CHAPTER VII.

HOW FAN SPUN A SECOND SILKEN THREAD.

SO Ben sailed away to foreign lands, and Fan was left at Harewood House, under the protection of Mrs. Harewood, who promised that she should be well cared for during her brother's absence. Mrs. Harewood was well pleased to have Fan under her charge, though she had thought it rather a risk taking Ben abroad in the position of sole attendant on Mr. Sydney.

Miss Ayrton, in the kindest manner, offered to teach the child, giving her regular daily lessons. But Fan had no particular love of learning, and asked her if it was not enough for her to learn to read and write well.

"Well, Fan, what you say is not unreasonable," said Miss Ayrton.

"Of course I'd like to read quite well, ma'am, and to be able to write to Ben."

"Yes; and for most girls in your rank of life, that and a little arithmetic would be quite enough."

"Thank you, miss," cried lazy Fan joyfully. "But not for you, Fan."

"Not for me, Miss Ayrton! Please tell me why?"

"Because, when your brother, who has a natural love of study, I think, has been for three or four years travelling about alone with such a man as Mr. Sydney, you will find, Fan, that he will come home very different from the ignorant lad who left you. Merely hearing Mr. Sydney talk about the various places they visit, and the beasts and plants which they meet with, will teach him a great deal. But besides that, I know that Mr. Sydney thinks him clever, and means to teach him many things, so as to fit him for something better than a mere groom when he comes home."

"Ben will like that," said Fan.

"Yes, but when Ben comes home and finds his sister just where he left her—fit only for a servant—he will not like 'that,' I fear. He may be just as fond of you, but he will have to seek other companions."

"Miss Ayrton, I will learn whatever you will teach me," cried Fan hurriedly.

And she set to work diligently, making fair progress; for, though far from clever, she was not deficient. Mrs. Thompson, the housekeeper, gave her lessons too, and was very kind to her, in return for which Fan thought no task too troublesome, and saved the old lady a good deal of trotting about the house, by being a very handy messenger.

Thus time passed very pleasantly, and Fan was surprised to find that she could be so happy, parted from Ben. But then she had Miss Pearl, which made a great difference. The Fairy Cottage was revisited now, and many a merry game of play took place there. Once, Fan went up to the cottage beyond the park to call on her grandmother, prompted by an uneasy feeling that she had not done quite as she ought when living there. The door was opened by a stranger.

Sally Tibbs had found the place unbearable after Fan's departure, and another woman had taken her place. A very disagreeable-looking woman too, who looked at Fan with unfriendly eyes and asked what she wanted.

"I'm Mrs. Thirlston's grandchild, please, and I want to know how she is, and if she will see me."

"I'll ask her," was the reply.

And the woman shut the door leaving Fan outside. She went upstairs, and Fan heard her grandmother's voice, raised in anger she thought. And then the woman came down again and said—

"You may go about your business, Frances Fairfax, there's no use in coming fawning and pretending here, she'll never see your face again, and you'll never be a penny the better of her."

"I don't want anything from her," Fan said indignantly, as she turned and walked off in great wrath.

This occurred when Ben had been gone for about a fortnight, and Fan thought no more of her grandmother for a long time.

But one day in January—a cold and frosty day—Sally Tibbs came to Harewood House and asked if the mistress could see her. Mrs. Harewood came to her in the hall at once.

"Well, Mrs. Tibbs, I hope there is nothing the matter with you?" said the lady, who doctored her neighbours occasionally with great success.

"No, ma'am, but I'm as much obliged as if there was," said Sally in an apologetic tone. "It is only that I've took on myself to tell you summat, ma'am, as I think ought for to be known."

"And what is that, Sally?"

"It consarns that cantankerous old Mrs. Thirlston, ma'am. You see, when I left her, soon after Fanny Fairfax went—and r'ally ma'am, flesh and blood couldn't stand her tongue—Jane Jeffars, that's a widow like myself, she got the place. And the remark in Comerton was, if you'll excuse me, that if Sally Tibbs had to leave, how long would Jane Jeffars, as is known to have a temper, stay there? But stay she has, ma'am, ever since! and comes to Spence's (where I'm working) in Mrs. Thirlston's handsome cloth cloak—and brags, she do, how the old lady gives her presents and begs her not to leave her. I says to her, says I, 'Jane, how do you make it out to stand her tongue?' And she makes answer, 'I has her meek enough, Sally; she don't give me much tongue.'"

