I must have been a very impressionable child; easily swayed by the opinions of those about me. The idea conveyed to my mind by what I had heard of Mrs. Hemson was, that she was something of an ogre with claws; and I can truthfully say, I would almost as soon have been consigned to the care of an ogre as to hers. I felt so all the while I was going to her.

Charlotte Delves placed me in the ladies' carriage at Nettleby station under charge of the guard—just as it had been in coming. And once more I, poor lonely little girl, was being whirled on a railroad journey. But ah! with what a sad amount of experience added to my young life!

Two o'clock was striking as the train steamed into Dashleigh station. I was not sure at first that it was Dashleigh, and in the uncertainty did not get out. Several people were on the platform, waiting for the passengers the train might bring. One lady in particular attracted my notice, a tall, fair, graceful woman, with a sweet countenance. There was something in her face that put me in mind of mamma. She was looking attentively at the carriages, one after another, when her eyes caught mine, and she came to the door.

"I think you must be, Anne," she said, with a bright smile, and sweet voice of kindness. "Did you not know I should be here? I am Mrs. Hemson."

That Mrs. Hemson! that the ogre with claws my imagination had painted! In my astonishment I never spoke or stirred. The guard came up.

"This is Dashleigh," said he to me. "Are you come to receive this young lady, ma'am?"

Mrs. Hemson did receive me, with a warm embrace. She saw to my luggage, and then put me in a fly to proceed to her house. A thorough gentlewoman was she in all ways; a lady in appearance, mind, and manners. But it seemed to me a great puzzle how she could be so; or, being so that she could have married a retail tradesman.

Mr. Hemson was a silk-mercer and linendraper. It appeared to me a large, handsome shop, containing many shopmen and customers. The fly passed it and stopped at the private door. We went through a wide passage and up a handsome staircase, into large and well-furnished sitting-rooms. My impression had been that Mrs. Hemson lived in a hovel, or, at the best, in some little dark sitting-room behind a shop. Mrs. Jones, who kept the little shop where mamma used to buy her things, had only a kitchen behind. Upstairs again were the nursery and bedrooms, a very large house altogether. There were six children, two girls who went to school by day, two boys out at boarding-school, and two little ones in the nursery. In the yard behind were other rooms, occupied by the young men engaged in the business, with whom Mrs. Hemson appeared to have nothing whatever to do.

"This is where you will sleep, Anne," she said, opening the door of a chamber which had two beds in it. "Frances and Mary sleep here, but they can occupy the same bed while you stay. Make haste and get your things off, my dear, for the dinner is ready."

I soon went down. There was no one in the drawing-room then, and I was looking at some of the books on the centre table, when a gentleman entered: he was tall, bright, handsome; a far more gentlemanly man than any I had seen at Mr. Edwin Barley's, more so than even George Heneage. I wondered who he could be.

"My dear little girl, I am glad you have arrived in safety," he said, cordially taking my hand. "It was a long way for them to send you alone."

It was Mr. Hemson. How could they have prejudiced me against him? was the first thought that struck me. I had yet to learn that people in our Keppe-Carew class of life estimate tradespeople not by themselves but by their callings. The appearance of Mrs. Hemson had surprised me; how much more, then, did that of her husband! Mrs. Jones's husband was a little mean man, who carried out the parcels, and was given, people said, to cheat. Since Selina mentioned Mr. Hemson's trade to me, I had associated the two in my mind. Well educated, good and kind, respected in his native town, and making money fast by fair dealing, Mr. Hemson, to my ignorance, was a world's wonder.

"Is she not like Ursula, Frederick!" exclaimed Mrs. Hemson, holding up my chin. "You remember her?"

He looked at me with a smile. "I scarcely remember her. I don't think Ursula ever had eyes like these. They are worth a king's ransom; and they are honest and true."

We went into the other room to dinner—a plain dinner of roast veal and ham, and a damson tart, all nicely cooked and served, with a well-dressed maid-servant to wait upon us. Altogether the house seemed thoroughly well conducted; a pleasant, plentiful home, and where they certainly lived as quiet gentlepeople, not for show, but for comfort. Mr. Hemson went downstairs after dinner, and we returned to the drawing-room.

