legibly as Jenny took care to do.

Down into the middle of this small domestic trouble came another, and
one of greater consequence. Miss Eyre had gone with her old mother, and
her orphan nephews and nieces, to the sea-side, during Molly's absence,
which was only intended at first to last for a fortnight. After about
ten days of this time had elapsed, Mr. Gibson received a beautifully
written, beautifully worded, admirably folded, and most neatly sealed
letter from Miss Eyre. Her eldest nephew had fallen ill of scarlet
fever, and there was every probability that the younger children would
be attacked by the same complaint. It was distressing enough for poor
Miss Eyre--this additional expense, this anxiety--the long detention
from home which the illness involved. But she said not a word of any
inconvenience to herself; she only apologized with humble sincerity for
her inability to return at the appointed time to her charge in Mr
Gibson's family; meekly adding, that perhaps it was as well, for Molly
had never had the scarlet fever, and even if Miss Eyre had been able to
leave the orphan children to return to her employments, it might not
have been a safe or a prudent step.

'To be sure not,' said Mr. Gibson, tearing the letter in two, and
throwing it into the hearth, where he soon saw it burnt to ashes. 'I
wish I'd a five-pound house and not a woman within ten miles of me. I
might have some peace then.' Apparently, he forgot Mr. Coxe's powers of
making mischief; but indeed he might have traced that evil back to
unconscious Molly. The martyr-cook's entrance to take away the
breakfast things, which she announced by a heavy sigh, roused Mr Gibson
from thought to action.

'Molly must stay a little longer at Hamley,' he resolved. 'They've