"She must be very much changed then," remarked Mrs. Harewood.

"My own idear, ma'am, if you'll believe it. And I thought, too, that Jane would not have said that but for a glass she 'd had, and she seemed vexed with herself, too. And I wondered could she be bullying the old woman, and making a prey of her like. And at last I made up my mind to go up to the cottage as if to pay a visit in a friendly way. And Jane Jeffars, ma'am, she wouldn't let me inside the door! And don't say as 'I' said it, but she wasn't sober, not to say quite. And by what I saw through the windows, the house is in a shockin' state of dirt."

"Oh, the poor old woman! She was always so neat and particular," said Mrs. Harewood. "I am very much obliged to you, Sally. Mrs. Thirlston, you know, was old Mrs. Harewood's maid for years, and her husband was a servant here, too, so that Mr. Harewood would be terribly vexed if she were neglected. I will see her myself this afternoon. I was so vexed with her about Fan that I have not been there lately."

"I thought you aught to be told, ma'am," remarked Sally, as with many curtseys she withdrew.

Mrs. Harewood ordered the pony carriage to be ready immediately after luncheon, and drove to the cottage. Mrs. Jeffars opened the door, and, seeing who it was, she turned very red, and asked, in a constrained tone, "What she was pleased to want?"

"I have come to see Mrs. Thirlston," replied Mrs. Harewood.

"I don't know that she can see you, ma'am. She's powerful bad, and I'm making a great cleaning, too, and the place is all in a mess."

"I think Mrs. Thirlston will be glad to see me; you need not go up to ask her. Open the door wider, please. Yes, indeed, the place is in a mess, as you say, but I do not see much token of a cleaning, Mrs. Jeffars," remarked Mrs. Harewood, as she quietly put the woman aside and walked upstairs and into the little bedroom.

The stairs were extremely dirty, and at the top lay on the floor a large tray in a very sloppy condition, filled with unwashed cups and plates, mingled with scraps of bread. The once snug bedroom was in the most untidy state, the bed linen soiled and crumpled, and the bed all in confusion, while the poor old woman, with wide-open eyes and frightened face, was watching the door eagerly.

"Oh, Mrs. Harewood! Oh, I'm so thankful you came in. I was so afraid, madam, that she 'd send you away, as she did Frances and Sally Tibbs. Oh, madam, look at the state I'm in! Me that was always so particular! Me that kept myself as neat and nice as any lady in the land! I don't mind her half starving me half so much as the dirt and mess."

"Poor thing!" said Mrs. Harewood. "Yes, indeed, it must be a trial to you. Sally told me that she feared you were not well treated, and so I came to see for myself."

"Indeed, madam, it was very good of you! If you'd be so kind as to turn that drunken hussy out, madam, and get Sally or any decent body to come to me. I shall soon be gone if I don't get proper food."

"But Mrs. Thirlston, Sally left you because she could not stand the way you scolded her."

"If she 'd even come for a few days until I get my senses about me! Ah, madam, it's an 'awsome' thing for an old woman like me to be left to hired folk. Now, if Frances was here—but there, I suppose she wouldn't come to me."

"Well, you see, Fan is very happy with us. She learns her lessons regularly with Miss Ayrton, and housekeeping from Mrs. Turner, and she's a great favourite with all of us. Everybody is kind to her. Why should she leave it all to come back to you?"

Mrs. Harewood was a woman who thought that a little plain speaking sometimes did good, and I think she was quite right. But her kind heart pricked her a little when she saw the pinched old face look so downcast.

"No, madam, I couldn't expect it," Mrs. Thirlston said, with unexpected humility. "I have a bad tongue, and it makes every one turn against me. I used not to care, but somehow lately I feel different about it. I was not good to Frances, I know."

