But Beth had her human moments. They generally came on in wet weather, which depressed her. She would then stand in the drawing-room window by the hour together, looking out at the miserable street, thinking of the poor people, all cold and wet and hungry. She longed to do something for them, and one day she stopped a little girl who was going with a jug for some beer to the "Shining Star," a quiet little public-house on the same side of the street. "I suppose you are a very ignorant little girl," said Beth severely. "Aw?" "What's your name?" "Emily Bean." "Do you learn lessons?" "Naw." "Dear me, how dreadful!" said Beth. "You ought to be taught, you know. Would you like to be taught?" "Ah should." "Well, you come here every afternoon at two o'clock, and I'll teach you." "Ah mon jest ass mother first," said Emily. "Yes--I'd forgotten that," Beth rejoined. "Well, you come if she lets you." Emily nodded, and was going on her errand, but stopped. "Did you ass yer own mother if you might?" she wanted to know. "No, I didn't think of that either," Beth rejoined. "But I will." "Will she let you?" "I don't know"--rather doubtfully. "I expect she will if you wait until she's in a good humour," the child of the people sagely suggested. "All right. You come at any rate," Beth answered boldly. Mrs. Caldwell consented. She came of a long line of lady patronesses, and thought it natural and becoming that her child should wish to improve the "common people." Punctually to the moment Emily arrived next day, and Beth sat down with her in the kitchen, and taught her a, b, ab, and b, a, d, bad. Then she repeated a piece of poetry to her, and read her a little story. Harriet was busy in the back kitchen, and Bernadine was out with her mother and Aunt Victoria, so Beth and her pupil had the kitchen to themselves. The next day, however, Harriet wanted to clean the kitchen, so they had to retire to the acting-room. This was Beth's first attempt to apply such knowledge as she possessed, and in her anxiety to improve the child of the people, she improved herself in several respects. She began to read better, became less afraid of writing and spelling, mastered the multiplication table, and found she could "make out" how to do easy sums from the book. This gave her the first real interest she had ever had in school-work, and inspired her with some slight confidence in herself. She felt the dignity of the position of teacher too, and the responsibility. She never betrayed her own ignorance, nor did anything to shake Emily's touching belief in her superiority; and she never shook Emily. She knew she could have done better herself if there had been less thumping and shaking, and she had the wisdom to profit by her mother's errors of judgment already--not that Emily ever provoked her. The child was apt and docile, and the lessons were a sort of improving game.