made upon the cloth! Why, you have burned a hole right through."

"Oh, that is the acid," Ida answered contentedly. "Mrs. Westmacott said
that it would burn holes."

"You might have taken her word for it without trying," said her father
dryly.

"But look here, pa! See what the book says: `The scientific mind takes
nothing upon trust. Prove all things!' I have proved that."

"You certainly have. Well, until breakfast is ready I'll glance over
the Times. Have you seen it?"

"The Times? Oh, dear me, this is it which I have under my spirit-lamp.
I am afraid there is some acid upon that too, and it is rather damp and
torn. Here it is."

The Doctor took the bedraggled paper with a rueful face. "Everything
seems to be wrong to-day," he remarked. "What is this sudden enthusiasm
about chemistry, Ida?"

"Oh, I am trying to live up to Mrs. Westmacott's teaching."

"Quite right! quite right!" said he, though perhaps with less heartiness
than he had shown the day before. "Ah, here is breakfast at last!"

But nothing was comfortable that morning. There were eggs without egg-
spoons, toast which was leathery from being kept, dried-up rashers, and
grounds in the coffee. Above all, there was that dreadful smell which