Mrs. Harewood went downstairs, and said to Jane Jeffars in a quiet, decided way which completely awed that unpleasant personage—

"Mrs. Thirlston wishes you to leave the house at once. I will settle with you when you are ready to go; and please remember that I shall look into your box."

Then she went to the door and called her groom.

"Thomas, drive to the village and find Sally Tibbs if you can, and ask her to come back with you. Say that I am here, and that I want to speak to her. I think you will find her at Spence's; she was working there. If she cannot come, perhaps your wife would, for to-night?"

"She will surely, ma'am," said Thomas, driving off.

Mrs. Harewood found a chair, and having dusted it, sat down to await Jane's departure.

That good woman thought it very hard that she should not only lose her place, but be forced by Mrs. Harewood's watchfulness to abandon nearly all her "little pickin's" as she called them, and fill her box merely with her own limited wardrobe. The comfortable cloth cloak she particularly liked, but she did not dare to carry it off. She was paid her week's wages and departed grumbling in a subdued voice. It would not do to abuse Mrs. Harewood openly.

On her way to the village she passed Sally, coming in triumph to replace her. And if wishes could have caused an accident to the pony carriage, Sally would scarcely have reached the cottage in safety. She did get there safely, however, and promised to stay "as long as she could."

Mrs. Harewood went up to tell the old woman what she had done, and to bid her good-bye. She found her in a very subdued state of mind.

"Tell Frances, madam, that I can't ask her to come back to me, but that I'm in a very poor way indeed. And thank you, madam, for coming to see after me; it was greater kindness than I deserve."

On her way home Mrs. Harewood met her husband, and told him where she had been, and all about the old woman. I am sorry to say that the squire laughed heartily, and declared that "hunger was the only way to tame anything; and that he did not despair now of curing old Tearaway!"—a very vicious old farm horse, which was the terror of the ploughman.

In the evening Mrs. Harewood sent for Fan to her dressing-room, and said to her—

"Fan, I heard this morning from Sally Tibbs that your grandmother was still very ill, and that Jane Jeffars was not treating her well. So I went there to-day, to see if this were true; and I found the poor old woman in a most miserable state. Jane drinks, it seems, and she had the house in 'such' a condition—you would not know it; and your poor grandmother half-starved, lying in such an untidy, soiled bed, so very uncomfortable, for you know how nice she always kept things. I got Sally to go back to her for a time, but the truth is that no one will stay with her for money, though she is well off and pays well. As she gets more helpless, she will be always falling into bad hands, and being neglected and cheated. It is very sad to think of it."

"'Indeed,' ma'am, I don't wonder people won't stay."

"No," said Mrs. Harewood. "There is but one thing that could make any one stay with her and care for her kindly; and that is—love."

"No one could love grandma," said Fan, quickly.

"She is not very loveable, indeed; and yet, you know, she is one of those whom our Saviour loved well enough to die for. We think ourselves much better than she is, but I think we must seem worse to Him than she does to us, yet He loves us. But when I said that this was a duty which could only be done for love, I did not mean for love of her, but for the love of God."

Fan looked earnestly at her mistress, but said nothing.

"That is the only right motive, Fan. You love Ben dearly, and would do or bear anything for him. But do you love God enough to do a hard, unpleasant duty for His sake, giving up a happy home to do it? I do not bid you go, Fan. I will say nothing more to you, or to any one, about it. But I think it is your duty. You are the only relation that poor lonely suffering old woman has; and, child as you are, you could make her comfortable, and perhaps win her love. I think Sally would stay if you were there. Mrs. Thirlston bid me tell you that she cannot expect you to go, but that she is in a very poor way."

"Oh, ma'am, how could I do it?"

"Indeed, it is a hard thing, Fan. I am very sorry myself—and you must not decide in a hurry. Only think over what I have said, and try to decide rightly."

Fan crept away, feeling very miserable. At first it seemed to her that she "could" not do this thing. Yet as she lay awake that night, thinking it over, she knew that she ought to do it; and Fan was a very conscientious little body. How much God had done for her, she thought; and now, could she refuse to do this for the love of Him!

