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Mr. Mitford felt extremely nervous. He was fond of Christian—fonder than he cared to own. He was a very busy man, and seldom had more than a minute or two to devote to his wife and child, but he felt that Christian and he could be great friends if they had enough time to get better acquainted with each other.

Mrs. Mitford was certain that she would burst into passionate tears, and thus disgrace herself forever in her husband's eyes. Therefore, when Christian entered with her bold, firm step, she could not help looking at the child with admiration.

"She will be a beauty by and by," thought the mother; "she is remarkable-looking now."

The father, as he glanced at her, thought, "She is my mother over again; it is a sin to leave her."

Filled with a sudden tenderness, he moved up an inch or two on the sofa in order to make room for Christian to sit by his side.

"We have sent for you, Christian," said her mother; "we have—— You tell, won't you, Patrick?"

He was silent, looking straight across the room at his wife; his very lips were trembling. Christian pitied him so much that she almost prompted him. She very nearly said, "Go on about the school—the strict-discipline school, you know."