very best choice that she could have made, but time was short.
Jeremy, aided by Hamlet, was growing terribly independent, and Mr.
Cole had neither the humour nor the courage to deal with him. No,
Miss Jones was not ideal, but the Dean had strongly recommended her.
It is true that the Dean had never seen her, but her brother, with
whom she had lived for many years, had once been the Dean's curate.
It was true that he had been a failure as a curate, but that made
the Dean the more anxious to be kind now to his memory, he--Mr.
Jones--having just died of general bad-temper and selfishness.

Miss Jones, buried during the last twenty years in the green depths
of a Glebeshire valley, found herself now, at the age of fifty,
without friends, without money, without relations. She thought that
she would be a governess.

The Dean recommended her, Mrs. Cole approved of her birth, education
and sobriety, Mr. Cole liked the severity of her countenance when
she came to call, and she was engaged.

"Jeremy needs a tight hand," said Mr. Cole. "It's no use having a
young girl."

"Miss Jones easily escapes that charge," said Uncle Samuel, who had
met her in the hall.

The children were prepared to be good. Jeremy felt that it was time
to take life seriously. He put away his toy village, scolded Hamlet
for eating Mary's pincushion, and dragged out his dirty exercise-
book in which he did sums.