Though Mrs. Vavasour has a flannel apron on (for she will wash the children herself, in spite of Elsley's grumblings), Tom sees that she is a lady; and puts on, accordingly, his very best manner, which, as his experience has long since taught him, is no manner at all. He does his work quietly and kindly, and bows himself out. "You will be sure to send the medicine immediately, Mr. Thurnall." "I will bring it myself, madam; and, if you like, administer it. I think the young gentleman has made friends with me sufficiently already." Tom keeps his word, and is back, and away again to his shop, in a marvellously short space, having "struck a fresh root," as he calls it; for-- "What a very well-behaved sensible man that Mr. Thurnall is," says Lucia to Elsley, an hour after, as she meets him coming in from the garden, where he has been polishing his "Wreck." "I am sure he understands his business; he was so kind and quiet, and yet so ready, and seemed to know all the child's symptoms beforehand, in such a strange way. I do hope he'll stay here. I feel happier about the poor children than I have for a long time." "Thurnall?" asks Elsley, who is too absorbed in the "Wreck" to ask after the children; but the name catches his ear. "Mr. Heale's new assistant--the man who was wrecked," answers she, too absorbed, in her turn, in the children to notice her husband's startled face. "Thurnall? Which Thurnall?" "Do you know the name? It's not a common one," says she, moving to the door. "No--not a common one at all! You said the children were not well?" "I am glad that you thought of asking after the poor things." "Why, really, my dear--" But before he can finish his excuse (probably not worth hearing), she has trotted up-stairs again to the nest, and is as busy as ever. Possibly Clara might do the greater part of what she does, and do it better: but still, are they not her children? Let those who will call a mother's care mere animal instinct, and liken it to that of the sparrow or the spider: shall we not rather call it a Divine inspiration, and doubt whether the sparrow and the spider must not have souls to be saved, if they, too, show forth that faculty of maternal love which is, of all human feelings, most inexplicable and most self-sacrificing; and therefore, surely, most heavenly? If that does not come down straight from heaven, a "good and perfect gift," then what is heaven, and what the gifts which it sends down?