Well, on this particular evening, she was, as we have said, taking her share in the housework by reading "Jane Austen" aloud to Dot and Mat; when the door suddenly opened, and James Mesurier stood there, a little aloof,--for it was seldom he entered this room, which perhaps had for him a certain painful association of his son's rebellion. Perhaps, too, the picture of this happy little corner of his children--a world evidently so complete in itself, and daily developing more and more away from the parent world in the front parlour--gave him a certain pang of estrangement. Perhaps he too felt as he looked on them that same dreary sense of disintegration which had overtaken the mother on Henry's departure; and perhaps there was something of that in his voice, as, looking at them with rather a sad smile, he said,-- "You look very comfortable here, children. I hope that's a profitable book you are reading, Esther." "Oh, yes, father. It's 'Jane Austen,' you know." "Well, I'm sorry to interrupt you, but I want a few words with Dorcas. She can join you again soon." So Dot, wondering what was in store for her, rose and accompanied her father to the front parlour, where Mrs. Mesurier was peacefully knitting in the lamplight. "Dorcas, my dear," he said, when the door was closed, "your mother and I have had a serious talk this evening on the subject of your joining the church. You are now nearly sixteen, and of an age to think for yourself in such matters; and we think it is time that you made some profession of your faith as a Christian before the world."