family may degenerate into a merely extended selfishness, but which is
itself founded upon those family affections. At the same time, it must
be confessed that boarding-schools are, in many cases, an antidote to
some of the evil conditions which exist at home.

To children whose home is a happy one, the exile to a school must be
bitter. Mine, however, was an unusual experience. Leaving aside the
specially troubled state in which I was when thus carried to the
village of Aldwick, I had few of the finer elements of the ideal home
in mine. The love of my childish heart had never been drawn out. My
grandmother had begun to do so, but her influence had been speedily
arrested. I was, as they say of cats, more attached to the place than
the people, and no regrets whatever interfered to quell the excitement
of expectation, wonder, and curiosity which filled me on the journey.
The motion of the vehicle, the sound of the horses' hoofs, the
travellers we passed on the road--all seemed to partake of the
exuberant life which swelled and overflowed in me. Everything was as
happy, as excited, as I was.

When we entered the village, behold it was a region of glad tumult!
Were there not three dogs, two carts, a maid carrying pails of water,
and several groups of frolicking children in the street--not to mention
live ducks, and a glimpse of grazing geese on the common? There were
also two mothers at their cottage-doors, each with a baby in her arms.
I knew they were babies, although I had never seen a baby before. And
when we drove through the big wooden gate, and stopped at the door of
what had been the manor-house but was now Mr Elder's school, the aspect
of the building, half-covered with ivy, bore to me a most friendly
look. Still more friendly was the face of the master's wife, who
received us in a low dark parlour, with a thick soft carpet and rich