinct made me hold my tongue. ‘Don’t you love papa, dear?’ the lady went on softly. ‘Don’t you think that he loves you?’ ‘I don’t know,’ I said, picking my fingers. ‘Poor child! Perhaps you have thought not, but that will all be altered now. But you have not yet told me if you will like to have me for a mother!’ ‘I think I shall like you very much!’ ‘That’s right, so we will go home together and try to make each other happy. You want a mother to look after you, dear child, and I want a little boy to love me. We will not part again, Charlie, now I have found you, not for the present, at all events. You have been too long away from home as it is. That is why I came to-day. I could not wait till to-morrow, even: I was so impatient to see you and to take you home.’ How she dwelt and lingered on the word and repeated it, as though it gave her as much happiness to listen to as it did me.