Fanny was silenced, and Mary Wythburn went away to arrange with her mother for the object-lesson in housekeeping which some of the girls wanted. Mrs. Wythburn was exceedingly amused. She was living in most simple style, having taken very little furniture into the new home. But Mary was right. No place could be other than pretty and home-like where her mother was, and, though the house was new and the furniture plain, there was something which made it look altogether different from all the other houses in Craighelbyl. All the girls who wished passed through the rooms and admired or criticised their arrangements, and the gentle hostess not only allowed them to examine the objects which interested them, but explained how they were made. This was greatly appreciated by the young housekeepers, who were anxious to improve themselves and their homes. Later in the season there would be introduced at Craighelbyl some Saturday occupations and amusements for the people if it should be found necessary; but at present they all—men, women, and children—were too much interested in making their homes to care for anything else. The conveniences and beauties of the factory buildings, where most of them had worked for ten hours a day during the week, had delighted and encouraged them greatly, but it was each man’s home that made him feel independent and glad. When the day was waning Mary Wythburn was sitting in her own little room, when there came a tap at the door, and Fanny Burton entered in response to the cheery “Come in” for which she listened. A close friendship existed between the two girls, who had been so differently educated but who were now brought together in constant intercourse. It was a beautiful evening. The setting sun dyed the mountains and the sea, and lighted the stone houses of the new settlement. Birds sang on the branches of the trees, and the scent of some wild flowers which had been gathered in the woods filled the room. “What a change from Paradise Grove!” said Fanny. “It is not like the same world. To be here, with all one’s own people, so near London, and yet so far away from its misery, seems wonderful.” “Do you think the people regret any part of the old life, Fanny?” “Not yet. Perhaps they will, though; but surely not very much, nor for long.” “Listen! There is singing.” “Oh, yes! There are to be all sorts of little gatherings this evening in the homes of some of the men. They are so ready for Sunday that they wish to begin it overnight. There will be no vacant places at church to-morrow. Everybody who went last Sunday wishes to go again.” “I am glad of that, for Mr. Knight’s sake.”