Margaret’s home was in the centre of the pretty Darentdale Village, and the name of it was “The Old House”—a name which was appropriate since it was the oldest dwelling in the place. The other inhabitants were a man whom she called grandfather, whose name was Henry Harris, and his housekeeper, Ann Johnson. The Old House had originally belonged to John Dallington’s uncle, Captain Frank Dallington, and it was he who brought Harris to Darentdale. Margaret came with them, and since she was but a child they at once made inquiries for a suitable person to act as foster-mother to her as well as housekeeper to Harris. Ann Johnson presented herself, and was accepted; nor had there been reason to regret the appointment, for she had proved herself warm-hearted, if somewhat rough, and entirely trustworthy, though peculiar. The Old House had previously been empty for some time, for Captain Dallington would neither let it nor live in it; but he had it furbished up and comfortably furnished, and then he spent some months in it with Harris. There were plenty of rooms in the house, and one of them which faced the front was turned into a bookseller’s shop. But Darentdale folk were not great readers, and the trade was so small that the people became rather suspicious about the shop, and often wondered where Harris got the money to enable him to live comfortably. He, however, vouchsafed no information, and when Ann Johnson was questioned, she always began telling a tale about somebody or other, instead of giving a definite answer, so the Darentdalers had nothing left but to exercise their imagination. Mr. Harris was for some time no favourite in the place. Some said he was an atheist, though he was pronounced generally to be neither one thing nor the other. He did not go to either of the inns to spend his evenings sociably with his neighbours; but neither when a Temperance Mission was held did he don the Blue Ribbon. As to politics, he acknowledged that he was neither a Tory nor a Radical, but voted for the best man—as if the man had anything to do with it when there was the party to support! The villagers did not know what to make of a man who never called others names, and had no principles at all. But he had now been at Darentdale fifteen years, and it was strange how few people there were in the parish who, at some time or other, had not been helped by Henry Harris. There was nobody like him for getting another out of a difficulty, and almost every one had been glad to avail himself of the unostentatious assistance that was always ready. But some people liked Harris less on that account, and a few whom he had served the most were the most sure that they owed him a grudge. It is only noble people who know how to accept help gracefully.