As soon as Fanny had rested and enjoyed the home atmosphere downstairs, she begged to visit the dear old rooms, and carried Conrade through a course of recognitions through the scarcely altered apartments. Only one had been much changed, namely, the schoolroom, which had been stripped of the kindly old shabby furniture that Fanny tenderly recollected, and was decidedly bare; but a mahogany box stood on a stand on one side; there was a great accession of books, and writing implements occupied the plain deal table in the centre. “What have you done to the dear old room--do you not use it still?” asked Fanny. “Yes, I work here,” said Rachel. Vainly did Lady Temple look for that which women call work. “I have hitherto ground on at after-education and self-improvement,” said Rachel; “now I trust to make my preparation available for others. I will undertake any of your boys if you wish it.” “Thank you; but what is that box?”--in obedience to a curious push and pull from Conrade. “It is her dispensary,” said Grace. “Yes,” said Rachel, “you are weak and nervous, and I have just the thing for you.” “Is it homoeopathy?” “Yes, here is my book. I have done great things in my district, and should do more but for prejudice. There, this globule is the very thing for your case; I made it out last night in my book. That is right, and I wanted to ask you some questions about little Wilfred.” Fanny had obediently swallowed her own globule, but little Wilfred was a different matter, and she retreated from the large eyes and open book, saying that he was better, and that Mr. Frampton should look at him; but Rachel was not to be eluded, and was in full career of elucidation to the meanest capacity, when a sharp skirmish between the boys ended the conversation, and it appeared that Conrade had caught Francis just commencing an onslaught on the globules, taking them for English sweetmeats of a minute description. The afternoon passed with the strange heaviness well known to those who find it hard to resume broken threads after long parting. There was much affection, but not full certainty what to talk about, and the presence of the boys would have hindered confidence, even had they not incessantly occupied their mother. Conrade, indeed, betook himself to a book, but Francis was only kept out of mischief by his constantly turning over pictures with him; however, at dark, Coombe came to convey them home, and the ladies of the Homestead experienced a sense of relief. Rachel immediately began to talk of an excellent preparatory school. “I was thinking of asking you,” said Fanny, “if there is any one here who would come as a daily governess.” “Oh!” cried Rachel, “these two would be much better at school, and I would form the little ones, who are still manageable.” “Conrade is not eight years old yet,” said his mother in an imploring tone, “and the Major said I need not part with him till he has grown a little more used to English ways.”