"I don't know much of anything!" said the girl, an eloquent flush coming into her pale face. It touched him. "A little of what, then?" said their visiter kindly. "You would not say it was anything." "She knows a little history," Mrs. Carpenter put in. "Have you any acquaintance with Alexander of Macedon, Rotha?" "The Great? asked Rotha. "He is called so." "Yes, I know about him." "Think he deserved the title?" "Yes, I suppose he did." "What for?" "He was such a clever man." "Well, I have no doubt he was," Mr. Digby returned, keeping a perfectly grave face with some difficulty; "a clever man; but how did he shew it?" Rotha paused, and a faint tinge, of excitement this time, rose again in her cheeks, and her eye waked up with the mental stir. "He had such grand plans," she answered. "Ah? yes. Which do you mean?" "For civilizing people; for bringing the different nations to know each other and be friends with each other; so that trade could be carried on, and knowledge and arts and civilization could spread to all; that his empire could be one great whole." "On the whole you approve of Alexander. After all, what use was he to the world?" "Why a good deal," said Rotha. "Don't you think so? His successors carried on his plans; at least some of them did; and the Greek language was spread through Asia, and the Jews encouraged to settle in Egyptian and Greek cities; and so the way was prepared for the spread of the gospel when it came." "Mrs. Carpenter," said Mr. Digby, "your manner of teaching history is very satisfactory!" "I have done what I could," said the mother, "but we had very few books to work with." "We had none," said Rotha, "except Rollin's Ancient History, and Plutarch's Lives." "One good book, well used, is worth a hundred under other circumstances. Then you do not know much of modern history, Rotha?" "Nothing at all; except what mother has told me." "How about grammar?" "I have taught her grammar," said Mrs. Carpenter; "and geography. She knows both pretty well. But I found, with my work, I could not teach her arithmetic; and I had not a good book for it. Rotha can do nothing with numbers." Mr. Digby gave the girl a simple question in mental arithmetic; and then another, and another. Rotha's brow grew intent; the colour in her cheeks brightened; she was grappling, it was plain, with the difficulties suggested to her, wrestling with them, conquering them, with the sort of zeal which conquers all difficulties not insurmountable. "May I give Rotha lessons in Latin?" Mr. Digby asked, turning quietly to Rotha's mother. "Latin!" Mrs. Carpenter exclaimed, and her cheeks too flushed slightly. "I should enjoy it. It is likely that important business will bring me frequently into this part of the city; so I could do it as well as not." "But it would be so much trouble--unless you are fond of teaching--"