ely better than the day-labourers' about
them, and rest ignored by families of decent position in the
neighbourhood, puzzled and irritated her. "Better he paid his debts
and fed his children," was her answer when Sam put in a word for his
father's spiritual ambitions. Her slight awe of the Wesleys'
abilities--even _she_ could not deny them brains--only drove her to
entrench herself more strongly behind her practical wisdom; and she
never abandoned her position (which had saved her in a thousand
domestic arguments) that her sisters-in-law had been trained as
savages in the wilds. She had a habit of addressing them as
children: and her interference, some years before, between Emilia and
young Leybourne, had been conducted by letter addressed to Mr. and
Mrs. Wesley and without pretence of consulting Emilia's feelings.

Hetty pondered this for a moment, but without pausing in her
dressing.

"Besides," urged Patty, "they may be gone by this time. Mother did
not say how long the visit was to last; only that Sam had brought his
bill for Jacky and Charles, and it is enormous. Father will be in
the worst possible temper."

"Of all the wet blankets--" began Hetty, but was interrupted by the
ringing of a bell in the corner above her bed. It summoned her to
run and dress Rebecca, who slept in a small room opening out of Mrs.
Grantham's.

Hetty departed in a whirl. Patty stood considering. "She never
would! 'Tis a mercy sometimes she doesn't mean all she says."

But this time Hetty meant precisely what she said. Having dressed
Rebecca, she suddenly faced upon Mrs. Grantham, who stood watching
her as she turned back the bed-clothes to air, and folded the child's
nightdress.

"With your leave, madam, I wish to go home to-day."

"Bless my soul!" ejaculated Mrs. Grantham. "You must be mad."

"I know how singular you must think it: and indeed I am very sorry to
put you out. Yet I have a particular reason for asking."

"Quite impossible, Miss Wesley."

But, as Mr. Grantham had afterwards to tell her, a householder has no
means in free England of coercing a grown woman determined to quit
the shelter of his roof and within an hour. The poor lady was
nonplussed. She had not dreamed that life's tranquil journey lay
exposed to a surprise at once so simple and so disconcerting, and in
her vexation she came near to hysterics.

"What to make of your sister, I know not," she cried, twenty minutes
later, seating herself