"The girls have been playing those things to me for years," he said, "but I never saw any sense in them before. It was all diddle-diddle, twang-twang. Now, when you play them, bless me! I feel as I did when Cook's man began to speak English to me, the first time I was at a French railway station." With Matilda's handsome brother, Mona did not get on so well. "Getting tired of your hobby, Miss Maclean?" he said, standing in front of her, and twirling his moustache. Mona looked up with innocent eyes. "Which hobby?" she said. He laughed and changed the subject. He was not shy, but he had not the courage to specify shopkeeping. All evening Matilda followed Mona like a shadow; taking her hand whenever she dared, and gazing up into her face with worshipping eyes. "It is too lovely having you here," she said, "but I can't forget it's the end of all things." "Oh no, it is not," Mona answered. "You will be coming up to London one of these days, and perhaps your mother will let you spend a few days with me. In the meantime, I want you to spend a long afternoon with me to-morrow." The long afternoon was in some respects a trying one, but that and most of the other farewells were over at length, and Mona was hard at work packing up. "What a lifetime it seemed, six months ago!" she said, "and now that it is past---- And how little I ever dreamed that I should be so sorry to go!" She had to find room for quite a number of keepsakes, and she almost wept over the heterogeneous collection. There were home-made needle-books and pin-cushions from the girls who had come to her for advice about bonnets, and situations, and husbands; there was a pair of gaudy beaded footstools, which Rachel had got as a bargain at the bazaar; there was a really beautiful Bible from the Bonthrons (how Mona longed to show it to Dr Dudley!); and from Matilda Cookson there was a wreath of shells and sea-weed picked up near Castle Maclean, and mounted on cardboard, with these lines in the centre of the wreath-- "FROM M. C. IN GRATEFUL MEMORY OF THE HAPPIEST HOURS OF HER LIFE." The inspiration was a happy one, and it had been carried out with much care, and a dash of art. Tradition and early education had of course to put in their say; and they did it in the form of a massive gold frame, utterly out of keeping with the simple wreath. "Oh dear! why will people be so pathetic?" said Mona; but, if the gifts had been priceless jewels, she could not have packed them with tenderer care. Then came the hardest thing of all, the parting with Rachel. A bright and competent young woman had been engaged in Mona's place, but Rachel could not be induced to hear a word in her favour. "What's all that to me?" she sobbed; "it's not like one's own flesh and blood. You'd better never have come!"