"But I must take heed of injustice," the pastor resumed; "I do not think they would have treated me so had they not imagined me possessed of private means. The pity now is that the necessity which would make me glad to fall in with your kind proposal itself renders the thing impracticable. Even with what your friend would contribute to the housekeeping we could not provide a table fit for her. But Dorothy ought to have the pleasure of hearing your kind proposition: if you will allow me I will call her." Dorothy was in the kitchen, making pastry--for the rare treat of a chicken pudding: they had had a present of a couple of chickens from Mrs. Thomson--when she heard her father's voice calling her from the top of the little stair. When Lisbeth opened the door to the curate she was on her way out, and had not yet returned; so she did not know any one was with him, and hurried up with her arms bare. She recoiled half a step when she saw Mr. Wingfold, then went frankly forward to welcome him, her hands in her white pinafore. "It's only flour," she said, smiling. "It is a rare pleasure now-a-days to catch a lady at work" said Wingfold. "My wife always dusts my study for me. I told her I would not have it done except she did it--just to have the pleasure of seeing her at it. My conviction is, that only a lady can become a thorough servant." "Why don't you have lady-helps then?" said Dorothy. "Because I don't know where to find them. Ladies are scarce; and any thing almost would be better than a houseful of half-ladies." "I think I understand," said Dorothy thoughtfully. Her father now stated Mr. Wingfold's proposal--in the tone of one sorry to be unable to entertain it. "I see perfectly why you think we could not manage it, papa," said Dorothy. "But why should not Miss Meredith lodge with us in the same way as with Mrs. Puckridge? She could have the drawing-room and my bedroom, and her meals by herself. Lisbeth is wretched for want of dinners to cook." "Miss Meredith would hardly relish the idea of turning you out of your drawing-room," said Wingfold. "Tell her it may save us from being turned out of the house. Tell her she will be a great help to us," returned Dorothy eagerly. "My child," said her father, the tears standing in his eyes, "your reproach sinks into my very soul." "My reproach, father!" repeated Dorothy aghast. "How you do mistake me! I can't say with you that the will of God is every thing; but I can say that far less than your will--your ability--will always be enough for me."