'I've got two,' she said in a very meek voice, 'and there would have been another to-morrow, that's Saturday, if--I--hadn't----' 'What?' asked Mr. Vane. 'Tore my frock,' said Biddy very slowly. '_Torn_, if you please,' said her father. 'Well, suppose mamma lets you off as it's the first Saturday at Seacove, that will be threepence, and suppose I give you three pennies more, that will be sixpence--with sixpence you could make important purchases at the penny counter, could she not, Rough?' 'Certainly, I should say,' Randolph replied. Bridget's face crimsoned with pleasure. She got up from her seat and ran round to the arm-chair by the fire where Mr. Vane was quietly sipping his tea, and at the imminent risk of throwing it all over him, flung her arms round his neck. 'Oh, thank you, papa, _dear_ papa,' she said, 'dear, dear papa, and I do _so_ hope you'll be like the boy-that-brought-the-potatoes' papa, and I'm going always to be good now, always.' Poor Mr. Vane disengaged himself and his tea-cup with some difficulty from his little daughter's embraces. To his surprise, when he could manage to see her face, there were tears in her eyes. He was touched but at the same time rather apprehensive; it was ticklish work when Biddy's floodgates were opened. 'My poor little woman,' he said; 'yes, it's quite right to make good resolutions. But, remember, Rome wasn't built in a day, Bride; you'll have to keep up your courage and go on trying. But what's all that about boys and potatoes?' Biddy grew red; she felt by instinct that she must not tell over all the conversation; mamma would be vexed. 'I only meant----' and she hesitated. 'Biddy knew a little greengrocer boy in London who was very fond of his father,' said Rosalys quickly. 'Never mind about that just now,' Mrs. Vane added. 'I have several things I want to ask you about your study. If you have finished your tea, will you come in there with me? The work-people about here are rather stupid, I'm afraid, Bernard. They don't the least understand about the book-shelves.' 'Don't worry yourself about it,' Mr. Vane replied. 'Things will get straight by degrees. I'm afraid you have much more trouble now that M'Creagh's gone.' M'Creagh was Mrs. Vane's 'old maid,' as the children called her. She had been with her since Mrs. Vane's childhood, and had lately given up her right to the title by getting married, to the great regret of everybody except, I _fear_, Biddy. For M'Creagh had 'managed' the little girl in a wonderful way; that is to say, she had kept her in order, and Biddy very much preferred being left to her own devices. Mrs. Vane sat down on the low couch--one end of which was covered with piles of books,--they were in the study by this time. 'Yes,' she said, 'I miss M'Creagh, but my real trouble just now, Bernard, is Biddy. I am afraid I don't take the right way with her, somehow. She is so tiresomely heedless and provoking, and sometimes I really wonder if she has any heart.'