In the adjoining house dwelt two Quaker ladies named Deavor, an aunt and niece, the latter a year or two older than Dolly. They showed themselves very friendly to the new-comers, as did their respectable old servant-maid, and the two families became intimate neighbours. Dolly, seventeen now, was placed with Miss Pedley, one of the first dressmakers in the city, as out-door apprentice. She was bound to her for three years, and went to and fro daily. Tom was day-scholar at a gentleman's school in the neighbourhood. One Saturday evening in summer, when they had been about three months in their new abode, Mrs. Grape was sitting at the table in the front-room, making up a smart cap for herself. She had never put on mourning for her husband, always cherishing the delusive hope that he would some day return. Tom sat by her, doing his lessons; Dolly was near the open window, nursing a grey kitten. Tom looked as hot as the evening, as he turned over the books before him with a puzzled face. He was a good-looking boy, with soft brown eyes, and a complexion as brilliant as his sister's. "I say, mother," cried he, "I don't think this Latin will be of much good to me. I shan't make any hand at it." "You will be like me then, Tom, for I'm sure I shall never make much of a hand at dressmaking," spoke up Dolly. "Miss Pedley sees it too." "Be quiet, Dolly; don't talk nonsense," said Mrs. Grape. "Let Tom finish his tasks." Thus reprimanded, silence ensued again. It grew dusk; candles were lighted and the window was shut down, as the breeze blew them about; but the bright moonlight still streamed in. Presently Dolly left the room to give the kitten its supper. Suddenly, Tom shut up his books with a bang. "Finished, Tom?" "Yes, mother." He was putting them away when a knock came to the front-door. Tom opened it. "Halloa, Bill!" said he. "Halloa, Tom!" responded a boy's voice. "I've come up to ask if you'll go fishing with me to-morrow." "To-morrow!" echoed Tom in surprise. "Why, to-morrow's Sunday!" "Bother! I mean Monday. I'm going up to the Weir at Powick: there's first-rate fishing there. Will you come, Tom?" Mrs. Grape wondered who the boy was; she knew the voices of some of Tom's schoolfellows, but did not recognize this one. Tom, standing on the low step outside, had partly closed the door behind him, and she could not see out; but she heard every word as plainly as though the speakers had been in the room. "I should like to go, but I'm sure I could never get leave from school," said Tom. "Why, the Midsummer examination comes on the end of next week; our masters just do keep us to it!" "Stingy old misers! You might take French leave, Tom."