“Well, you will find that out to-morrow. I think you will be surprised, sir.” “At what hour would you like me to come?” “Stop, Mr. Appleditch,” interposed his wife. “You have said nothing yet about terms; and that is of some importance, considering the rent and taxes we pay.” “Well, my love, what do you feel inclined to give?” “How much do you charge a lesson, Mr. Sutherland? Only let me remind you, sir, that he is a very little boy, although stout, and that you cannot expect to put much Greek and Latin into him for some time yet. Besides, we want you to come every day, which ought to be considered in the rate of charge.” “Of course it ought,” said Hugh. “How much do you say, then, sir?” “I should be content with half-a-crown a lesson.” “I daresay you would!” replied the lady, with indignation. “Half-a-crown! That’s—six half-crowns is—fifteen shillings. Fifteen shillings a week for that mite of a boy! Mr. Sutherland, you ought to be ashamed of yourself, sir.” “You forget, Mrs. Appleditch, that it is as much trouble to me to teach one little boy—yes, a great deal more than to teach twenty grown men.” “You ought to be ashamed of yourself, sir. You a Christian man, and talk of trouble in teaching such a little cherub as that?” “But do pray remember the distance I have to come, and that it will take nearly four hours of my time every day.” “Then you can get lodgings nearer.” “But I could not get any so cheap.” “Then you can the better afford to do it.” And she threw herself back in her chair, as if she had struck the decisive blow. Mr. Appleditch remarked, gently: “It is good for your health to walk the distance, sir.” Mrs. Appleditch resumed: “I won’t give a farthing more than one shilling a lesson. There, now!” “Very well,” said Hugh, rising; “then I must wish you good day. We need not waste more time in talking about it.” “Surely you are not going to make any use of your time on a Sunday?” said the grocer, mildly. “Don’t be in a hurry, Mr. Sutherland. We tradespeople like to make the best bargain we can.” “Mr. Appleditch, I am ashamed of you. You always will be vulgar. You always smell of the shop.” “Well, my dear, how can I help it? The sugar and soft-soap will smell, you know.” “Mr. Appleditch, you disgust me!” “Dear! dear! I am sorry for that.—Suppose we say to Mr. Sutherland—”