THE oatmeal was procured and duly prepared for breakfast. Now, to people who like oatmeal, and with whom it agrees, it is an agreeable and wholesome diet; but it does not agree with every one, and to those who dislike it, it is usually downright odious. So it was to Isa. "I can't bear it," she said to Rhoda, passionately. "It gives me the heartburn, and the very smell is disgusting. I can hardly bear to see you eat it." "I wish I could eat your share and mine too," said Rhoda. "I like it very well if I can have plenty of milk." "I'm sure I wish you could. Do give me a piece of bread, Rhoda. I am ready to faint away." Rhoda cut the bread, while Isa put it into her pocket. At that moment Mr. Ferrand came into the kitchen. "What are you doing here, Isabella?" he asked, in evident though calm displeasure. "May I ask what brings you into the kitchen at this time?" "I came for some hot water," said poor Isa, seizing on the first pretext which presented itself. "I'll get you a pail, Miss Isa," said Rhoda, rising, but Mr. Ferrand checked her. "Miss Ferrand has her own vessels for hot and cold water," said he, "or should have them. If your room is not properly furnished, Isabella, you should speak to your mother or me, and have the deficiency rectified. It is time you were preparing for school." "That's just what I want the water for," said Isa, breaking out in rebellion, as she did now and then. "Do let me get some hot water, pa. What is the use of making such a fuss for every little thing?" And snatching a cup from the shelf, she dipped out some hot water and ran up the back stairs to her own room. Mr. Ferrand looked after her with a glance which boded her no good, and then began a minute investigation of the state of the kitchen. Cupboards, dishes, towels, were all passed in review and commented on, and glad was Rhoda when the survey was finished. "You seem to have things in tolerable order, though there is not that degree of system which—But what is this?" he exclaimed, if anything so calm could be called an exclamation, and laying hold of Rhoda's slate and algebra, which lay in the kitchen window. "Does Miss Ferrand leave her books in the kitchen?" "Those are mine," answered Rhoda, briefly. "Yours! And may I inquire how you came by them and what use you make of them?" "My father bought them, and I use them to study," said Rhoda, rather crisply, for her patience began to wax threadbare. "Indeed! I should suppose that you might find studies more suitable to your position than algebra," said Mr. Ferrand. "I should say your time might be more profitably employed." "Why should not I study algebra as well as Miss Isa—Miss Ferrand, I mean?" asked Rhoda, who began to be more amused than angry. "I never touch it till my work is done, and what harm does it do?"