Mary Baxendell came first. A sweet, refined, loving girl, towards whom my heart went out at once; then Margaret Barr, who was thirteen, and had an air of quiet determination that almost made me quake to begin with. Lilian came next, bright-faced and suggestive of fun and mischief; then twin boys, Harry and Ned, seven years old, Saxon-faced and sheepish; these were my pupils. "You shall see the other two—Dot and Baby," said Mr. Barr; and in trotted Dot, otherwise Dorothy, as her name was mentioned. She was a dear little dumpling of a child; blue-eyed and flaxen-curled, and she planted herself in front of me, evidently to take my measure. She surveyed me calmly from head to foot and back again, pondered for a moment, then extended her plump arms, was lifted on to my knee, and with a sigh of content, nestled her curly head on my breast. "Poor Dot can do with any amount of cosseting and petting," said Mr. Barr. "She cannot forgive Baby Flossy for having superseded her, and will be baby herself for a long while yet. She still sleeps in a little cot by her mother's side, which arrangement is hardly conducive to rest. One baby wakes the other sometimes." Mrs. Barr laughed as she stroked Dot's curly head, but I thought the somewhat worn look on her face was not difficult to understand. Surely these two babies must often wake the mother. I do not want to tell much about my life at Hillstowe Vicarage, but I must give a few particulars, or I shall do scant justice to the good pastor and his wife. If ever two people united the truest refinement of manners and the most thoughtful Christian courtesy, and manifested sweetest patience and consideration towards all with whom they had to do, they were the vicar of Hillstowe and his true helpmeet. They had such scanty means and lived such hardworking lives, the mother in her home, the pastor in ministering to his flock, that it was wonderful to me how they could find time to think and care so well for all. I used to think, as I saw Mrs. Barr in the most simply-made cotton gown, and actively engaged from morning to night, that, in spite of all the sordid cares which beset her, her gracious dignity of carriage would have well become a duchess. What stitching and contriving she got through! What making down of garments from elder to younger, not only of girls, but boys! All the masculine garments, those of Mr. Barr only excepted, were made by her busy fingers. She told me this very simply, saying she had bought paper patterns and cut and fitted the clothes unassisted by any tailor. "My husband's stipend is small," she said, "and though I have a little income, we can only make ends meet by much stretching. My tailoring would not bear town criticism, but here it is seen only by country eyes, and passes muster."