"Anne," Mrs. Hemson said, smiling at me, "you have appeared all amaze since you came into the house. What is the reason?"

I coloured very much; but she pressed the question.

"It is—a better house than I expected, ma'am."

"What! did they prejudice you against me?" she laughed. "Did your mamma do that?"

"Mamma told me nothing. It was my Aunt Selina. She said you had raised a barrier between—between——"

"Between myself and the Carews," she interrupted, filling up the pause. "They say I lost caste in marrying Mr. Hemson. And so I did. But—do you like him, Anne?"

"Very, very much. He seems quite a gentleman."

"He is a gentleman in all respects save one; but that is one which people cannot get over, rendering it impossible for them to meet him as an equal. Anne, when I became acquainted with Mr. Hemson, I did not know he was in trade. Not that he intentionally deceived me, you must understand; he is a man of nice honour, incapable of deceit; but it fell out so. We were in a strange place, both far away from home, and what our relative position might be at home never happened to be alluded to by either of us. By the time I heard who and what he was, a silk-mercer and linendraper, I had learnt to value him above all else in the world. After that, he asked me to be his wife."

"And you agreed?"

"My dear, I first of all sat down and counted the cost. Before giving my answer, I calculated which I could best give up, my position in society as a gentlewoman and a gentleman's daughter of long pedigree, or Frederick Hemson. I knew that constant slights—not intentional ones, but what I should feel as such—would be my portion if I married him; that I should descend for ever in the scale of society—must leap the great gulf which separates the gentlewoman from the tradesman's wife. But I believed that I should find my compensation in him: and I tried it. I have never repented the step; I find more certainly, year by year, that if I threw away the shadow, I grasped the substance."

"Oh, but surely you are still a gentlewoman!"

"My dear, such is not my position: I have put myself beyond the pale of what the world calls society. But I counted all that beforehand, I tell you, and I put it from me bravely. I weighed the cost well; it has not been more than I bargained for."

"But indeed you are a gentlewoman," I said, earnestly, the tears rising to my eyes at what I thought injustice; "I can see you are."

"Granted, Anne. But what if others do not accord me the place? I cannot visit gentlepeople or be visited by them. I am the wife of Mr. Hemson, a retail trader. This is a cathedral town, too; and, in such, the distinctions of society are bowed to in an ultra degree."

"But is it right?"

"Quite right; perfectly right; as you will find when you are older. If you have been gathering from my words that I rebel at existing things, you are in error. The world would not get along without its social distinctive marks, though France once had a try at it."

"Yes, I know."

"I repeat, that I sat down and counted the cost; and I grow more willing to pay it year by year. But, Anne dear." and she laid her hand impressively on my arm, "I would not recommend my plan of action to others. It has answered in my case, for Mr. Hemson is a man in a thousand; and I have dug a grave and buried my pride; but in nine cases out of ten it would bring unhappiness, repentance, bickering. Nothing can be more productive of misery generally, than an unequal marriage."

I did not quite understand. She had said that she was paying off the cost year by year.

"Yes, Anne. One part of the cost must always remain——a weighty incubus. It is not only that I have put myself beyond the pale of my own sphere, but I have entailed it on my children. My girls must grow up in the state to which they are born: let them be ever so refined, ever so well educated, a barrier lies across their path: in visiting, they must be confined to their father's class; they can never expect to be sought in marriage by gentlemen. Wealthy tradespeople, professional men, they may stand a chance of; but gentlemen, in the strict sense of the term, never."

"Will they feel it?"

"No, oh no. That part of the cost is alone mine. I have taken care not to bring them up to views above their father's station. There are moments when I wish I had never had children. We cannot put away our prejudices entirely, we Keppe-Carews, you see, Anne," she added, with a light laugh.

"I don't think anybody can," I said, with a wise shake of the head.

"And now, Anne—to change the subject—what were the details of that dreadful tragedy at Mr. Edwin Barley's?"

