y daughter this
morning, Stukely?"

"Yes, sir," I faltered.

"You did at breakfast, but you have not seen her since. I wish you
had. I am sick at heart."

"Is she unwell, sir?"

"Do you know what consumption is? Have you ever watched its fearful
progress?"

"Never."

"I thought you might have done so. It is a fearful disease, and
leaves hardly a family untouched. Did she not look ill?--you can
tell me that, at least."

"Not quite so well, perhaps, as I have seen her, sir; but I should
hope"--

"Eh--what, not very ill, then? Well, that is strange, for I was
frightened by her. What can it be? I wish that Mayhew had called in.
Every ailment fills me with terror. I always think of her dear mother.
Three months before her death, she sat with me, as we do here
together, well and strong, and thanking Providence for health and
strength. She withered, as it might be from that hour, and, as I
tell you, three short months of havoc brought her to the grave."

"Was she young, sir?"

"A few years older than my child--but that is nothing. Did you say
you did not think her looks this morning indicated any symptoms?
Oh--no! I recollect. You never saw the malady at work. Well,
certainly she does not cough as her poor mother did. Did it look
like languor, think you?"

"The loss of rest might"--

"Yes, it might, and perhaps it is nothing worse. I know Mayhew
thinks lightly of these temporary shadows; but I do not believe he
has ever seen her so thoroughly feeble and depressed as she appears
to-day. She is very pale, but I was glad to find her face free from
all flush whatever. That is comforting. Let us hope the best. How do
the boys advance? What opinion have you formed of the lad Charlton?"

"He is a dull, good-hearted boy, sir. Willing to learn, with little
ability to help him on. Most difficult of treatment. His tears lie
near the surface. At times it seems that the simplest terms are
beyond his understanding, and then the gentlest reproof opens the
flood-gate, and submerges his faculties for the day."

"Be tender and cautious, Stukely, with that child. He is a sapling
that will not bear the rough wind. Let him learn what he will--rest
assured, it is all he can. His eagerness to learn will never fall
short of your's to teach. He must be kindly encouraged, not frowned
upon in his reverses; for who fights so hard against them, or
deplores them more deeply than himself? Poor, weak child, he is his
own chastiser."