moment she sought Joyce's face with an inquiring glance, as if not
quite sure of her identity; but almost immediately the recognition came,
and she greeted her, with one of her brightest smiles.

"Why, my dear Mrs. Arundel, you are quite a stranger. How are the dear
babies, and poor Susan?"

"They are all well, dear madam, and Susan is an increasingly valuable
servant."

"I am glad to hear it. I love to know that the seed sown is springing
up. We are sadly impatient, my dear; we are like children pulling up the
plant to see if the roots are grown. How are things going on at Fair
Acres?"

"Very much as usual. My brother Ralph manages the estate."

"And the others look on! Well, well, patience is the great lesson for us
all to learn, the patience that God has with us. Prayer and patient
waiting will move mountains at last."

Then, after a few more inquiries, Mrs. More came to public matters.

"I thought," she said, "I was too old to take such a deep interest in
the affairs of this kingdom and this city; but, my dear, we stand on the
edge of a volcano, and, from all I hear, Bristol is ill-prepared. There
is a growing feeling of hatred against the magistrates, and the zeal of
Sir Charles Wetherall has carried him beyond the bounds of discretion.
Would you like to borrow any books? They are at your service. In that
book-case there are many volumes written by me. I often sit here, and
think over the writing of those books, and how little I ever expected
that they would have a large sale, and bring me in, as they did, thirty
thousand pounds. It often fills me with self-abasement, not
self-glorification."

"I will not take a book to-day, dear madam; and here is Miss Frowde come
to warn me that I have stayed long enough."

"See!" Mrs. More said, "there is the little steam-packet puffing busily
up the river. I am blessed in my old age, to see before my windows the
two great discoveries of the age, steam-power made useful for
locomotion, and coal-gas for light. I am very happy here, my dear, but
remember an old woman's advice, and do not spoil Susan Priday, or any
servant, by over indulgence. Very often, as in my own case,
carelessness, and dislike of trouble is the real root of the evil. God
bless you and keep you, my dear," she said, as Joyce bent to kiss her.
"Is there much excitement abroad about the passing of the Reform Bill?"

"Not that I have seen," Joyce answered; "but I daresay there may be in
the city."

"