"I cannot tell them," I answered, with a rushing colour, remembering Mr. Edwin Barley's caution as to secrecy. Mrs. Hemson misunderstood the refusal.

"Poor child! I suppose they kept particulars from you: and it was right to do so. Could they not save Selina?"

"No—for she died. Mr. Edwin Barley says he knows she was treated wrongly."

"Ill-fated Selina! Were you with her when she died, Anne?"

"I was with her the night before. We thought she was getting better, and she thought it. She had forgotten all about the warning, saying it must be a dream."

"About the what?" interrupted Mrs. Hemson.

"While Selina was ill, she saw mamma. She said the Keppe-Carews always had these warnings."

"Child, be silent!" imperatively spoke Mrs. Hemson. "How could they think of imbuing you with their superstitions. It is all fancy."

"Mamma had the same warning, Mrs. Hemson. She said papa called her."

"Be quiet, I say, child!" she repeated, in a tone of emotion. "These subjects are totally unfit for you. Mind, Anne, that you do not allude to them before my little girls; and forget them yourself."

"They do not frighten me. But I should not speak of them to any one but you, Mrs. Hemson."

"Frances and Mary will be home from school at five, and be delighted to make acquaintance with you. You are going to school yourself next week. Have you heard that?"

"To a school in Dashleigh?"

"In the suburbs. The trustees have at length decided it, and I shall be at hand, in case of your illness, or anything of that sort. Had your Aunt Selina lived, you would have been placed at Nettleby."

"Where am I to spend the holidays?"

"At school. It is to Miss Fenton's that you are going."

"Is that where Frances and Mary go?"

"No," she answered, a smile crossing her lips. "They would not be admitted to Miss Fenton's."

"But why?"

"Because she professes to take none but gentlemen's daughters. My daughters, especially with their father living in the same town, would not do at any price. It will be a condescension," she laughed, "that Miss Fenton allows you to dine with us once in a while."

"Perhaps she will not take me," I breathlessly said.

"My dear, she will be only too glad to do so. You are the daughter of Colonel Hereford, the granddaughter of Carew of Keppe-Carew."

And in spite of the lost caste of Mrs. Hemson, in spite of the shop below, I never spent a happier week than the one I spent with her.

And now came school life; school life that was to continue without intermission, and did continue, until I was eighteen years of age. Part of these coming years were spent at Miss Fenton's; the rest (as I found afterwards) at a school in France. It is very much the custom to cry down French scholastic establishments, to contrast them unfavourably with English ones. They may deserve the censure; I do not know; but I can truthfully say that so far as my experience goes, the balance is on the other side.

Miss Fenton's was a "Select Establishment," styling itself a first-class one. I have often wondered whether those less select, less expensive, were not more liberal in their arrangements. Fourteen was the number of girls professed to be taken, but never once, during my stay, was the school quite full. It had a name; and there lay the secret of its success. The teaching was good; the girls were brought on well: but for the comforts! You shall hear of them. And I declare that I transcribe each account faithfully.

There were nine pupils at the time I entered: I made the tenth. Miss Fenton, an English teacher, a French teacher who taught German also, and several day-masters, instructed us. Miss Fenton herself took nothing, that I saw, but the music; she was about five-and-thirty, tall, thin, and very prim.

"You will be well off there, my dear, in regard to living," Mrs. Hemson had said to me. "Miss Fenton tells me her pupils are treated most liberally; and that she keeps an excellent table. Indeed she ought to do so, considering her terms."

Of course I thought I should be treated liberally, and enjoy the benefits of the excellent table.

We got there just before tea time, six o'clock. Mrs. Hemson, acting for my trustees had made the negotiations with Miss Fenton; of course she took me to school, stayed a few minutes with Miss Fenton, and then left me. When my things were off, and I was back in the drawing-room, Miss Fenton rang the bell.

"You shall join the young ladies at once," she said to me; "they are about to take tea. You have never been to school before, I think."

"No, ma'am. Mamma instructed me."

"Have the young ladies gone into the refectory?" Miss Fenton inquired, when a maid-servant appeared.

"I suppose so, ma'am," was the answer. "The bell has been rung for them."

