“What I came to ask you was this,” she said firmly, addressing herself to Mattie. “Our Dimity is getting feeble and old, and I’m not as strong as I was. My son⁠—Jason, I mean⁠—is very particular. You know what he is, my dear? What a poet he is. Mr. Solent thinks he’s a great poet, don’t you, Mr. Solent?⁠ ⁠… Well, what I came to say is this. It would be such a pleasure to us all, my dear”⁠—here she laid her grey-gloved hand lightly on Mattie’s wrist⁠—“if you’d come and live with us and help me⁠—you know?⁠—help me with everything. Now don’t shake your head like that! I know what you mean. Of course, this little one must come, too, and of course we’ve got to think of her lessons.” The little lady drew a long breath, but hurried on before Mattie could utter a word. “It’s her lessons I was thinking about. I’m very fond of teaching children, children that I like , I mean; and I’ve got all