ould count their own fingers it was enough; and
she, for one, would never take a servant who had schooling. "A pack of
nonsense," she called it; and she would tell Mrs. Hannah More so if only
she had the chance. Mrs. Falconer turned from her occupation at the
table, when her son entered.

"Breakfast!" she exclaimed. "No, indeed; breakfast is over and done
with. I can't keep the things about half the morning."

The prototype of the fine gentleman seated himself in a chair at the
table, and said in a drawling voice, suppressing a yawn:

"Joyce, get me some clean plates, and go and order a rasher of bacon;
and let the eggs be poached; and----"

But Mrs. Falconer pushed Joyce aside:

"No," she said; "your sister has something else to do than wait on you.
I'll get your breakfast; and if you have to wait an hour, it will serve
you right; lie-a-beds don't generally have sharp appetites."

"Nay, mother," Melville said, "do not let the want of appetite be laid
to my door, with so many other sins; I am particularly hungry this
morning. And I beseech you, do not do servant's work for _me_."

Mrs. Falconer's face betrayed that she felt the thrust.

"Servant's work must be done for folks too lazy to do it for
themselves," she said, as she let the heavy door swing behind her, and
repaired to the kitchen to prepare, far too carefully, a breakfast for
her son.

Joyce hesitated a moment, and then said:

"It always vexes mother when you are late, Melville. I wish you would
get up earlier."

"My dear little sister, I should have vexed mother if I had come down at
six. She is out of temper with me, and so is my father, simply because I
desire to get a little education, to fit me for my position here, you
know, when I come into the place."

"Oh, Melville, you have had every advantage; you ought to know
everything. But Aunt Letitia was quite right--the money spent upon you
at Oxford was wasted."

"Thanks for your high opinion. I ought to be vastly grateful for it. But
to speak of other things: I have bidden a friend to stay here for a
week. He will like country air, and to drink milk and curds-and-whey. He
arrives at Wells by the Bath mail; and I shall drive in with you and my
father, and hire a post-chaise at the Swan to bring him out."

"I hope he is not a fine gentleman," Joyce said.

"He is a very fine gentleman indeed," was the answer; "and, Joyce,
persuade mother _not_ to put on that big bib, and make herself look lik