"Desire Miss Linthorn to step hither."

Miss Linthorn appeared, a scholar of fifteen or sixteen, very upright. She made a deep curtsey as she entered. "Take this young lady and introduce her," said Miss Fenton. "Her name is Hereford."

We went through some spacious, well-carpeted passages; their corners displaying a chaste statue, or a large plant in beautiful bloom; and thence into some shabby passages, uncarpeted. Nothing could be more magnificent (in a moderate, middle-class point of view) than the show part, the company part of Miss Fenton's house; nothing much more meagre than the rest.

A long, bare deal table, with the tea-tray at the top; two plates of thick bread-and-butter, very thick, and one plate of thinner; the English teacher pouring out the tea, the French one seated by her side, and eight girls lower down, that was what I saw on entering a room that looked cold and comfortless.

Miss Linthorn, leaving me just inside the door, walked up to the teachers and spoke.

"Miss Hereford."

"I heard there was a new girl coming in to-day," interrupted a young lady, lifting her head, and speaking in a rude, free tone. "What's the name, Linthorn?"

"Will you have the goodness to behave as a lady—if you can, Miss Glynn?" interrupted the English teacher, whose name was Dale. "That will be your place, Miss Hereford," she added, to me, indicating the end of the form on the left side, below the rest. "Have you taken tea?"

"No, ma'am."

"Qu'elles sont impolies, ces filles Anglaises!" said Mademoiselle Leduc, the French teacher, with a frowning glance at Miss Glynn for her especial benefit.

"It is the nature of school girls to be so, Mademoiselle," pertly responded Miss Glynn. "And I beg to remind you that we are not under your charge when we are out of school in the evening; therefore, whether we are 'impolies' or 'polies,' it is no affair of yours."

Mademoiselle Leduc only half comprehended the words; it was as well she did not. Miss Dale administered a sharp reprimand, and passed me my tea. I stirred it, tasted it, and stirred it again.

"Don't you like it?" asked a laughing girl next to me; Clara Webb, they called her.

I did not like it at all, and would rather have had milk and water. So far as flavour went, it might have been hot water coloured, was sweetened with brown sugar, and contained about a teaspoonful of milk. I never had any better tea, night or morning, so long as I remained: but school girls get used to these things. The teachers had a little black teapot to themselves, and their tea looked good. The plate of thin bread-and-butter was for them.

A very handsome girl of seventeen, with haughty eyes and still more haughty tones, craned her neck forward and stared at me. Some of the rest followed her example.

"That child has nothing to eat," she observed. "Why don't you hand the bread-and-butter to her, Webb?"

Clara Webb presented the plate to me. It was so thick, the bread, that I hesitated to take it, and the butter was scraped upon it in a niggardly fashion; but for my experience at Miss Fenton's I should never have thought it possible for butter to have been spread so thin. The others were eating it with all the appetite of hunger. The slice was too thick to bite conveniently, so I had to manage as well as I could, listening—how could I avoid it?—to a conversation the girls began among themselves in an undertone. To hear them call each other by the surname alone had a strange sound. It was the custom of the school. The teachers were talking together, taking no notice of the girls.

"Hereford? Hereford?" debated the handsome girl, and I found her name was Tayler. "I wonder where she comes from?"

"I know who I saw her with last Sunday, when I was spending the day at home. The Hemsons."

"What Hemsons? Who are they?"

"Hemsons the linendrapers."

"Hemsons the linendrapers!" echoed an indignant voice, whilst I felt my own face turn to a glowing crimson. "What absurd nonsense you are talking, Glynn!"

"I tell you I did. I knew her face again the moment Linthorn brought her in. She came to church with them, and sat in their pew."

"I don't believe it," coldly exclaimed an exceedingly ugly girl, with a prominent mouth. "As if Miss Fenton would admit that class of people! Glynn is playing upon our credulity; just as she did, do you remember, about that affair of the prizes. We want some more bread-and-butter, Miss Dale—may we ring?"

"Yes, if you do want it," replied Miss Dale, turning her face from Mademoiselle to speak.

