He stood aside, with his hat in his hand, to let them pass, and even the lay Sister, not used to courtesies, was moved by the politeness in which her humble person had a share. ‘I never saw a more civil-spoken gentleman,’ she said as they went towards the ‘House.’ Agnes in her private heart felt that he was more than a civil-spoken gentleman. How tenderly he had carried the child, and how good it was to take the trouble of going to inquire after her; and what kind enthusiasm was in his face when he bade God bless the ‘House’ for taking care of the friendless. Ah, that was how it ought to be thought of! The bread and butter of the little orphans was somehow more noble than that bread and butter which had disgusted her at home when all her little brothers and sisters were squabbling for it, and mamma scolding the elder girls for letting them make such a noise, and the whole house filled with insubordination and confusion. Her work now was more satisfactory, and Louisa, who did not mind, and who scolded back again when there was scolding going on, was quite enough for all that was wanted; but still Agnes felt very glad that ‘the gentleman’ had set her present life before her thus anew as help to the friendless. In reality, taking the facts of the case, it was always the bread and butter, though that was noble when given to orphans and the friendless, which was but commonplace when dispensed to one’s brothers and sisters. Yet life, take it how you will, in a vulgarish common Rectory, full of children, or in a ‘House’ devoted to the help of one’s fellow-creatures, is an unheroic sort of affair at the best. There is no making up to that ideal that flies from you further and further as life goes on. Does not everything turn into commonplace as one’s hands touch it, as one executes it, the great imagination gliding ever further and further off, mocking you from the skies? So Agnes felt as she went back to the House to go on with the lessons of the little orphans, in their somewhat dingy schoolroom, all the afternoon. As for Oswald he pursued his walk, more and more delighted with this new adventure. From old Pietro’s canvas freshly sprung, The gentle form disclosing to my heart, Of that dear image, sweet and fair and young, Image beloved of art; Which in all ages represents the dream Of all perfection----