e a jealous man, Mrs. Powle
said. He smiled at Eleanor's charities, and would have helped them if
he could. He would not have her scolded on the score of religious
duties; he preferred administering the antidote to them as quietly as
possible.

"Eleanor!" said Mrs. Powle, putting her head out of the drawing-room
door one Sunday evening as she heard somebody come in--"Eleanor! is
that you? come here. Where have you been? Here is Mr. Carlisle waiting
this hour to go with you to hear the Bishop of London preach."

Eleanor came into the room. She was dressed with extreme plainness, and
looking so calm and sweet that it was no wonder Mr. Carlisle's eyes
rested on her as on a new object of admiration. Few of his acquaintance
looked so; and Eleanor did not use it, in times past.

"Now here you are, child, almost too late. Make haste and get yourself
ready. Where have you been?"

"She cannot be more ready than she is," remarked the other member of
the party.

"I think, mamma, I will not go to-night. I am a little tired."

"That's nonsense, Eleanor! When were you ever too unwell to go to
church, this winter? Go and get ready. What Mr. Carlisle says is all
very well, but he does not see you with my eyes."

"I shall not take her if she is tired," said Mr. Carlisle gently. And
Eleanor sat still.

"Where have you been then, child, to tire yourself? You do try me,
Eleanor. What can you have found to do?"

"All London, mamma," said Eleanor pleasantly.

"All London! I should like to know what that means. All wrong, I
suppose, according to you. Well, what part of London have you been
attacking to-day? I should think the best thing for London would be to
hear its Bishop. What have you been about, Eleanor?"

"Only to school, mamma--Sunday school."

"But you went there this morning?"

"That was another."

Mrs. Powle looked appealingly to Mr. Carlisle, as saying, How long
would you let this go on? Turned her dissatisfied face again to Eleanor,

"What school is this, mistress? and where?"

"Mamma, if I tell you where it is, I am afraid you will be frightened.
It is a Ragged school."

"A Ragged school! What does that mean, Eleanor? What is a Ragged
school?"

"A school to teach ragged children, mamma. Or rather, for ragged
people--they are not most of them children; and perhaps I should not
say they are ragged; for though some of them are, others of them are
not. They are some of the wretchedest of the ragged class, a