"Grand'ther, if I am ever rich enough to own a peaked-roof pig-sty, will you come and see me?" "Away with you." And he went nimbly back to the house, chafing his little hands. CHAPTER XI. I was going home! When we rode over the brow of the hill within a mile of Surrey, and I saw the crescent-shaped village, and the tall chimneys of our house on its outer edge, instead of my heart leaping for joy, as I had expected, a sudden indifference filled it. I felt averse to the change from the narrow ways of Barmouth, which, for the moment, I regretted. When I entered the house, and saw mother in her old place, her surroundings unaltered, I suffered a disappointment. I had not had the power of transferring the atmosphere of my year's misery to Surrey. The family gathered round me. I heard the wonted sound of the banging of doors. "The doors at grand'ther's," I mused, "had list nailed round their edges; but then he _had_ the list, being a tailor." "I vum," said Temperance, with her hand on her hip, and not offering to approach me, "your hair is as thick as a mop." Hepsey, rubbing her fingers against her thumb, remarked that she hoped learning had not taken away my appetite. "I have made an Indian bannock for you, and we are going to have broiled sword-fish, besides, for supper. Is it best to cook more, Mrs. Morgeson, now that Cassandra has come?" The boy, by name Charles, came to see the new arrival, but smitten with diffidence crept under the table, and examined me from his retreat. "Don't you wish to see Arthur?" inquired mother; "he is getting his double teeth." "Oh yes, and where's Veronica?" "She's up garret writing geography, and told me nothing in the world must disturb her, till she had finished an account of the city of Palmiry," said Temperance. "Call her when supper is ready," replied mother, who asked me to come into the bedroom where Arthur was sleeping. He was a handsome child, large and fair, and as I lifted his white, lax fingers, a torrent of love swept through me, and I kissed him. "I am afraid I make an idol of him, Cassy." "Are you unhappy because you love him so well, mother, and feel that you must make expiation?" "Cassandra," she spoke with haste, "did you experience any shadow of a change during the revival at Barmouth?" "No more than the baby here did." "I shall have faith, though, that it will be well with you, because you have had the blessing of so good a man as your grand'ther." "But I never heard a word of grand'ther's prayers. Do you remember his voice?" A smile crept into her blue eye, as she said: "My hearing him, or not, would make no difference, since God could hear and answer." "Grand'ther does not like me; I never pleased him."