Next morning, as the servants were leaving the room after prayers, Fan went up to Mrs. Harewood and said—

"If you please, ma'am, I will go to grandma."

"And you will yet be very glad, my child, that you have decided to do your duty rather than please yourself," said Mrs. Harewood, very kindly.

But Pearl made great lamentation when she understood what was going on. Still she felt that it was right, and did not try to dissuade Fan.

"Now, I have only a word or two to say to you," Mrs. Harewood said, when the child was ready to go. "Don't be content with doing your duty in a hard, cold way. Try to pity your grandmother, and be gentle with her, and cheerful. Think of what I said to you last night, and remember, at any time you can come back to us; we shall always have a place for you until Ben comes home."

"Thank you, ma'am. I really will try, ma'am. I know that I never was pleasant with her, when I was there before."

"I shall come often to see you, Fan," said Pearl, "and so will Miss Ayrton, and we will bring you books."

"Yes, and Miss Ayrton has promised me to give me a lesson when she can manage it, so that I may be getting on a little. Good-bye, Miss Pearl."

And Fan screwed up her face, to keep herself from crying, in a manner so comical that it was well that Pearl was rather tearfully inclined too, or she must have laughed. On the road, Fan had her cry out in comfort, and had succeeded in drying her poor eyes when she arrived at the cottage.

In the kitchen she found Sally, making vigorous search for the kitchen utensils which used to hang round, so bright and lovely to behold, and which had all been put to uses that they were not intended for, and thrust into corners without being cleaned.

"Oh, Sally! What a mess the place is in!"

"Well, now, if you'll believe 'me,' it's clean and nice to what it was when I came yesterday. Why, the very floor was an inch thick with black dirt, I do assure you. Pails and pails of water I've used on them boards, but it will take several washings to bring 'em to a colour again."

"Who are you talking to, Sally Tibbs?" screamed a well-known harsh voice from upstairs.

"Hark to that! Ah, there's life left in the old lady yet," remarked Sally, as Fan ran upstairs.

"It's me, Grandma. I've come to nurse you if you'll let me."

"Come to stay? To stay for good?" said Mrs. Thirlston sharply.

"Yes, Grandma. I'll try to please you; 'indeed' I will."

"Well, you are a good little thing," said the old woman. "I declare I wish—"

But what she wished, she did not say.

Sally Tibbs consented to remain at the cottage, now that Fan was there, to "come between her and the old woman's tongue." That tongue wagged pretty freely still; and many a time Fan thought that she must give up and go back to Miss Pearl.

But Miss Pearl proved herself a real friend, and though always kind and full of sympathy, she was always ready to strengthen Fan to do right, rather than to give up in despair.

And one Sunday morning, the rector preached a sermon on a very short text, "Endure hardness," and Fan thought he must have made that sermon on purpose for her; at all events, it helped her greatly. She made up her mind not even to think of giving up, but to settle it with herself that here was her proper place, and that she would stick to it.

And to her great surprise, Mrs. Thirlston gradually began to scold less; nay, she even praised her once or twice. She began to like to hear the child read, too, and listened to the Bible with great attention, taking also a keen interest in the stories with which Pearl kept them supplied. How very glad Fan was that she could now read fluently, for it passed many an otherwise trying hour.

"I really think, Miss Pearl, that Granny is getting to like me," she said one day.

If she had only known the truth, the poor old woman could not bear her to be out of her sight, and thought there never had been such a child before. But if you spend eighty years of your life in making yourself unpleasant, you will not find it easy to make yourself pleasant for the years that remain, however much you may wish it. And constant pain and failing powers are hard to bear, too; a fact which the young and strong are apt to forget.

All this time, Mr. Sydney wrote constantly to his sister, always giving good accounts of Ben, who generally sent a letter for Fan in the same cover. For a long time Mrs. Thirlston would not mention Ben, nor ask any questions about his letters, though she was dying with curiosity sometimes when she saw Fan laughing over them; for Ben told her of all his strange adventures, and told them so well that Fan thought his letters as good as any story book.

