e their way across the country towards Exeter.

There was no little talk in Sidmouth when, on the following Sunday, the
showman's grandchild appeared in Mrs. Walsham's pew in church, and it
became known that she had become an inmate of her house. It was
generally considered that Mrs. Walsham had let herself down greatly by
taking the showman's grandchild, and one or two of the mothers of her
pupils talked about taking them away. One or two, indeed, called upon
her to remonstrate personally, but they gained nothing by the step.

"I do not understand what you mean," she said quietly, "by saying that
the child is not fit to associate with my other pupils. She is
singularly gentle and taking in her manner. She expresses herself
better than any child of her own age in Sidmouth, so far as I know.
There are few so neatly and prettily dressed. What is there to object
to? Her grandfather has been a sergeant in the army. He bears a good
character, and is liked wherever he goes. I do not consider that James
or myself are, in any way, demeaned by sitting down to meals with the
child, who, indeed, behaves as prettily and nicely as one could wish;
and I certainly do not see that any of my pupils can be injuriously
affected by the fact that, for an hour or two in the day, she learns
her lessons in the same room with them. Had I thought that they would
be, I should not have received her. I shall, of course, be sorry if any
of my pupils are taken away, but as I have several girls only waiting
for vacancies, it would make no difference to me pecuniarily."

And so it happened that Mrs. Walsham lost none of her pupils, and in a
short time the wonder died out. Indeed, the child herself was so
pretty, and taking in her ways, that it was impossible to make any
objection to her personally.

Mrs. Walsham had been struck by the self command which she showed at
parting with her grandfather. Her eyes were full of tears, her lip
quivered, and she could scarcely speak; but there was no loud wailing,
no passionate outburst. Her grandfather had impressed upon her that the
parting was for her own good, and child though she was, she felt how
great a sacrifice he was making in parting with her, and although she
could not keep the tears from streaming down her cheeks, or silence her
sobs as she bade him goodbye, she tried hard to suppress her grief.

The pain of parting was, indeed, fully as great to Sergeant Wilks as to
his granddaughter; and it was