"Ah, Madam! doth that offend you? The Lord can ripen His fruit very fast when He sees good, and hath more ways than one to do it. He knew that Mr. Philip's time was short. We can scarce tell how sweetly and surely He can carry the lambs in His bosom until we have been borne there with them." The next morning Isabella brought forward her embroidery-frame, occupied just now by a brilliant worsted parrot and a couple of gorgeous peacocks, the former seated on a branch full of angles, the latter strutting about on a brown ground. The most important shade in the parrot's very showy tail was still wanting. "Have you any work for me, Mother?" asked Celia. "I do not wish to sit idle." "I can find you some, my dear. Here is a set of handkerchiefs and some cravats for Father, which all want hemming, and I have been obliged to work at them myself till now: Lucy scarce does well enough, and Bell is too busy with yonder birds." "I will relieve you of those, Mother." And Celia took the basket and established herself near the window. "Mr. John Rowe to speak with Madam," was Dolly's announcement directly afterwards, and Madam Passmore left the room. Charley and Lucy were learning their lessons. In other words, Charley was sitting with his Æneid and the Lexicon open on the table before him, bestowing his attention on everything in the room except those two volumes; while Lucy, seated at the window on a hassock, was behaving in much the same way to a slate. "What a constant plague that man is!" said Isabella, as she sorted her wools. "There is no doing anything for him. I do believe he has been here every day for the last fortnight." "Oh, I say!" commented Charley; "take that _cum grano salis_, Celia. I think he has been three times." "Don't dispute with Bell, Charley; it doesn't signify." "My dear, he won't dispute with me," observed Isabella, calmly, selecting different shades of scarlet. "I never dispute--it is too much trouble, takes my attention from my work." She went on comparing her scarlets, and Charley, on receiving this rebuke, buried himself for five minutes in the adventures of Æneas. For a time all was silence except for the slight sound of Celia's needle and Lucy's slate-pencil. "Where is Father?" inquired Madam Passmore, coming into the room with a rather troubled look. Charley was up in a second. "He is in the stable; I saw him go. Shall I run and fetch him?" "Ask him to come to me in the dining-room." And both Charley and his mother disappeared. "What is the matter now?" asked Lucy; but as nobody answered her, she went back to her arithmetic. In about half an hour more, Madam Passmore entered, looking grave and thoughtful. "Isabella, my child," she said, "I have something to tell thee." Isabella looked up for a moment, and then went back to her wools. "Well, Mother?" she queried, carelessly.