He went home to his mother, and told her he was to give lessons to the handsomest young lady he had ever seen. “She has bought the specimen tools too; so I must forge some more, and lose no time about it.” “Who is she, I wonder?” “Here is her card. 'Miss Carden, Woodbine Villa, Heath Hill.'” “Carden!” said the widow. Then, after a moment's thought, “Oh, Henry, don't go near them. Ah, I knew how it would be. Hillsborough is not like London. You can't be long hid in it.” “Why, what is the matter? Do you know the lady?” “Oh, yes. Her papa is director of an insurance company in London. I remember her being born very well. The very day she was christened--her name is Grace--you were six years old, and I took you to her christening; and oh, Harry, my brother is her godfather. Don't you go near that Grace Carden; don't visit any one that knew us in better days.” “Why, what have we to be ashamed of?” said Henry. “'Tisn't as if we sat twiddling our thumbs and howling, 'We have seen better days.' And 'tisn't as if we asked favors of anybody. For my part I don't care who knows I am here, and can make three hundred a year with my own hands and wrong no man. I'd rather be a good workman in wood and steel than an arrogant old fool like your b--. No, I won't own him for yours or mine either--call him Raby. Well, I wouldn't change places with him, nor any of his sort: I'm a British workman, and worth a dozen Rabys--useless scum!” “That you are, dear; so don't demean yourself to give any of them lessons. Her godfather would be sure to hear of it.” “Well, I won't, to please you. But you have no more pluck than a chicken--begging your pardon, mother.” “No, dear,” said Mrs. Little, humbly, quite content to gain her point and lose her reputation for pluck; if any. Henry worked regularly, and fast, and well, and in less than a fortnight a new set of his carving-tools were on view in Hillsborough, and another in London; for it was part of Mr. Cheetham's strategy to get all the London orders, and even make London believe that these superior instruments had originated in Hillsborough. One day Miss Carden called and saw Bayne in the office. Her vivid features wore an expression of vexation, and she complained to him that the wood-carver had never been near her. Bayne was surprised at that; but he was a man who always allayed irritation on the spot. “Rely on it, there's some reason,” said he. “Perhaps he has not got settled. I'll go for him directly.” “Thank you,” said the young lady. Then in the same breath, “No, take me to him, and perhaps we may catch him carving--cross thing!” Bayne assented cheerfully, and led the way across a yard, and up a dirty stone stair, which, solid as it was, vibrated with the powerful machinery that steam was driving on every side of it. He opened a door suddenly, and Henry looked up from his work, and saw the invaders. He stared a little at first, and then got up and looked embarrassed and confused.