"I should think you would like that," said Rhoda. "I read a book about the Moravian school at Konigsfeld, and I thought it seemed lovely." "Yes, I know what you mean. I had the book too, and I asked papa to send me there. Then he read it—the book, I mean; but he said they did nothing but play, as far as he could see. He didn't think it would answer at all. And I don't have one minute's time to myself from one month's end to another. I do like my Bible lessons—there seems some use in them—and I like to read, but I can't. Pa don't approve of light reading. He says the only true use of reading is to gain information and improve the mind." "I have noticed that you don't seem to have any story-books," remarked Rhoda. "No, hardly any; and papa won't even take a magazine for fear I should get some fun out of it. Oh, you'll see when he comes home. It isn't like the same house when he is here." "Where has he gone?" asked Rhoda. "To some educational convention or other. Well, I must go at these things, I suppose. Can't you come and sit with me when your work is done? I like to have you even when I can't talk." "I am afraid your mother would not like it," said Rhoda. "She won't care; and besides, she won't know: she won't be home till nine. And there's another thing: I like to go to the Wednesday evening service ever so much; but if I say anything, papa always asks, 'What about your lessons, Isabella?' in that provoking way of his. Well, there! You needn't look shocked. I know I ought not to talk so, but it is a comfort to speak one's mind for once." "I will bring over my algebra next time I go home," said Rhoda. "I should like to go over what I studied. I was always pretty quick at figures, and perhaps I could help you." "Why, you seem to have a real good education," said Isa, surprised. "I shouldn't think you would be living out. How did it happen?" "It is a long story and not a very pleasant one," said Rhoda, flushing a little. "I'll tell you some time, but not to-night. I must wash my dishes; and excuse me, Miss Isa, but I think you ought to be practising." "Well, don't I know it?" asked Isa, irritably. And striking a chord, or discord, which tortured Rhoda's ears, she went on with her music. "Poor girl!" thought Rhoda as she retired to the kitchen. "I don't think I should like lessons myself if they were crammed down my throat in that way. Oh dear! What work she does make! She can't have the least bit of an ear. I wonder what her father is like? He must be queer, I think." Rhoda was destined to be fully convinced of Mr. Ferrand's queerness before she had done with him. One morning Mrs. Ferrand came into the kitchen, her cheeks a little paler and more than the usual shade of anxiety in her manner. "Mr. Ferrand is coming home to-night, Rhoda," said she. "We must have everything about the place in order. He is very particular. Be sure to have the range blackened up and all the ashes taken care of. Don't the tins want cleaning?"