"That would be as the Almighty chose," he replied. "But come now, my love; time passes quickly. I often forget, myself, how the years run on. How old are you, my dearie?" "I was seventeen my last birthday, Uncle Maurice; quite grown up, you know." "Why, to be sure, to be sure," he replied. "Your mother was married at seventeen, poor young thing! But in these days we are more sensible, and girls don't take the burden of life on them while they are still children. You are a schoolgirl yet, Annie, and won't be anything else for another year at least." "Oh, all right, uncle," said Annie, who had no wish to change Lyttelton School for the dullness of Rashleigh Rectory. "But the months fly on," said the old man. "Help yourself to a roast-apple, my dear. And before we know where we are," he continued, "you'll have left school and be back here with me. I look forward to that time, my little Annie; there will be a power of things for you to do, and the parish will be all the better for your society." Annie shuffled her feet and grew red. The old rector did not especially notice her. He was absorbed in contemplation. He had eaten his large bowl of Quaker oats, and now he laid the spoon on his plate and gazed into the fire. "It's a fine thing," he said, "to be able to help the poor and needy. I always say to myself, `When my bit Annie comes back we'll do so-and-so. We'll have more mothers' meetings and classes for young women.' There are some mill-hands near here, Annie, who are neglected in their spiritual part shamefully. They want a lady like yourself to understand them and to show them what girls ought to know. You might have sewing-classes, for instance; and you might read aloud to them just to interest them, you know. I have been thinking a lot about it. And then what do you say to a Sunday afternoon class, just in one of the big rooms here, for the mill-hands? It would be a pretty bit of work, and I wouldn't be above catching them, so to speak, by guile--I mean that I would give them tea and cake. Mrs Shelf wouldn't mind. We'd have to manage her, wouldn't we, Annie?" "Yes, uncle," said Annie, yawning; "yes." "Then there's a carving-class for the young men." "I wouldn't mind that so much as the other," said Annie suddenly. "Now, that is really nice of you, my child, for those rough mill-hands are often very troublesome. I would always accompany you myself to the carving-class. We'd get our patterns from London, and you would encourage them a bit." "Only I can't carve," said Annie. "Well, well, that needn't be a difficulty; for it is easy to learn, I am told; and you might have lessons during your last term at school. Oh, there'll be a deal for you to do, my pretty one, and no minute left unemployed; and you, all the time while you are so busy, the very sunshine of your old uncle's life." "Am I, Uncle Maurice?" she asked.