"Kind? Yes! Wonderful kind! I should like to know what business she has to be so kind, as you call it?" "She has a right to do what she likes with her own, I suppose," said Mrs. Bowers, with some spirit. "And she has written all over the flyleaves, so that you can't take it back or exchange it for anything useful," continued Uncle Jacob: "'To my dearest niece and pupil.' Do you hear that, Maria? Rhoda is her dearest niece. Well, I must say I think charity begins at home. I think she might consider her own family a little. But I suppose you are too well off to care what your relations do with their money." "Will you please give me my book, Mr. Weightman?" said Rhoda, in a voice which expressed more than her words, and holding out her hand for the book. "Oh ho! So I am Mr. Weightman now, am I?" said he, still retaining the volume, and evidently enjoying Rhoda's irritation. "I was Uncle Jacob this afternoon, I remember." "It was a mere slip of the tongue, Mr. Weightman," said Rhoda, trying hard to control her temper. "I am sure I should never call you 'Uncle' if I knew what I was saying. Will you please give me my book?" Mr. Weightman threw it on the table: "Take it, then, and learn manners from it, if you can. Niece Maria, I wish you joy of your adopted daughter. It is easy to see that she will get on in the world." "You may go to your own room, Rhoda," said Mr. Bowers; "and another time don't stay away all the afternoon and leave your work for your mother as you did to-night." Rhoda could not trust herself to speak. She took up her book and retreated, smarting under a sense of injustice such as she had never felt before. It was hard enough to be insulted in that way, but that her father should take part against her, and her mother should not say a word for her—it was almost too much to bear. She retreated to the kitchen, and busied herself in putting away the milk and preparing things for the night till Mr. Weightman went away and Mr. Bowers came into the kitchen. "What are you doing here?" he asked, harshly. "Didn't you hear me tell you to go to bed?" "I thought I would put things away," Rhoda began, but Mr. Bowers stopped her. "Oh yes! You thought you would do anything rather than what you were told. You have got to turn over a new leaf, Rhoda, and learn to mind, and not spend all your time running about and reading story-books. And I don't want to hear any excuses or fine speeches. Go to bed, and another time do as I tell you." Mr. Bowers was a man of moods and tenses; and whatever the mood of the moment might be, he rarely failed to make those about him sensible of the same. Knowing this to be the case, Rhoda thought less of his words than she would otherwise have done. Girl-like, she had a good cry when she got up stairs by herself, but, girl-like, she cried away most of her trouble, and was prepared to take the best view that was possible.