"One minute, dear," was the brisk reply, from the dim recesses of a store-cupboard at the extreme end of the hall, and in less than that time Mrs. Drury appeared upon the scene. She was a plump little woman, with soft brown eyes and hair which waved a trifle, but otherwise was combed smoothly back from her broad white brow. Her blue serge dress was enveloped in a large holland apron, for she was on housekeeping work intent that morning; indeed, her hands bore traces of some floury substance which she was emptying when the vicar called her. Her bright face, still young enough to possess a dimple in the chin, was flushed with the exercise of trotting back and forth between store-cupboard and kitchen, and to her husband she made a sweet, homely picture as she entered his study, ready to help him in whatever way he needed. "Sit down a minute, Nora," he said, as he pushed an arm-chair forward, "there is a very sad case here." And the vicar unburdened his mind. For a few minutes they chatted over the sad details of the case in point, and as the vicar had expected, Mrs. Drury’s woman’s wit saw a way of helping, quicker than he had done. "Well, I will call there first thing this afternoon," he said, as his wife returned to her interrupted duties. As she arranged her stores, she contrasted the sad state of the little blind girl for whom they had just been planning, with the happy lot of her own little daughter. "Thank God my precious Amethyst has her eyesight," she murmured; and then, as a deep-toned clock struck the hour, she added: "Why, it is striking one! She will be home directly; I must hurry." In a few minutes the stores were all put away, the apron removed, and Mrs. Drury was standing in the large bay window of the dining-room watching for her little daughter to return from school, while the housemaid laid the table for dinner. Very soon she descried a trim little figure, clad in scarlet, hastening along the pavement, swinging her lesson books by their strap, and waving her hand gaily in response to her mother’s smile, and in a moment more she was in Mrs. Drury’s arms. "Oh! mumsie darling," she cried, breathlessly, "I’m moved up!" "Are you, my pet? I’m so glad." And her mother pressed loving kisses upon the upturned face, all quivering with the excitement of telling her news. "Then you are in the Upper School now?" "Yes, mumsie, the Fourth Form. And Olive and Elsa Franklyn, and Gipsy Monroe and a lot of others have been moved up too. And oh! mumsie, there’s a new----" Here she paused from sheer want of breath, and Mrs. Drury interposed saying: "You shall tell me your news presently, darling, but now you must run and make yourself tidy for dinner, for there is the gong."