AS I had now only one regular pupil - though she contrived to giveme as much trouble as three or four ordinary ones, and though hersister still took lessons in German and drawing - I hadconsiderably more time at my own disposal than I had ever beenblessed with before, since I had taken upon me the governess'syoke; which time I devoted partly to correspondence with myfriends, partly to reading, study, and the practice of music,singing, &c., partly to wandering in the grounds or adjacentfields, with my pupils if they wanted me, alone if they did not.

Often, when they had no more agreeable occupation at hand, theMisses Murray would amuse themselves with visiting the poorcottagers on their father's estate, to receive their flatteringhomage, or to hear the old stories or gossiping news of thegarrulous old women; or, perhaps, to enjoy the purer pleasure ofmaking the poor people happy with their cheering presence and theiroccasional gifts, so easily bestowed, so thankfully received.Sometimes, I was called upon to accompany one or both of thesisters in these visits; and sometimes I was desired to go alone,to fulfil some promise which they had been more ready to make thanto perform; to carry some small donation, or read to one who wassick or seriously disposed: and thus I made a few acquaintancesamong the cottagers; and, occasionally, I went to see them on myown account.

I generally had more satisfaction in going alone than with eitherof the young ladies; for they, chiefly owing to their defectiveeducation, comported themselves towards their inferiors in a mannerthat was highly disagreeable for me to witness. They never, inthought, exchanged places with them; and, consequently, had noconsideration for their feelings, regarding them as an order ofbeings entirely different from themselves. They would watch thepoor creatures at their meals, making uncivil remarks about theirfood, and their manner of eating; they would laugh at their simplenotions and provincial expressions, till some of them scarcelydurst venture to speak; they would call the grave elderly men andwomen old fools and silly old blockheads to their faces: and allthis without meaning to offend. I could see that the people wereoften hurt and annoyed by such conduct, though their fear of the'grand ladies' prevented them from testifying any resentment; butTHEY never perceived it. They thought that, as these cottagerswere poor and untaught, they must be stupid and brutish; and aslong as they, their superiors, condescended to talk to them, and togive them shillings and half-crowns, or articles of clothing, theyhad a right to amuse themselves, even at their expense; and thepeople must adore them as angels of light, condescending tominister to their necessities, and enlighten their humbledwellings.

I made many and various attempts to deliver my pupils from thesedelusive notions without alarming their pride - which was easilyoffended, and not soon appeased - but with little apparent result;and I know not which was the more reprehensible of the two:Matilda was more rude and boisterous; but from Rosalie's womanlyage and lady-like exterior better things were expected: yet shewas as provokingly careless and inconsiderate as a giddy child oftwelve.

One bright day in the last week of February, I was walking in thepark, enjoying the threefold luxury of solitude, a book, andpleasant weather; for Miss Matilda had set out on her daily ride,and Miss Murray was gone in the carriage with her mamma to pay somemorning calls. But it struck me that I ought to leave theseselfish pleasures, and the park with its glorious canopy of brightblue sky, the west wind sounding through its yet leafless branches,the snow-wreaths still lingering in its hollows, but melting fastbeneath the sun, and the graceful deer browsing on its moistherbage already assuming the freshness and verdure of spring - andgo to the cottage of one Nancy Brown, a widow, whose son was atwork all day in the fields, and who was afflicted with aninflammation in the eyes; which had for some time incapacitated herfrom reading: to her own great grief, for she was a woman of aserious, thoughtful turn of mind. I accordingly went, and foundher alone, as usual, in her little, close, dark cottage, redolentof smoke and confined air, but as tidy and clean as she could makeit. She was seated beside her little fire (consisting of a few redcinders and a bit of stick), busily knitting, with a smallsackcloth cushion at her feet, placed for the accommodation of hergentle friend the cat, who was seated thereon, with her long tailhalf encircling her velvet paws, and her half-closed eyes dreamilygazing on the low, crooked fender.

'Well, Nancy, how are you to-day?'

'Why, middling, Miss, i' myseln - my eyes is no better, but I'm adeal easier i' my mind nor I have been,' replied she, rising towelcome me with a contented smile; which I was glad to see, forNancy had been somewhat afflicted with religious melancholy. Icongratulated her upon the change. She agreed that it was a greatblessing, and expressed herself 'right down thankful for it';adding, 'If it please God to spare my sight, and make me so as Ican read my Bible again, I think I shall be as happy as a queen.'

'I hope He will, Nancy,' replied I; 'and, meantime, I'll come andread to you now and then, when I have a little time to spare.'

