The conscience of Mr. Jones, little used to such reflections, made him feel extremely uneasy; and if that of Mary was not quite so sensitive, the dull routine of the paternal home added much force to the conclusion "that she had much better have stayed with Miss Gray." Mary was too childish, and had ever been too much indulged to care for consistency. At the close of a week, she therefore declared that she wished to go back to Miss Gray, and did not know why her father had taken her away. "I--I--my dear!" said Richard Jones, confounded at the accusation, "you said getting up early made your side ache." "So it did; but I could have got up late, and gone all the same, only you wouldn't let me; you kept me here to mind the shop. I hate the shop. Teapot and all!" added Mary, busting into tears. Jones hung down his head--then shook it "Oh! my little Mary--my little Mary!" he exclaimed, ruefully; and he felt as if he could hare cried himself, to see the strange perversity of this spoiled child, "who turned upon him," as he internally phrased it, and actually upbraided him with his over-indulgence. A wiser father would never have thus indulged a pettish daughter, and never have humbled himself as, to please his little Mary, Richard Jones now did. That same day, he went round to Rachel Gray's; he had hoped that she might be alone in the little parlour; but no, there sat, as if to increase his mortification, Mrs. Gray, stiff and stern, and Jane smiling grimly. Rachel alone was the same as usual. Jones scratched his head, coughed, and looked foolish; but at length he came out with it: "Would Miss Gray take back his daughter, whose health a week's rest had much improved--much improved," he added, looking at Rachel doubtfully. Mrs. Gray drew herself up to utter a stern "No," but for once the mild Rachel checked and contradicted her mother, and said: "Yes, Mr. Jones, with great pleasure. You may send her to-day, if you like. She has missed us, and we have missed her." "Thank you, Miss Gray--thank you," said Jones, hurriedly rising to leave. "Give Mary my kind love," whispered Rachel, as she let him out. But Jones had not heard her. Very slowly, and with his hands in his pockets, he walked down the street. He had not grown tired of Mary's company; why had Mary grown tired of his? "It's natural, I suppose," he thought, "it's natural;" and when he entered the shop, where Mary sat sulking behind the counter, and he told her that she might go back to Miss Gray's, and when he saw her face light up with pleasure, he forgot that, though natural, it was not pleasant. "You may go to-day," he added, smiling. At once, Mary flew upstairs to her room. In less than five minutes, she was down again, and merely nodding to her father as she passed through the shop, off she went, with the light, happy step of youth. "It's natural," he thought again, "it's very natural," but he sighed.