But one day, when matters had gone on in this way for a very long time, Mrs. Thirlston saw Fan crying over a letter which had just been sent up from the house. She fidgeted about in her chair for some time, and at last said, snappishly—

"What are you crying for, Fan?" For it was Fan and Granny now, in these better days.

"Because I'm 'so' happy, Granny."

"It's the act of a fool to cry because you're happy. All the same, Fan—" (very crossly), "if you'd enjoy reading me what pleases you so much, you may do it."

She was longing to hear the letter, though her pride would not let her say so.

"It—it's from Ben!" said Fan, opening her eyes very wide.

"Well? 'Twon't bite me, I suppose. Read it, child, if you like."

Fan accordingly read a good deal of the letter, which made mention of an illness which Mr. Sydney had just recovered from, and gave an account of various strange things that they had seen; more particularly of the flowers he had met with, which seemed to strike him more than anything else. But there was nothing at all affecting in what she read, and the keen old woman drew her own conclusion.

"Thank you, child. It's a queer country, yon, with flowers that hang in the air, flourishing their roots in your face like that. But which was it, the purple one or the yellow, that you cried over?"

"I did not read the bit that made me cry, Granny, but I will, if you—will be kind about it."

"Let's hear it," said Granny, shortly.

And Fan read—

"I have been saving my money (for Mr. Sydney pays me some monthly, though not all my wages, as it would not be safe to carry much money about with us, and besides, I do not want much, so he just gives me enough to buy tobacco and such like) and I have been a long time now without spending a penny, and I am sending my savings to you. Mr. Sydney is to manage it for me, and Mr. Harewood will pay you the money. And you must do this for me, Fan, if you can. Get Mrs. Heath's address from Mrs. Spence, and send her two pounds eight shillings from me, for Tom Digges, to pay him the ten shillings I stole from him, and the two I owed him. That is fourfold, you know, like that small man in the Bible, who climbed into a tree to see the Lord pass by, and I would write his name only I forget how it is spelt, and I am too tired to get my Bible to look. Also send her twelve shillings to pay the three I owed at the shop, and you write her a nice letter and ask her to do this for you, and say how sorry and ashamed I am of my conduct to her and to farmer Heath, so bad and ungrateful that I do not like even to write to her to ask forgiveness, but if you ask her, I think she will forgive me, for she is so kind and soft-hearted.

"Then, if you think Mrs. Spence would not take it ill, you buy a frock for Etty, a real handsome one, blue, of course, and very nice, and say something to Mrs. Spence for me. And pay old Mrs. Harris, that we lodged with in London, one pound, because I went off that night without paying our rent. And send Mrs. Simmonds one pound, just to show that we remember how good she was to us that time, and put any you have left in the poor-box, to be given away, for indeed, I wronged many that I never can find out and pay. Dear Fan, I am so sorry when I think about it, but Mr. Sydney says that when one really repents, one is surely forgiven, but still I think I ought to make amends when I have the power to do it. And it is a good punishment to me to think how I might be sending you this money to buy some nice present for yourself, as I should like to do, and will, when I have saved more."

Fan ceased reading, and looked nervously at her grandmother. But, to her surprise, the old lady looked both pleased and softened.

"You may make your mind easy about Ben," she said. "I'm no great judge, 'tis true, but I think that's the right kind of repentance. That boy will do well yet, though he 'is' a Fairfax."

"Oh, Granny, thank you!" cried Fan, melting into tears again.

"For nothing, as the gallipot said," quoth the old lady tartly. "What are you crying for, Fan? You'll never be anything but a soft little fool."

But it was in vain that she tried to be as cross as usual; her heart was touched, and Fan knew it.

Later in the day the pony carriage from Harewood drove up to the little gate, and Mrs. Harewood was seen coming up the walk. Fan rushed to the door and opened it with a beaming countenance.

"Well, Fan, I see you have had your letter. I desired Thomas to bring it up early, as it was some time since we had heard. How do you do, Mrs. Thirlston? I'm glad to see you looking so much better."

"Thank you, madam. I'm no great things to boast of, indeed, but you're always welcome, madam, and I'm proud to see you."

