Mrs. Falconer was touchy about her grand-children; in her eyes Falcon was perfect, and the love that had been so unsparingly poured forth on Melville, was now given to Falcon. "He's a noble boy," she said, in a tone that implied it was certainly not Charlotte's business to suggest that he had any imperfections. And now the knitting-needles were laid aside, for the carriage stopped at the little iron gate, and Mrs. Falconer went to call Piers, and to prepare for her drive. Meantime Joyce had gone down the steep hill to Windsor Terrace, and, after some hesitation on the part of Miss Frowde, she was allowed to see Mrs. More. She was seated in an easy chair, propped up with cushions, enjoying the view which lay before her. For a moment she sought Joyce's face with an inquiring glance, as if not quite sure of her identity; but almost immediately the recognition came, and she greeted her, with one of her brightest smiles. "Why, my dear Mrs. Arundel, you are quite a stranger. How are the dear babies, and poor Susan?" "They are all well, dear madam, and Susan is an increasingly valuable servant." "I am glad to hear it. I love to know that the seed sown is springing up. We are sadly impatient, my dear; we are like children pulling up the plant to see if the roots are grown. How are things going on at Fair Acres?" "Very much as usual. My brother Ralph manages the estate." "And the others look on! Well, well, patience is the great lesson for us all to learn, the patience that God has with us. Prayer and patient waiting will move mountains at last." Then, after a few more inquiries, Mrs. More came to public matters. "I thought," she said, "I was too old to take such a deep interest in the affairs of this kingdom and this city; but, my dear, we stand on the edge of a volcano, and, from all I hear, Bristol is ill-prepared. There is a growing feeling of hatred against the magistrates, and the zeal of Sir Charles Wetherall has carried him beyond the bounds of discretion. Would you like to borrow any books? They are at your service. In that book-case there are many volumes written by me. I often sit here, and think over the writing of those books, and how little I ever expected that they would have a large sale, and bring me in, as they did, thirty thousand pounds. It often fills me with self-abasement, not self-glorification." "I will not take a book to-day, dear madam; and here is Miss Frowde come to warn me that I have stayed long enough."