"Betsey, stop a moment, I have something to ask you!" suddenly called out one dressed in mourning, leaping over the form and darting after the maid, who had come in and was departing with the plate in her hand. A whispered colloquy ensued at the door, half in, half out of it; close to me, who was seated near it.

"I say, Betsey! Do you know who the new pupil is?"

"Not exactly, Miss. Mrs. Hemson brought her!"

"Mrs. Hemson! There! Glynn said so! Are you sure?"

"I am quite sure, Miss Thorpe. Mrs. Hemson has been here several times this last week or two; I knew it was about a new pupil. And when she brought her to-night, she gave me half a crown, and told me to be kind to her. A nice lady is Mrs. Hemson as ever I spoke to."

"I daresay she may be, for her station," spoke Miss Thorpe, going back to her seat with a stalk.

"I say, girls—I have been asking Betsey—come close." And they all huddled their heads together. "I thought I'd ask Betsey: she says she does come from the Hemsons. Did you ever know such a shame?"

"It can't be, you know," cried the one with the large mouth. "Miss Fenton would not dare to do it. Would my papa, a prebendary of the Cathedral, allow me to be placed where I could be associated with tradespeople?"

"Ask Betsey for yourselves," retorted Miss Thorpe. "She says it was Mrs. Hemson who brought her to school."

"Nonsense about asking Betsey," said Nancy Tayler; "ask herself. Come here, child," she added, in a louder tone, beckoning to me.

I went humbly up, behind the form, feeling very humble indeed just then. They were nearly all older than I, and I began again to think it must be something sadly lowering to be connected with the Hemsons.

"Are you related to Hemsons, the shopkeepers?"

"Yes. To Mrs. Hemson. Mamma was——"

"Oh, there, that will do," she unceremoniously interposed, with a scornful gesture. "Go back to your seat, and don't sit too close to Miss Webb; she's a gentleman's daughter."

My readers, you may be slow to believe this, but I can only say it occurred exactly as written. I returned to my seat, a terrible feeling of mortification having passed over my young life.

They never spoke to me again that evening. There was no supper, and at half-past eight we went up to bed; three smallish beds were in the room where I was to sleep, and one large one with curtains round it. The large one was Miss Dale's, and two of us, I found, shared each of the smaller ones; my bedfellow was Clara Webb. She was a good-humoured girl, more careless upon the point of 'family' than most of the rest seemed to be, and did not openly rebel at having to sleep with me. Miss Dale came up for the candle after we were in bed.

The bell rang at half-past six in the morning, our signal for getting up: we had to be down by seven. There were studies till eight, and then breakfast—the same wretched tea, and the same coarse bread-and-butter. At half-past eight Miss Fenton read prayers; and at nine the school business commenced.

At ten Mademoiselle was assembling her German class. Seven only of the pupils learnt it. I rose and went up with them: and was rewarded with a stare.

"What will be the use of German to her?" rudely cried Miss Peacock, a tall, stout girl, directing to me all the scorn of which a look is capable. "I should not fancy Miss Hereford is to learn German, Mademoiselle Leduc. It may be as well to inquire."

Mademoiselle Leduc looked at me, hesitated, and then put the question to Miss Fenton, her imperfect English sounding through the room.

"Dis new young lady, is she to learn de German, madam?"

Miss Fenton directed her eyes towards us.

"Miss Hereford? Yes. Miss Hereford is to learn everything taught in my establishment."

"Oh!" said Nancy Tayler, sotto voce. "Are you to be a governess, pray, Miss Hereford?"

A moment's hesitation between pride and truth, and then, with a blush of shame in my cheeks for the hesitation, came the brave answer.

"I am to be a governess; mamma gave the directions in her will. What fortune she left is to be expended upon my education, and she said there might be no better path of life open to me."

"That's candid, at any rate," cried Miss Peacock. And so I began German.