The good woman was never known to confess herself better, or in any but a very poor case.

Mrs. Harewood sat down, and Fan stood behind her grandmother's chair, smiling broadly, she was so happy; for she knew somehow that Mrs. Harewood was pleased about Ben, and meant to say so. And to hear Ben praised—could life afford a greater joy than that?

"Fan, you look so happy, that it is quite pleasant to see you. Yes, child, I know why. But you don't know yet what cause you have for being pleased; for I am sure Ben does not tell you what his master tells me. Mrs. Thirlston, will you allow me to read to Fan a bit of my brother's letter, or must I take her home with me to hear it? For it is about Ben, you know."

"Certingly, you can read what you like, madam," said Mrs. Thirlston primly.

"Oh, ma'am, Granny let me read her Ben's own letter, and she was pleased. Now you know you were, Granny, so there's no use in denying it."

"I don't deny it, Frances. I 'will' say I like the boy's letter, and I begin to hope he won't come to the gallows after all."

"That was about the money, I suppose? Mr. Harewood will give it to you, Fan, any day you can come to the house, and I will help you to arrange everything as Ben directs. But now I must read you this, you will not wonder that 'I' think more of it than of his sending the money.

"'MY DEAR SISTER,

"'I suppose you are wondering where I am, and what I am doing, that I have been so long without writing. That I am alive and well is mainly owing to that very Ben Fairfax whom you were hardly willing to let me bring with me. I have been very ill, a sharp attack of fever, and we were in an out of the way Indian village, with none but Indians near. Before I became delirious, I told Ben what to give me and how to manage, and he nursed me day and night, with a tenderness and devotion that could not be surpassed. I could not have got through it, I think, but for his care. Poor Ben! He is as thin as a threadpaper, between watching and anxiety, but he is quite well, and is a treasure to me in every way. He is a clever lad, too, and learns all that I can teach him, but botany is his favourite study, and he says that some day, when he has laid by a little money, he will set up as a florist and seedsman, and have Fan to keep house for him.'

"Then he goes on to tell me about the money, and that Ben has denied himself every little luxury to save it. Well, Fan! What do you say to this?"

"She'll cry pints, madam. That's Fan's way of being happy."

"Oh, Granny, I can't help it! Oh, my dear Ben—But I always knew he 'd come right."

Fan went to Harewood the next day to get Ben's money, which she disposed of according to his wish. Mrs. Harewood took that opportunity to ask her if she still felt so miserable at her grandmother's.

"Oh no, ma'am! I don't mean that I was not happier here, where every one was so good to me, but poor Granny couldn't do without me, and she really is kind, though one wouldn't know it from her manner."

"You are not sorry, then, that you went to her?"

"No, indeed, ma'am. You were quite right when you said I never should be sorry. Besides, I know now that when I was with her before, it was partly my own fault that I was so unhappy. I never tried to like her, though she did so much for me—but just was silent and sulky. She's quite different to me now."

"I see a great change in her, too; I think she is much softened, and she is certainly very fond of you."

"I think so, ma'am. She speaks sharp and gruff, but I think it is only habit, like."

This was quite true. Mrs. Thirlston had become very fond of her grandchild, and very dependent upon her; but to save her life, she could not have spoken pleasantly and kindly. Yet kind words are as cheap as sharp ones; and what a pity it seems that any one should acquire a habit of speaking crossly! A little self-control when young would quite prevent it; but once get the habit, and it will stick to you through life.

So Fan went home to her poor old Granny, and nursed her tenderly through the last two years of her life. The poor old woman became quite helpless, and Fan's life was very laborious, but she was happy in spite of all drawbacks. Ben sent her many a present which brightened her home in various ways, but chiefly because they told her that the brother she loved so dearly had not forgotten her.

Once, a sailor, whose mother lived in Comerford, brought her a little cage with a most beautiful bird in it which Ben had caught and tamed for her, and had sent home by this man. The bird had a blue head, and a green back, and a flame-coloured breast—no one in those parts had ever seen the like, and it was greatly admired. It had big eyes (big for so small a bird, I mean) and a very gentle look, and it soon became a great darling with Fan.

