She retained barely enough to furnish for Mary a comfortable room, and accepted, much to the faithful creature’s mortification, a “place” in a family—one of the hardest “places” to endure, and yet as good, perhaps, as, from her father’s position, she could have expected—as half-teacher, half-servant; a mingling of opposite duties; against the mingling of which, reason utterly revolts; inasmuch as the one must inevitably destroy the influence of the other. [Picture: Fulham church?] It was not in the thick atmosphere of the crowded city—where the most healthful find it difficult to breathe, and where the panting sufferer’s agony is increased fourfold—that Lucy undertook the duties and labours of her new occupation; her way lay through the venerable and picturesque OLD VILLAGE OF FULHAM, and so, beneath the arch and over the “wooden way,” to Putney. Pleasant and happy the sister villages looked; divided by the noble Thames, and joined by the bridge—the most primitive of all the bridges which cross the broad river. Mary walked respectfully behind; but, now and then, spoke words of encouragement, while the tears ran down her cheeks. They paused to look down upon the water, so broad and glassy, athwart whose bosom the long light boats were sporting; the clock of Putney church struck the hour, and Lucy remembered that, for the first time in her life, she was bound to note its chime as the voice of an employer. The VILLAGE OF PUTNEY was soon passed; yet not without some difficulty to the poor girl; her chest heaved and panted as she endeavoured to walk lightly up the rising ground towards the Heath, where her future home was situated; poor Mary whispering, “Take it asy, dear; don’t hurry yourself, avourneen.” They parted at the gate. [Picture: Putney with bridge and church]