"It was such a favourite of mine, Miss Arkwright," said he; "but what is sacred to a maid-of-all-work? My only consolation, when she smashed it this morning, was the thought that it would serve in the foreground of your sketch." Saying which, the kind-hearted little man laid the red crocks among the weeds, and after much pulling up and down of blinds to coax a good light on to the subject, he called Eleanor to set to work. "It is _very_ good of you," said Eleanor emphatically. "When I have been so rude, too!" "It is a pleasure," said the old man; "and will be doubly so if you do it well. I should like to try it myself," he added, making a few hasty dashes with the pencil. "Ah, my dear young lady, be thankful that you will sketch for pleasure, and not for bread! It is pleasanter to learn than to teach." Out of gratitude to Mr. Henley alone, Eleanor would have done her best at the new "study"; but apart from this the change of subject was delightful to her. She had an accurate eye, and her outlines had hitherto contrasted favourably with her colouring in copies of the sketches she could not like. The old drawing-master was delighted with her pencil sketch of his "crockery among the reeds," and Eleanor confessed to getting help from him in the choice and use of her colours. "Studies" became the fashion among the more intelligent pupils at Bush House; though I have heard that experience justified the old man's prophecy that they would not be so popular with the parents as the former style had been. "They like lakes, and boats, and mountains, and ruins, and a brighter style of colouring," he had said, and, as it proved, with truth. Eleanor was his favourite pupil. Indeed, she was in favour with all the teachers. A certain quaint little German was our arithmetic-master; a very good one, whose patience was often sorely tried by our stupidity or frivolity. On such occasions he rained epithets on us, which, from his imperfect knowledge of English, were often comical, and roused more amusement than shame. But for Eleanor he never had a harsh word. She was thoroughly fond of arithmetic, and "gave her mind to it," to use a good old phrase. "Ah!" the little man would yell at us. "You are so light-headed! Sometimes you do do a sum, and sometimes not; but you do never _think_. There is not one young lady of this establishment who thinks, but Miss Arkwright alone." I remember an incident connected with the arithmetic-master which occurred just after we came, and which roused Eleanor's intense indignation. It was characteristic, too, of Madame's ideas of propriety. The weather was warm, and we were in the habit of dressing for tea. Our toilettes were of the simplest kind. Muslin garibaldis, for coolness, and our "second-best" skirts. Eleanor, Matilda, and I shared one room. On the first Wednesday evening after our arrival at Bush House we were dressing as usual, when Emma ran in.