We dined at two; and I don't suppose but that every girl was terribly hungry. I know I was. With a scanty eight-o'clock breakfast, children ought not to wait until two for the next meal. We had to dress for dinner, which was laid in Miss Fenton's dining-room, not in the bare place called the refectory; Miss Fenton dining with us and carving. It was handsomely laid. A good deal of silver was on the table, with napkins and finger-glasses; indeed, the style and serving were superior. Two servants waited: Betsey and another. The meat was roast beef—a part of beef I had never seen; it seemed a large lump of meat and no bone. Very acceptable looked it to us hungry school girls. We shall have plenty now, I thought.

My plate came to me at last; such a little mite of meat, and three large potatoes! I could well have put the whole piece of meat in my mouth at once. Did Miss Fenton fancy I disliked meat? But upon looking at the other plates, I saw they were no better supplied than mine was; plenty of potatoes, but an apology for meat.

"Would we take more?" Miss Fenton asked, when we had despatched it. And the question was invariably put by her every day; we as invariably answered "Yes." The servants took our plates up, and brought them back. I do not believe that the whole meat combined, supplied to all the plates in that second serving, would have weighed two ounces. Potatoes again we had, much as we liked, and then came a baked rice pudding.

Miss Fenton boasted of her plentiful table. That there was a plentiful dinner always placed on the table was indisputable, but we did not get enough of it; we were starved in the sight of plenty. I have seen a leg of mutton leave the table (nay, the joints always so left the table), when two hearty eaters might well have eaten all there was cut of it, and upon that the whole thirteen had dined! I, a woman grown now, have seen much of this stingy, deceitful habit of carving, not only in schools, but in some private families. "We keep a plentiful table," many, who have to do with the young will say. "Yes," I think to myself, "but do those you profess to feed get helped to enough of it?" Sometimes often indeed, two dishes were on the table; we were asked which we would take, but never partook of both. The scanty breakfast, this dinner, and the tea I have described, were all the meals we had; and this was a "select," "first-class" establishment, where the terms charged were high. Miss Fenton took her supper at eight, alone, and the teachers supped at nine in the refectory; rumours were abroad in the school, that these suppers, or at least Miss Fenton's, were sumptuous meals. I know we often smelt savoury cooking at bedtime. Sometimes we had pudding before meat, often we had cold meat, sometimes hashed, often meat pies, with a very thick crust over and under. I do not fancy Miss Fenton's butcher's bill could have been a heavy one. Altogether, it recurs to me now like a fraud: a fraud upon the parents, a cruel wrong upon the children. A child who is not well nourished, will not possess too much of rude health and strength in after-life.

That was an unhappy day to me! How I was despised, slighted, scorned, I cannot adequately describe. It became so palpable as to attract the attention of the teachers, and in the evening they inquired into the cause. Mademoiselle Leduc could not by any force of reasoning be brought to comprehend it; she was unable to understand why I was not as good as the rest, and why they should not deem me so; things are estimated so differently in France from what they are in England.

"Bah!" said she, slightingly, giving up as useless the trying to comprehend, "elles sont folles, ces demoiselles."

Miss Dale held a colloquy with one or two of the elder girls, and then called me up. She began asking me questions about my studies, what mamma had taught me, how far I was advanced, all in a kind, gentle way; and she parted my hair on my forehead, and looked into my eyes.

"Your mamma was Mrs. Hemson's sister," she said, presently.

"Not her sister, ma'am; her cousin."

"Her cousin, was it?" she resumed after a pause. "What was your papa? I heard Miss Fenton say you were an orphan."

"Papa?"

"I mean, in what position?—was he in trade?"

"He was an officer in Her Majesty's service. Colonel Hereford."

"Colonel Hereford?" she returned, looking at me as though she wondered whether I was in error. "Are you sure?"

"Quite sure, Miss Dale. Mamma was Miss Carew of Keppe-Carew."

"Miss Carew of Keppe-Carew!" she exclaimed, with a little scream of surprise; for the Keppe-Carews were of note in the world.

"Mrs. Hemson was a Keppe-Carew also," I continued. "She forfeited her position to marry Mr. Hemson; and she says she has not repented it."

Miss Dale paused; said she remembered to have heard the noise it made when a Miss Carew, of Keppe-Carew, quitted her home for a tradesman's; but had never known that it related to Mrs. Hemson.