The sailor told her that it liked no food so well as flies; and any one would have laughed to see the struggle between Fan's love for Dick, and her soft-hearted dislike to catch the poor flies. But at last she bethought herself of a compromise, which worked very well. When the sunny window of the kitchen was full of flies, she would close the door and windows and let Dick come out of his cage, when Dick caught plenty of flies for himself, and looked so beautiful, fluttering up the panes of glass in the sun, or darting into the middle of the room after a retreating fly, that even pity for the victims could not keep Fan from watching the proceeding closely.

At last Mrs. Thirlston grew very weak, and it became plain that her days were numbered. The kind rector came to see her often, and Mrs. Harewood also; she was quite aware that she was dying, and often spoke of it.

One day she sent for the rector, and sent Fan away while he was with her. Sally Tibbs was called to the room after a time, and soon afterwards the rector went away, and Fan ran upstairs to see if Granny were very tired. She found the old woman lying very quiet, with a folded paper in her poor stiffened hand.

"Look here, Fan. This here paper is my last will and testament, my dear. And now I'm going to tell you what I've ordered to be done with my money. When you first came back to me after Ben went to 'Merica, I made my last will and testament—leastways, I meant it for such, but I've lived to change my mind. I've been a saving woman, Fan, and your grandfather he were a saving man. I've got nigh upon a thousand pounds to leave behind me, Fan."

"A thousand pounds, Granny!" exclaimed Fan, who found it hard to imagine the existence of such a sum.

"Just so, Fan—don't interrupt me again, unless you've got something to say. It's the act of a fool to be exclaiming, and repeating of one's words like a parrot. Well, that will I speak of left all this to you, on conditions that you never gave nor lent a penny to Ben."

"Then I shall never have it, Granny!" cried Fan, indignantly. "I would rather starve."

"I know that, child. And I've changed my mind, as I mentioned before, if you would only attend, instead of prating like that. I've made another will this blessed day; Mr. Manvers wrote it for me, and he and Sally Tibbs witnessed it."

"And you've given it all to Ben!" exclaimed Fan, joyously. "Oh, I'm so glad, Granny. Ben will always take care of me."

"Fan, you'll never have an ounce of sense, no more than that painted Dick you make so much of! No, I have 'not' left it all to Ben. I've done the best thing for the two of ye, and the rector says to me before he left, 'you've made a most prudent and discreet will, Mrs. Thirlston, and now I hope you'll put the matter off your mind,' and so I will when I've told you about it. I've left five hundred pounds to you, Fan, to be your own, and not to be touched by any one else. And I've left all the rest to Ben, to be spent for him in buying the goodwill of a nursery-garden, and all things connected with that trade, and setting him up in life—for he said in one letter, you know, that such was his wishes. And you may tell Ben, child, that I would be glad if I could have seen him—and I wish him well with all my heart."

"Granny, you are very kind—I do feel quite happy for Ben, for I know how happy this will make him. Dear Granny, I hope it won't be for a long time yet," Fan whispered, as she stooped to kiss the withered cheek.

"It will be soon now, Fan. But as long as you live, Fan, you'll be glad to mind how you nursed the poor, cross old Gran—and softened her heart too, so that the light of God's love could get into it. God bless you, Fan—you've been a dear good child to me."

In a few days after this, Mrs. Thirlston died quite suddenly, passing away in her sleep; and Fan, who had once both feared and disliked her, mourned for her most sincerely. Fan went back to Harewood, to await Ben's return, and she worked very hard with Miss Ayrton, that he might not find her a dunce.

At last Ben came home, and a fine tall man he had become, and with such a character from Mr. Sydney, too. He soon bought a flourishing business in the line he had chosen, and he and Fan live together, very prosperously and happily. I hope that Fan will live to spin many another silken thread of love yet; and that those who read her history may remember that love is the best, if not the only, way of influencing others for good.

[Illustration]

———————————————————————————— PRINTED BY WILLIAM CLOWES AND SONS, LIMITED. LONDON AND BECCLES.