With expressions of grateful pleasure, the poor woman moved to getme a chair; but, as I saved her the trouble, she busied herselfwith stirring the fire, and adding a few more sticks to thedecaying embers; and then, taking her well-used Bible from theshelf, dusted it carefully, and gave it me. On my asking if therewas any particular part she should like me to read, she answered -

'Well, Miss Grey, if it's all the same to you, I should like tohear that chapter in the First Epistle of St. John, that says, "Godis love, and he that dwelleth in love dwelleth in God, and God inhim."'

With a little searching, I found these words in the fourth chapter.When I came to the seventh verse she interrupted me, and, withneedless apologies for such a liberty, desired me to read it veryslowly, that she might take it all in, and dwell on every word;hoping I would excuse her, as she was but a 'simple body.'

'The wisest person,' I replied, 'might think over each of theseverses for an hour, and be all the better for it; and I wouldrather read them slowly than not.'

Accordingly, I finished the chapter as slowly as need be, and atthe same time as impressively as I could; my auditor listened mostattentively all the while, and sincerely thanked me when I haddone. I sat still about half a minute to give her time to reflectupon it; when, somewhat to my surprise, she broke the pause byasking me how I liked Mr. Weston?

'I don't know,' I replied, a little startled by the suddenness ofthe question; 'I think he preaches very well.'

'Ay, he does so; and talks well too.'

'Does he?'

'He does. Maybe, you haven't seen him - not to talk to him much,yet?'

'No, I never see any one to talk to - except the young ladies ofthe Hall.'

'Ah; they're nice, kind young ladies; but they can't talk as hedoes.'

'Then he comes to see you, Nancy?'

'He does, Miss; and I'se thankful for it. He comes to see all uspoor bodies a deal ofter nor Maister Bligh, or th' Rector ever did;an' it's well he does, for he's always welcome: we can't say asmuch for th' Rector - there is 'at says they're fair feared on him.When he comes into a house, they say he's sure to find summutwrong, and begin a-calling 'em as soon as he crosses th' doorstuns:but maybe he thinks it his duty like to tell 'em what's wrong. Andvery oft he comes o' purpose to reprove folk for not coming tochurch, or not kneeling an' standing when other folk does, or goingto the Methody chapel, or summut o' that sort: but I can't say 'athe ever fund much fault wi' me. He came to see me once or twice,afore Maister Weston come, when I was so ill troubled in my mind;and as I had only very poor health besides, I made bold to send forhim - and he came right enough. I was sore distressed, Miss Grey -thank God, it's owered now - but when I took my Bible, I could getno comfort of it at all. That very chapter 'at you've just beenreading troubled me as much as aught - "He that loveth not, knowethnot God." It seemed fearsome to me; for I felt that I lovedneither God nor man as I should do, and could not, if I tried everso. And th' chapter afore, where it says, - "He that is born ofGod cannot commit sin." And another place where it says, - "Loveis the fulfilling of the Law." And many, many others, Miss: Ishould fair weary you out, if I was to tell them all. But allseemed to condemn me, and to show me 'at I was not in the rightway; and as I knew not how to get into it, I sent our Bill to begMaister Hatfield to be as kind as look in on me some day and whenhe came, I telled him all my troubles.'

'And what did he say, Nancy?'

'Why, Miss, he seemed to scorn me. I might be mista'en - but helike gave a sort of a whistle, and I saw a bit of a smile on hisface; and he said, "Oh, it's all stuff! You've been among theMethodists, my good woman." But I telled him I'd never been nearthe Methodies. And then he said, - "Well," says he, "you must cometo church, where you'll hear the Scriptures properly explained,instead of sitting poring over your Bible at home."

'But I telled him I always used coming to church when I had myhealth; but this very cold winter weather I hardly durst venture sofar - and me so bad wi' th' rheumatic and all.

'But he says, "It'll do your rheumatiz good to hobble to church:there's nothing like exercise for the rheumatiz. You can walkabout the house well enough; why can't you walk to church? Thefact is," says he, "you're getting too fond of your ease. It'salways easy to find excuses for shirking one's duty."

'But then, you know, Miss Grey, it wasn't so. However, I telledhim I'd try. "But please, sir," says I, "if I do go to church,what the better shall I be? I want to have my sins blotted out,and to feel that they are remembered no more against me, and thatthe love of God is shed abroad in my heart; and if I can get nogood by reading my Bible an' saying my prayers at home, what goodshall I get by going to church?'

