much character there's often something of a stubborn temper to control. Get both if you can. But don't mistake me. I've no patience with flimsy, wishy-washy things that can't stand the storms of life, and who droop under a cloud like a stricken flower. Such are not wives for working men, nor any men, for that matter. No, I should like your wife to be one who marries you not merely because you ask her, but because she wishes to help you, and believes you will help her to serve God, and do your duty in the station of life in which it has pleased Him to place you; one who will stand by you through life, come weal come woe, with a backbone as straight and strong as your own. That's the woman I respect and love."

"That's just my mother," said Robert.

"So it is, and just Milly too, when her time comes. Bythe-by, Robert, who is that young man that came in the other evening? And what does he want at your father's house?"

"He is lately come to be head gardener at Lord Crewe's, and I suspect, though I don't really know, that he wants to get acquainted with our Milly."

"I suspect so too. Well, I didn't take to him at all. Wise In his own conceits' was the text he made me think of. However, Milly is not to be caught with a clattering tongue. Mind you take her up to the house yourself if she comes when he's there, and don't on any account let him do it."

"No, that I shan't," said Robert, laughing; "I'm not going to help any beaux to make up to Milly. I've always hoped that she'll live with me when I get a home of my own." "What, if you marry?" asked Mrs. Hayes. "Yes; why not?"

"Then you and she will make a terrible mistake, my lad: a mistake that many a brother has made innocently enough, but none the less mischievous for that. No, no; let

your wife

have her home to herself, or she'll never settle in it as she ought. I've seen a few things in my time; and I see this among them, both for high and low, rich and poor, that married people should have no relations in the house to put in a word between them. It's a temptation that scarcely anybody has strength to resist. There must always be things in a family to consider, and talk over and judge about, and husband and wife should do it for themselves. If they don't agree, they should think and pray about it till one sees it right to give up; but woe to the meddler that puts in for a casting vote, or pretends to know better than either one or the other! Mothers and mothers-in-law, sisters and sisters-in-law, are all well enough in their own places, and long life to them there; but they're out of their place in the families of sons and brothers; and having 'an interest' in everything (as they say), they seldom or never have sense to hold their tongues. But just see, now, here's even the old great-aunt meddling and giving opinions without waiting to be asked."

"Go on and welcome," said Robert; "I see the wisdom of your opinions, aunt."

"About this affair, my dear lad; I've thought of a little plan to help you both to know something more of each other without seeming particular. I do wish young people's heads weren't so full of themselves as to fancy every little attention or kindness means more than it ought to mean until there's a good foundation for it, and that simpering misses wouldn't suppose themselves so desirable as wives and companions to sensible men. But, dear me, what a change comes over some of them in a year or two! You wouldn't know the pretty trim-looking things again, in the slatterns and idlers that dare to face their husbands with uncombed hair and ragged gowns. If they dressed to catch, they should dress to keep, and not treat a man as if he had lost all taste, and feeling, and sense, because

he's married. God save you from such as that, my boy; and he will if you'll mind his word, and let it be 'only in the Lord.'"

CHAPTER XII.

""
WITH THE DOORS SHUT."

EARY me, I'm sure I don't know what to do," said
a little fat woman, with a pleasant, round face,
coming leisurely down the stairs, and pushing
open the door of a small "front parlour," where
she stood for a moment, looking very much.
puzzled, her hands spread upon her sides, and
her eyes fixed on the ground.

"It's very tryin', that it is," she murmured; "I don't know what to do."

"What about, mother?" asked her pretty daughter, who was propping up a fashion book in the window behind a card, in token to passers-by that a very superior dress and mantle maker and milliner, from a first-rate establishment, was to be found within.

"What about? Why, about our lodger; but, deary me, Lydia, what a dreadful litter! When are you going to let me brush this room? What would any lady say to such an untidy place?"

And Mrs. Brooks, looking round, tried to imagine the impression that the sight of it would make. Every chair was covered with work in some form, either cut out and begun, or awaiting that process; patterns, rolls of calico or trimmings: the floor was strewn with pieces, cuttings, thread

ends and tackings, among which shone pins, buttons, beads, tossed and scattered, not with the intention of wasting any of them, but just lying until it might happen to be convenient to pick them up; and it seldom was convenient to Miss Lydia Brooks.

"Oh, it looks as if I was busy; and really so I am. I've had no time to pick up and straighten," said she, carelessly. "Well, I'd have done it, only you made such a fuss about your pieces; I wasn't to meddle with them," said the mother, still looking about. "Ah, there now," she continued, "it's just as I said about Sally's spencer; I knew it wouldn't be done, and here I'm going about in this old rag of a gown, waiting till you put in those sleeves that you made me unpick. But the shoemaker's wife goes the worst shod,' as the saying is. I did think when I put you to the dressmaking, Liddy, that you'd take a pride in seeing your own family nice always, but it isn't so."

"I'm sure I like you all to be nice," said Lydia, rummaging in a heap of pieces for one she wanted; "only I didn't know that I was to make and mend for everybody, when I've to get my own living by my work."

"Your own living, child! Why, is your living just putting clothes on your back? What about lodgings and victuals on days that you stay at home to work? Living, indeed!" and the good woman looked as indignant as her good-humoured face would allow. Then suddenly recollecting something, she added, in a doleful tone, "But, as I was saying, I'm sure I don't know what to do. I got all the things the doctor ordered, and he won't touch nor look at them. I wish you'd seen him when he smelt it was brandy I was giving him. never saw anybody so obstinate in all my life; how in the world he's to get well I don't know!"

I

Lydia was too much absorbed in the effect of a bow she

was making up to feel any sympathy in her mother's difficulty; but happening to look out at the window she uttered an exclamation of pleasure and darted to the door, as a neat, bright-looking girl came up the steps. "Oh, do come in," she cried. "Mother, it's Miss Susan Taylor."

"Susan Taylor, ma'am," said the girl, smiling. "Mother sent me, Miss Brooks, to ask if you can come and do some work for Aunt Hayes; she wants her black silk gown turned, I believe, and she likes to help with it herself."

"Oh, I shall be very happy indeed; but do sit down, I'll soon make a chair," and bundling up a lot of things and slipping them all down in a corner, Miss Brooks handed a chair. "You'll excuse litters, I know; dressmakers can't be—that is, they can't always have their things out of sight, you see."

"I can't stay, thank you," said Susan. "May I say that you'll come to-morrow, or next day?"

"Yes, to-morrow, if you wish it; but, Susan, she looks very particular. Do you think I can manage to please her?"

"I'm sure you will if you try," said Susan; "she is always pleased when we do our best.”

"Well, then, I'll do my best."

"But, Lydia," began Mrs. Brooks, "you promised-"

"Oh, yes, I know," interrupted the daughter. “I'll do that at home; it won't interfere at all. And, Susan, I'll bring home the pieces of your prints, and your best dress. What a pretty thing it is! Did you try it on again?"

No," said Susan.

"Well, then, you'll see that I have made it nice and long, as I was sure you'd like it. You won't wear it at home, you know; so your mother won't see it or know anything about it, and servants like their things long as well as other people."

Susan stared so hard at the dressmaker that the colour rose to both their faces at once.