"Oh father! I think there's a good deal in a name. But never mind," I continued, for I didn't want him to go off into one of those long dissertations which he was so fond of, quite forgetting the person he was talking to. So I added hastily, "Miss Grace Donnithorne called. She said she was a friend of yours. Do you know her?" "Miss--Grace--Donnithorne?" said father, speaking very slowly and pausing between each word. "Miss--Grace--Donnithorne?" "Why, yes, father," I said, and I went close to him now. "She was, oh, so funny--such a fat, jolly sort of person! Only she didn't like this house one bit." "Eh? Eh?" said my father. He sank into a chair near the fire. "That is the very chair she sat in." My father looked round at it. "The shabbiest chair in the whole house," he said. "But the most comfy, father." "Well, all right; tell me about her." "She sat here, and she made me have a good fire." "Quite right. Why should you be cold, Dumps?" "But I thought, father, that you did not want us to be extravagant?" "It is far more extravagant, let me tell you, Dumps, to get a severe cold and to have doctors' bills to pay." I was startled by this sentiment of father's, and treasured it up to retail to Hannah in the future. "But tell me more about her," he said. Then I related exactly what had happened. He was much amused, and after a time he said, with a laugh, "And so you got tea for her?" "Yes; she insisted on it. She wouldn't let me off getting that tea for all the world. I didn't mind it, of course--indeed, I quite enjoyed it--but what I did find hard was bringing up the hod of coal from the coal-cellar." "Good practice, Dumps. Arms are made to be useful." "So they are," I answered. "And feet are made to run with." "Of course, father." "And a girl's little brain is meant to keep a house comfortable." "But, father, I haven't such a little brain; and I think I could do something else." "Could what?" said father, opening his eyes with horror. "What in the world is more necessary for a girl who is one day to be a woman than to know how to keep a house comfortable?" "Yes, yes," I said; "I suppose so." I was very easily stopped when father spoke in that high key. "And you have complained to me that you find life dull. Did you find Miss Grace Donnithorne dull?" "Oh no; she is very lively, father." Father slowly crossed one large white hand over the other; then he rose. "Good-night, Dumps," he said. "Have you nothing more to say?" I asked. "Good gracious, child! this is my night for school. I have to give two lectures to the boys of the First Form. Good-night--good-night." He did not kiss me--he very seldom did that--but his voice had a very affectionate tone.