eed not hear of the pictures she saw, nor the music she heard,
nor the plays she enjoyed, nor the parties she went to during that
thorough holiday--though perhaps some would not call it a holiday, since
the morning was spent in lessons in music, drawing, and Italian, in
practising these same lessons, and in reading history aloud--the reading
of some lighter book being an evening pleasure when the family were
alone. Dora would not have enjoyed it half so much if it had not been
for the times of real solid thought and interest. Her friends, too, had
some poems still in manuscript lent to them, which made an immense
impression on the young souls, and which they all learnt and discussed
on Sundays, trying to enter into their meaning, and insensibly getting
moulded by them. They were the poems that Dora knew a few years later
as the "Christian Year." They made her home-work still dearer to her,
and she had never let her interest fade among all her pleasures, but she
was accumulating little gifts for the children, for Betty Pucklechurch,
Widow Mole, Judith Grey, and the rest.

One day, when some intimate friends of the Elwoods were spending the day
with them, something was said about Dora's home; and one of the visitors
exclaimed, "Uphill--Uphill, near Poppleby,--is that the place?"

"Yes."

"Then I wonder whether you can tell me anything about our dear old
nursery maid, Judith Grey."

"Judith Grey! Oh yes! She is the very nicest person in all Uphill,"
cried Dora. "Is it your father that gives her a pension?"

"Yes. You know it was while carrying little Selina downstairs, that she
put her foot into the string of James's humming-top, and tumbled down
all the stone stairs. She managed to save Selina--dear old Judy!--but
she hurt her back most dreadfully, and she can't ever be well again, so
papa gives her an allowance. She writes cheerfully, but we should like
to hear more about her. We all were so fond of her."

"Indeed, I don't wonder. She is so good and patient. Such a dear
thing! Mary and I call her the bright spot in our parish."

"She lives with a sister, I think. Is she nice?"

Dora had her opportunity, and she painted Dan Hewlett and his household
in no flattering colours. Molly was a slattern, and Dan was a thief,
and the children ate up Judith's dainties, and they all preyed upon her.
It was a perfectly horrid life for a good, well-trained,
high-principled person to lead. In fact, she poured o