"I was a stranger to Dashleigh until I came here as teacher," she observed, beckoning up the two young ladies, Miss Tayler and Miss Peacock.

"When next you young ladies take a prejudice against a new pupil, it may be as well to make sure first of all of your grounds," she said to them, her tone sarcastic. "You have been sending this child to 'Coventry' on the score of her not being your equal in point of family; let me tell you there's not one of you in the whole school whose family is fit to tie the shoes of hers. She is the daughter of Colonel Hereford, and of Miss Carew of Keppe-Carew."

They looked blank. Some of the other girls raised their heads to listen. Miss Peacock and one or two more—as I found afterwards—were but the daughters of merchants; others of professional men.

"She is related to the Hemsons," spoke Miss Peacock, defiantly. "She has acknowledged that she is."

"If she were related to a chimney-sweep, that does not take from her own proper position," returned Miss Dale, angrily. "Because a member of the Keppe-Carew family chose to forfeit her rank and sacrifice herself for Mr. Hemson, is Miss Hereford to be made answerable for it? Go away, you silly girls, and don't expose yourselves again."

The explanation had its weight in the school, and the tide set in for me as strenuously as it had been against me. The avowal that I was to be a governess appeared to be ignored or disbelieved, and the elder girls begun a system of patronage.

"How much money have you brought, little Anne Hereford?"

I exhibited my purse and its three half-crowns, all the money Mrs. Hemson had allowed me to bring.

"Seven and sixpence! That's not much. I suppose you would wish to act in accordance with the custom of the school?"

I intimated that I of course should—if I knew what that was.

"Well, the rule is for a new girl to give a feast to the rest. We have it in the bedroom after Dale has been for the candle. Ten shillings has been the sum usually spent—but I suppose your three half-crowns must be made sufficient; you are but a little one."

I wished to myself that they had left me one of the half-crowns, but could not for the world have said it. I wrote out a list of the articles suggested, and gave the money to one of the servants, Betsey, to procure them; doing all this according to directions. Cold beef and ham from the eating-house, rolls and butter, penny pork pies, small German sausages, jam tarts, and a bottle of raisin wine comprised the list.

Betsey smuggled the things in, and conveyed them to the play-room. Strict orders meanwhile being given to me to say that I brought them to school in my box, should the affair, by mischance, be found out. It would be so cruel to get Betsey turned out of her place, they observed; but they had held many such treats, and never been found out yet.

Miss Dale came as usual for the candle that night, and took it. For a few minutes we lay still as mice, and then sprang up and admitted the rest from their bedroom. Half a dozen wax tapers were lighted, abstracted from the girls' private writing-desks, and half a dozen more were in readiness to be lighted, should the first not hold out. And the feast began.

"Now, Anne Hereford, it's your treat, so of course you are the one to wait upon us. You must go to the decanter for water when we want it, and listen at the door against eavesdroppers, and deal out the rolls. By the way, how many knives have come up? Look, Peacock."

"There's only one. One knife and two plates. Well, we'll make the counterpane or our hands do for plates."

"Our hands will be best, and then we can lick up the crumbs. Is the corkscrew there? Who'll draw the cork of the wine?"

"Hush! don't talk so loud; they are hardly at supper yet downstairs," interposed Miss Tayler, who was the oldest girl in the school. "Now, mind! we'll have no dispute about what shall be eaten first, as we had last time; it shall be served regularly. Beef and ham to begin with: pork pies and sausages next; jam tarts last; rolls and butter ad libitum; water with the feast, and the wine to finish up with. That's the order of the day, and if any girl's not satisfied with it, she can retire to bed, which will leave the more for us who are. You see that washhand-stand, little Hereford? Take the water-bottles there, and pour out as we want it; and put a taper near, or you may be giving yourself a bath. Now then, I'll be carver."

She cut the ham into ten portions, the beef likewise, and told me to give round a roll. Then the rolls were cut open and buttered, various devices being improvised for the latter necessity, by those who could not wait their turn for the knife; tooth-brush handles prevailing, and fingers not being altogether absent. Next came the delightful business of eating.

