What if he should adopt this young person into his family, procure a suitable governess, and allow the two to study and associate upon equal terms? Rhoda was an orphan—that was one great advantage. She was well-looking and had good taste in dress—that was another. And though, as was to be expected, she used somewhat common and colloquial expressions, she was not vulgar or ungrammatical in her speech, Isabella was fond of her, so was Mrs. Ferrand. "I will consider upon it, I really will," said Mr. Ferrand to himself. "I cannot but think the plan offers some considerable advantages, But it is not best to act in haste. I will consider upon it." Two or three days after the conversation in the library there came a ring at the door, and Rhoda opened it, as usual, to be astonished at the apparition of Uncle Jacob Weightman, who looked no less surprised at seeing her. "Why, Rhoda, is this you?" said he. "What are you doing here?" "My work," answered Rhoda. "Whom did you wish to see, Mr. Weightman?" "Oh, that is it?" answered the old man, with a smile of sour satisfaction. "I hope you like your boarding-school." "Whom did you wish to see?" repeated Rhoda. She was choked with anger, grief, and a spasm of homesickness, but not for the world would she have shed a tear before Uncle Jacob. "Does Mr. Ferrand live here?" "Yes. Do you wish to see him?" "You may tell him I have got some business with him," said Uncle Jacob. "Tell him a gentleman wants to see him on business about his Hobarttown property." Rhoda knocked at the library door, and said,— "Mr. Ferrand, here is a person wants to see you on business, if you please." "Oh, so I am not a gentleman in your eyes, Miss Rhoda? See if I don't pay you for that," muttered the old man as he went forward into the library. It was not very wise in Rhoda, or perhaps very Christian, but she was only a child, after all, and she certainly had small reason to love Mr. Weightman. She was to have still less before the morning was over. Mr. Ferrand was polite to everybody for his own sake, and he received Mr. Weightman with his usual courtesy. After they had finished their business, Mr. Weightman remarked, carelessly,— "I see you have that girl that my niece took from the asylum." "Your niece!" said Mr. Ferrand. "Yes, Mrs. Bowers, of Boonville. She had no children, and adopted this girl from some home or asylum in the city here. It was against my advice, and turned out just as I expected." "May I ask why your niece did not keep her?" asked Mr. Ferrand. "Please excuse my curiosity. I have a special reason for asking."