"I must manage to get some more," said the mother. "I could hardly get along without my cup of tea." "Mother, here has been somebody who wants you to make shirts for him at two dollars a piece." "Two dollars a piece!" Mrs. Carpenter echoed. "I could afford to get tea then. Who was that, Rotha? and what sort of shirts does he want made for such a price?" "I don't know! he said he wanted them very particularly made, and I told him that was the way you did everything. Now mother dear, the kettle will boil in two minutes." "Who is this person?" "I told you, he is a city missionary. His name is Mr. Digby." "Digby,"--said Mrs. Carpenter. "I do not know him." "Of course you don't. But you will be glad of the shirts, won't you?" "Very glad, and thankful." "But is two dollars a proper price?" inquired Rotha a little jealously. "It is an uncommon price." "What could make him offer an uncommon price?" "I don't know. It is not the way of the world, so perhaps he is not one of the world." "He's a Christian, you mean?" "Yes." "Do Christians always do the right thing?" "Real Christians do, when they know what the right thing is. I am too tired to talk, Rotha." Rotha bestirred herself and set the little table. Not very much went on it, besides the cups and plates; but there was a loaf of bread, and Rotha made a slice of toast; and Mrs. Carpenter sipped her tea as if she found it refreshing. "I wish I had a good tumbler of milk," sighed Rotha; "real milk, not like this. And I wish you had some Medwayville cream, mother. I think, if I ever get back into the country again, I shall go wild." "I sometimes think you are a little of that here," said Mrs. Carpenter. "Not wild with joy, mother." Mrs. Carpenter sipped her tea, and stretched out her feet towards the small stove, and seemed to be taking some comfort. But her face was thin and worn, the hands were very thin; a person with more experience than her young daughter would have been ill content with her appearance. "Mother, now can you tell me my question? What do you mean by a 'gentleman.'" "Perhaps not just what Mrs. Marble means by it." "Well, I'll tell you. This person was very well dressed, but clothes do not make it, do they, mother?" "Certainly not." "He has got a nice face, and he seemed to know always just what to do and to say; I can't tell you what I mean exactly; but I should think, to look at him and hear him, that he knew everything and had seen all the world. Of course he hasn't and doesn't; but that is the sort of feeling I have when I look at him." Mrs. Carpenter smiled. "Did you never see anybody before of whom you thought so?"