Anna spent the two following afternoons in visiting the houses of her school-children. She had no talent for such work, which demands the vocal¹ rather than the meditative² temperament³, and the apparent futility⁴ of her labours would have disgusted and disheartened her had she not been sustained and urged forward by the still active influence of Mynors and the teachers' meeting. There were fifteen names in her class-book, and she went to each house, except four whose tenants⁵ were impeccable Wesleyan families and would have considered themselves insulted by a quasi-didactic visit from an upstart like Anna. Of the eleven, some parents were rude to her; others begged, and she had nothing to give; others made perfunctory promises; only two seemed to regard her as anything but a somewhat tiresome⁶ impertinence. The fault was doubtless her own. Nevertheless she found joy in the uncongenial and ill-performed task—the cold, fierce joy of the nun⁷ in her penance⁸. When it was done she said 'I have done it,' as one who has sworn to do it come what might, yet without quite expecting to succeed.