It was no work at all: but play. A young lady was quietly whirling round the room with a dancing step--quietly, because her feet and movements were gentle; and the tune she was humming, and to which she kept time, was carolled in an undertone. She was moving thus in the happy innocence of heart and youth. A graceful girl of middle height; one whom it gladdened the eye to look upon. Not for her beauty, for she had no very great beauty to boast of; but it was one of those countenances that win their own way to favour. A fair, gentle face, openly candid, with the same earnest, honest grey eye that so pleased you in Francis Tait, and brown hair. She was that gentleman's eldest child, and looked about eighteen. In reality she was a year older, but her face and dress were both youthful. She wore a violet silk frock, made with a low body and short sleeves: girls did not keep their pretty necks and arms covered up then. By daylight the dress would have appeared old, but it looked very well by candle-light. The sound of the latch-key in the front door brought her dancing to an end. She knew who it was--no inmate of that house possessed a latch-key except its master--and she turned to the fire to light the candles. Mr. Tait came into the room, removing neither overcoat nor hat. "Have you made tea, Jane?" "No, papa; it has only just struck five." "Then I think I'll go out again first. I have to call on one or two of the women, and it will be all one wetting. My feet are soaked already"--looking down at his buckled shoes and black gaiters. "You can get my slippers warmed, Jane. But"--the thought apparently striking him--"would your mamma care to wait?" "Mamma had a cup of tea half an hour ago," replied Jane. "She said it might do her good; if she could get some sleep after it, she might be able to come down for a little before bedtime. The tea can be made whenever you like, papa. There's only Francis at home, and he and I could wait until ten, if you pleased." "I'll go at once, then. Not until ten, Miss Jane, but until six, or about that time. Betty King is ill, but does not live far off. And I must step in to the Widow Booth's." "Papa," cried Jane as he was turning away, "I forgot to tell you. Francis says he thinks he knows of a gentleman who would like to come here in Mr. Acton's place." "Ah! who is it?" asked the rector. "One of the masters at the school. Here's Francis coming down. He only went up to wash his hands." "It is our new mathematical master, sir," cried Francis Tait, a youth of eighteen, who was being brought up to the Church. "I overheard him ask Dr. Percy if he could recommend him to a comfortable house where he might board, and make one of the family: so I told him perhaps you might receive him here. He said he'd come down and see you." Mr. Tait paused. "Would he be a desirable inmate, think you, Francis? Is he a gentleman?"