k, she put off further discussions till supper-time, and
ran away to see to some of the house arrangements which she had upon
her heart. In these she was soon gaily busy; finding the work
delightful after the long interval of purely mental action. She had
done a good many things, she felt with pleasure, before she was called
to tea. Then it was with new enjoyment that she found herself
ministering to her father again; making his toast just as he liked it,
pouring out his tea, and watching over his wants. The colonel seemed to
take up things simply where she had left them; and was almost as silent
as ever.

'Who has made your toast while I have been away, papa?' Esther asked,
unable to-night to endure this silence.

'My toast? Oh, Barker, of course.'

'Did she make it right?'

'Right? My dear, I have given up expecting to have servants do
somethings as they ought to be done. Toast is one of the things. They
are outside of the limitations of the menial mind.'

'What is the reason, papa? Can't they be taught?'

'I don't know, my dear. I never have been able to teach them. They
always think toast is done when it is brown, and the browner the
better, I should say. Also it is beyond their comprehension that
thickness makes a difference. There was an old soldier once I had under
me in India; he was my servant; he was the only man I ever saw who
could make a piece of toast.'

'What are some of the other things that cannot be taught, papa?'

'A cup of tea.'

'Does not Barker make your tea good?' asked Esther, in some dismay.

'She can do many other things,' said the colonel. 'She is a very
competent woman.'

'So I thought. What is the matter with the tea, papa--the tea she
makes?'

'I don't know, my dear, what the matter is. It is without fragrance,
and without sprightliness, and generally about half as hot as it ought
to be.'

'No good toast and no good tea! Papa, I am afraid you have missed me
very much at meal times?'

'I have missed you at all times--more than I thought possible. But it
cannot be helped.'

'Papa,' said Esther, suddenly very serious, '_can_ it not be helped?'

'No, my dear. How should it?'

'I might stay at home.'

'We have come here that you might go to school.'

'But if it is to your hurt, papa'--

'Not the question, my dear. About me it is of no consequence. The
matter in hand is, that you should grow up to be a perfect
woman--perfect as your mother was; that would have been her