least trouble to send to Finch's glass-house, near at hand. I am going there now; and one or other of us will be on the premises till night. I wish you joy of that lad Brennan. If you make the most of him, you may find yourselves in luck. Good day."

CHAPTER IV.

THE PHENOMENON AGAIN..

MRS. DURELL was the only acquaintance Anna wished to have in the neighbourhood of her new home. From what Durell had dropped about her, and from her being a native of Jersey, it seemed desirable that the women of Le Brocq's family should know her. They gave broad hints to this effect; and Durell frequently promised that his wife should come and offer neighbourly assistance to the strangers: but she never came,

This neglect could not appear wonderful to any one who knew the parties. Durell projected more achievements for his wife than she could have executed if he had himself imposed no toils and cares upon her: and, besides, she had long learned to distrust his opinions of new people, and to dread his introductions to strangers; and for his sake as much as her own, she deferred to the last moment the forming of any new connexions, even of common acquaintanceship. She never reminded him, otherwise than by distanţ

allusion, of the delightful family whom he had bidden her receive as friends, not thinking of doubting their honour because some mystery hung about them, the family of dear friends who were afterwards all hanged or transported for coining. She never spoke of the runaway apprentice who had been housed by them that he might have the advantage of a fair trial on the stage, and who disappeared with his host's best suit of clothes, with which to figure on some other stage. She allowed her husband to forget the scrape she had been brought into when taken up as a receiver of stolen goods, because she had been daily seen in company with the gipsies in whose society he delighted. She did not trouble him by a recurrence to past misfortunes; but she naturally grew more and more careful to avoid any future ones. On the present occasion, she held back, partly with the desire that something should be ascertained respecting the character of the Le Brocqs before she involved herself with them, and partly that her husband's quarter's salary might be in the purse before she was called upon to exercise hospitality. As often as Durell extolled Anna as the sweetest and softest of maidens, with a cheek which shamed the report that the lasses of a Jersey farm-house blush yellow, and an eye whose timid glance never fell before another, the wife assured herself that she should only see one more of the multitude of divinities who had caught her husband's fancy without im pairing his constancy to her. As often as he told her what she lost in not witnessing the

G

initiation of Le Brocq and his partner into life in Lambeth, she felt that she could wait for the spectacle of their peculiarities till she wanted that variety at home which her husband's caprices incessantly provided for her.

of

She was glad that his employment took him abroad during the early part of the day, that he might escape witnessing the toils which he imposed upon her. One morning, for instance, when she had evaded his question whether she would go that day to see Mrs. Le Brocq and the blessed Anna, she had to assist her maid in bak ing an extempore batch of bread, because one hearty person after another had been invited in, the night before, who had eaten up warm all that had just come out of the oven. An array glasses, with remains of spirit and water, stood to be rinsed and put away. His coat lay craving mending in the flap, which had been almost torn off by the snappish dog, brought home because he thought it had lost itself. A beautiful piece of French china was to be put together again, if possible, the child having broken it after warnings duly repeated. Nobody could be more sorry for the disaster than Durell himself. He seemed ready to weep over his mother's favourite bowl; but he really did not suppose the child would have let it down, and he had not the heart to take away any beautiful thing from before its eyes. It might please Heaven some day to take away the child's eyesight, and then who would think of the china being broken, while in the sufferer's mind it remained entire, an additional

form of grace. It was impossible to dispute this reasoning while such a sufferer sat in the chimand the bowl was carefully laid

ney-corner;

aside to be mended.

"Mother," said Mary, "do let me take my work into the parlour. I can stitch and wait upon Stephen too."

"Stay where you are, my dear. Jack can wait upon Stephen. If you finish your wristband in half an hour, you shall help to mend the bowl."

Mary knew there was no use in repeating her request. She could only sigh when she heard Jack's bursts of laughter at Stephen's droll faces, and wish that Stephen would come into the kitchen, and make faces there. When Stephen began to sing, all went well; for he could be heard, not only in the kitchen, but across the street. Some time after the song had come to an end, when two inches of stitching still remained to be done, Mary heard a tinkling among the unwashed glasses, and looked up.

O, mother," cried she, "there's Jack draining the glasses!"

The little fellow explained that it was in behalf of Stephen, who had asked for these remains of spirit and water, because he was dry with sing. ing. Mrs. Durell shook the flour from her hands, filled a fresh glass of spirit and water, and carried it herself to Stephen, requesting him to be so kind as not to offer a drop to the child. If he would call when he had done his glass, Jack should return to wait upon him. She meantime.

encouraged the boy to talk to her, in order to prevent his stealing back to Stephen before he was called. Jack was already as like his father as an infant can be to a grown man; and it was undesirable to give him any pleasant associations with a dram. Jack began with his usual question, "Why can't Stephen see?"

He had been told by the maid that it was because Stephen had no eyes; and he wanted to see whether this would be the reply now given. His mother told him that Stephen's eyes were not like other people's. Jack was now baffled. He had prepared his answer,-that Stephen had two eyes, for he had walked round Stephen and counted his eyes.

But," said he, "if his eyes are not like ours, how did he see Betty just going to let down the milk?"

"He never did, my dear. He never sees anything."

66

O, but he did: for he pulled away his coat tail, for fear the milk should fall upon it. Besides, he has two eyes, for I saw them myself."

Whether Stephen's ears were as serviceable as his eyes were the contrary, may be left to conjecture but, before Mrs. Durell could question the child as to what he meant about the milk, Stephen was groping his way into the kitchen,and jokingly asking whether he could not assist in the baking. He had kneaded bread in his day, he said, and no one was more fond of the steams of

the oven. He and Jack were presently busy with blind-man's-buff, while Mary made a finish