"We sha'n't have a very pleasant day for our shopping," said Mrs Grant. "Are we going shopping?" I asked. "Yes; I am going to take you shopping to-day. You will want your school outfit." I felt myself turning first red and then pale. "Oh, but, please--" I began. She stopped helping herself to marmalade and looked at me. She and I were alone; the Professor and the boys were all at the college. "But?" she said. "What is it, dear?" "I don't want to go." "I am sorry, but we have very little time to lose. I have ordered the carriage to be here at ten o'clock." "But--" I said, faltering somewhat in my speech, for her manner was beginning to tell on me. I was struggling and struggling against it, but struggling as the swimmer does who knows that time and tide are against him. "Yes?" she said. "I want to go for a walk. I hate driving." "To walk on such a day, Rachel? I should think you would be glad to have the comfort of our carriage." She was always careful never to call anything hers; she always said "ours." I flushed angrily. "I hate driving," I repeated. "I am sorry, dear. Well, we will get the things you hate over as quickly as possible. You must get your school outfit, you see, as you are going to Paris on the 21st. Now run upstairs and get your hat and jacket on." Was there ever a girl so bullied before? I went unwillingly upstairs. On the second floor, where I now slept, I saw Hannah coming downstairs. I ran up to her and took one of her hands. "What have you been doing?" I asked. "Doing?" said Hannah. "Doing? What's the matter with you, Dumps?" "She's going to send me away, Hannah." "Don't talk to me," replied Hannah. "Hannah, I must I'm just stifling." "I can't talk to you now--not now. She's everywhere, and she has her spies about--all them new servants; they're hand in glove with her-- eating her food and taking her wages." "But, Hannah, we eat her food and take her wages." "Well, I must confess I thought there was a time when I could put up with it, but if you go I go too. There!" I clutched her hand. There came a rustling sound of a silk dress up the stairs. No, it was not a silk dress; it was a woollen one of good material, but Mrs Grant had all her dresses lined with silk. "I hate going," I had just time to whisper. "I'll come to your bedroom to-night, and we'll talk this thing out," said Hannah. But how small I felt myself, condescending to talk even to poor old Hannah about my step-mother! "Come, dear," cried the pleasant voice, "are you ready? The carriage is at the door." I rushed into my bedroom, got into my hat and jacket, and was downstairs in a trice. Mrs Grant came up to me. "Not tidily put on, Rachel," she said. She dragged my tie into a straight position, and straightened my hat; then she said approvingly, "Ah! gloves are nice, and so are the boots. Always remember, Rachel, that a lady is known by her good gloves and good boots. Now then, come."