Grandfather went, and presently Mr. Park got up in a lingering way, said that Verry must learn to play for the Lord, and bade us “Good night.”  But he came back again, to ask me if I would join Dr. Snell’s Bible Class.  It would meet the next evening; the boys and girls of my own age went.  I promised him to go, wondering whether I should meet an ancient beau, Joe Bacon.  Mother retired; Verry still played.

“Her talent is wonderful,” said father, taking the cigar from his mouth.  “By the way, you must take lessons in Milford; I wish you would learn to sing.”  I acquiesced, but I had no wish to learn to play.  I could never perform mechanically what I heard now from Verry.  When she ceased, I woke from a dream, chaotic, but not tumultuous, beautiful, but inharmonious.  Though the fire had gone out, the lamps winked brightly, and father, moving his cigar to the other side of his mouth, changed his regards from one lamp to the other, and said he thought I was growing to be an attractive girl.  He asked me if I would take pains to make myself an accomplished one also?  I must, of course, be left to myself in many things; but he hoped that I would confide in him, if I did not ask his advice.  A very strong relation of reserve generally existed between parent and child, instead of a confidential one, and the child was apt to discover that reserve on the part of the parent was not superiority, but cowardice, or indifference.  “Let it not be so with us,” was his conclusion.  He threw away the stump of his cigar, and went to fasten the hall-door.  I took one of the brass lamps, proposing to go to bed.  As I passed through the upper entry, Veronica opened her door.  She was undressed, and had a little book in her hand, which she shook at me, saying, “There is the day of the month put down on which you came home; and now mind,” then shut the door.  I pondered over what father had said; he had perceived something in me which I was not aware of.  I resolved to think seriously over it; in the morning I found I had not thought of it at all.

CHAPTER XII.

The next evening I dressed my hair after the fashion of the Barmouth girls, with the small pride of wishing to make myself look different from the Surrey girls.  I expected they would stare at me in the Bible Class.  It would be my debut as a grown girl, and I must offer myself to their criticism.  I went late, so that I might be observed by the assembled class.  It met in the upper story of Temperance Hall—­a new edifice.  As I climbed the steep stairs, Joe Bacon’s head came in view; he had stationed himself on a bench at the landing to watch for my arrival, of which he had been apprized by our satellite, Charles.  Joe was the first boy who had ever offered his arm as my escort home from a party.  After that event I had felt that there was something between us which the world did not understand.  I was flattered, therefore, at the first glimpse of him on this occasion.