Gabriel and Jane Norton have actually been here to tea.  What do you say to that?  I must tell you how it came about; it’s a long story, but you shall have it all.  The other day, my friend and I were overtaken by a rain-storm on the heath; we ran as fast as we could to the Thatched Cottage, and there I remained fully two hours, till the rain had given over.  As Gabriel was very restless and unmanageable, I suggested that we might turn his superfluous energy to good account by arranging the library.  How those dear creatures keep alive, I cannot imagine; they are helpless and unpractical beyond all belief.  Jane Norton has absolutely no sense of order, the household drifts along as best it can.  “I hate it so,” she groans; “I have a horror of it all.”  That very afternoon I tore my dress and wanted to mend it.  A brass thimble was soon produced from the kitchen clock, where Jane keeps it “to have it handy,” but never were needle and thread more difficult to procure.  After much hunting, a dirty reel of white cotton was discovered in the soup-tureen, the needle-case had entirely disappeared; she finally managed, however, to squeeze some rusty kind of skewer out of her pincushion, and with these implements I mended my skirt as best I could.  But to return to the library.  The confusion we found it in is indescribable.  When first we began operations Gabriel stood about in a helpless way, but he became enthusiastic as the work of clearance advanced, and laboured with good will.

“This was a veritable inspiration!” he cried presently, perching himself upon the table; “there hasn’t been a corner to sit upon for weeks, not for weeks.  It’s very odd:  I believe that I much prefer to see things kept in order, only I haven’t the least idea how to bring such a state about.  None of us have.  Why! there’s Plato!  Blessings upon you, Emilia!  He must have been behind the piano quite two months.  I have hunted for him high and low.”  He seized the volume rapturously and began reading aloud.

“That’s all Greek to me,” said I.

“Come along then,” said he, “let’s leave off now, the room’s beautiful; come, I’ll teach you the alphabet.”

And this was the germ of a scheme we have started.  We had been racking our brains for some time past how to meet during the winter, in defiance of shortening days, cold, rain, and prejudice.  Now we have it.  He is to teach me Greek, and will come to the house to give me lessons.  Thanks to my foreign extraction and to a certain reputation I have got here for originality, my old ladies were not at all surprised when I told them that a poor gentleman who lived with his father and his aunt towards Miltonhoe was coming twice a week to teach me.  On the contrary, their kind old hearts were touched at the mere mention of poverty, and they asked if I wouldn’t invite Miss Norton to tea; hence Monday’s tea-party, which was exceedingly funny.  Ida Seymour had gone to a school treat at Miltonhoe, so my old ladies