"Some water, little Hereford."

I obeyed, though it was just as I was about to take the first bite of the feast. Laying down my share on the counterpane, I brought the tumbler of water.

"And now, Hereford, you must listen at the door."

"If you please, may I take this with me?" for I had once more caught up the tantalizing supper.

"Of course you can, little stupid!"

I went to the door, the beef and ham doubled up in one hand, the buttered roll in the other, and there eat and listened. The scene would have made a good picture. The distant bed on which the eatables were flung, and on which the tapers in their little bronze stands rested, and the girls in their night-gowns gathered round, half lounging on it, talking eagerly, eating ravenously, enjoying themselves thoroughly; I shivering at the door, delighted with the feast, but half-terrified lest interruption should come from below. That unlucky door had no fastening to it, so that any one could come, as the girls expressed it, bolt in. Some time previously there had been a disturbance, because the girls one night locked out Miss Dale, upon which Miss Fenton had carried away the key.

"Our beef and ham's gone, Anne Hereford. Is your?"

It was Georgina Digges who spoke, and she half-turned round to do so, for she was leaning forward on the bed with her back to me. I was about to answer, when there came a shrill scream from one of the others, a scream of terror. It was followed by another and another, until they were all screaming together, and I darted in alarm to the bed. Georgina Digges, in turning round, had let her night-gown sleeve touch one of the wax tapers, and set it on fire.

Oh, then was confusion! the shrieks rising and the flames with them. With a presence of mind perfectly astonishing in one so young, Nancy Tyler tore up the bedside carpet and flung it round her.

"Throw her down, throw her down! it is the only chance!" Nancy screamed to the rest, and there she was on the ground by the time those downstairs had rushed up. Some smothered more carpet on her, some threw a blanket, and the cook further poured out all the water from the washhand jugs.

"Who is it?" demanded Miss Fenton, speaking and looking more dead than alive.

None of us answered; we were too much terrified; but Miss Dale, who had been taking hurried note of our faces, said it must be Georgina Diggs: her face was the only one missing.

I wonder what Miss Fenton thought when she saw the items of the feast as they lay on the bed! The scanty remains of the beef and ham, the buttered rolls half eaten, others ready to butter, the pork pies, the German sausages, the jam tarts, and the bottle of wine. Did a thought cross her that if the girls had been allowed better dinners, they might have been less eager for stolen suppers? She had probably been disturbed at her good supper, for a table napkin was tucked before her, underneath the string of her silk apron.

"You deceitful, rebellious girls!" exclaimed Miss Fenton. "Who has been the ringleader in this?"

A pause, and then a voice spoke from amidst the huddled group of girls—whose voice I did not know then and have never known to this day.

"The new girl, Anne Hereford. She brought the things to school in her box."

Miss Fenton looked round for me: I was standing quite at the back. I had not courage to contradict the words. But just then a commotion arose from the group which stood round the burnt girl, and Miss Fenton turned to it in her sickening fear.

The doctors came, and we were consigned to bed, Georgina Digges being taken into another room. Happily, she was found not to be dangerously burnt, badly on the arm and shoulder, but no further.

Of course there was a great trouble in the morning. Mrs. Hemson was sent for and to her I told the truth, which I had not dared to tell to Miss Fenton. The two ladies had afterwards an interview alone, in which I felt sure Mrs. Hemson repeated every word I had spoken. Nothing more was said to me. Miss Fenton made a speech in the school, beginning with a reproach at their taking a young child's money from her, and going on to the enormity of our offence in "sitting up at night to gormandize" (apologizing for the broad word), which she forbad absolutely for the future.

Thus the affair ended. Georgina Digges recovered, and joined us in the school-room: and she was not taken away, though we had thought she would be. But, in spite of the accident and Miss Fenton's prohibition, the feasts at night did go on, as often as a new girl came to be made to furnish one, or when the school subscribed a shilling each, and constituted it a joint affair. One little wax taper did duty in future, and that was placed on the mantelpiece, out of harm's way.

And that is all I shall have to say of my school-life in England.