'"The church," says he, "is the place appointed by God for Hisworship. It's your duty to go there as often as you can. If youwant comfort, you must seek it in the path of duty," - an' a dealmore he said, but I cannot remember all his fine words. However,it all came to this, that I was to come to church as oft as ever Icould, and bring my prayer-book with me, an' read up all thesponsers after the clerk, an' stand, an' kneel, an' sit, an' do allas I should, and take the Lord's Supper at every opportunity, an'hearken his sermons, and Maister Bligh's, an' it 'ud be all right:if I went on doing my duty, I should get a blessing at last.

'"But if you get no comfort that way," says he, "it's all up."

'"Then, sir," says I, "should you think I'm a reprobate?"

'"Why," says he - he says, "if you do your best to get to heavenand can't manage it, you must be one of those that seek to enter inat the strait gate and shall not be able."

'An' then he asked me if I'd seen any of the ladies o' th' Hallabout that mornin'; so I telled him where I had seen the youngmisses go on th' Moss Lane; - an' he kicked my poor cat rightacross th' floor, an' went after 'em as gay as a lark: but I wasvery sad. That last word o' his fair sunk into my heart, an' laythere like a lump o' lead, till I was weary to bear it.

'Howsever, I follered his advice: I thought he meant it all forth' best, though he HAD a queer way with him. But you know, Miss,he's rich an' young, and such like cannot right understand thethoughts of a poor old woman such as me. But, howsever, I did mybest to do all as he bade me - but maybe I'm plaguing you, Miss,wi' my chatter.'

'Oh, no, Nancy! Go on, and tell me all.'

'Well, my rheumatiz got better - I know not whether wi' going tochurch or not, but one frosty Sunday I got this cold i' my eyes.Th' inflammation didn't come on all at once like, but bit by bit -but I wasn't going to tell you about my eyes, I was talking aboutmy trouble o' mind; - and to tell the truth, Miss Grey, I don'tthink it was anyways eased by coming to church - nought to speakon, at least: I like got my health better; but that didn't mend mysoul. I hearkened and hearkened the ministers, and read an' readat my prayer-book; but it was all like sounding brass and atinkling cymbal: the sermons I couldn't understand, an' th'prayer-book only served to show me how wicked I was, that I couldread such good words an' never be no better for it, and oftens feelit a sore labour an' a heavy task beside, instead of a blessing anda privilege as all good Christians does. It seemed like as allwere barren an' dark to me. And then, them dreadful words, "Manyshall seek to enter in, and shall not be able." They like as theyfair dried up my sperrit.

'But one Sunday, when Maister Hatfield gave out about thesacrament, I noticed where he said, "If there be any of you thatcannot quiet his own conscience, but requireth further comfort orcounsel, let him come to me, or some other discreet and learnedminister of God's word, and open his grief!" So next Sundaymorning, afore service, I just looked into the vestry, an' began a-talking to th' Rector again. I hardly could fashion to take such aliberty, but I thought when my soul was at stake I shouldn't stickat a trifle. But he said he hadn't time to attend to me then.

'"And, indeed," says he, "I've nothing to say to you but what I'vesaid before. Take the sacrament, of course, and go on doing yourduty; and if that won't serve you, nothing will. So don't botherme any more."

'So then, I went away. But I heard Maister Weston - Maister Westonwas there, Miss - this was his first Sunday at Horton, you know,an' he was i' th' vestry in his surplice, helping th' Rector onwith his gown - '

'Yes, Nancy.'

'And I heard him ask Maister Hatfield who I was, an' he says, "Oh,she's a canting old fool."

'And I was very ill grieved, Miss Grey; but I went to my seat, andI tried to do my duty as aforetime: but I like got no peace. An'I even took the sacrament; but I felt as though I were eating anddrinking to my own damnation all th' time. So I went home, sorelytroubled.

'But next day, afore I'd gotten fettled up - for indeed, Miss, I'dno heart to sweeping an' fettling, an' washing pots; so I sat medown i' th' muck - who should come in but Maister Weston! Istarted siding stuff then, an' sweeping an' doing; and I expectedhe'd begin a-calling me for my idle ways, as Maister Hatfield woulda' done; but I was mista'en: he only bid me good-mornin' like, ina quiet dacent way. So I dusted him a chair, an' fettled up th'fireplace a bit; but I hadn't forgotten th' Rector's words, so saysI, "I wonder, sir, you should give yourself that trouble, to comeso far to see a 'canting old fool,' such as me."

'He seemed taken aback at that; but he would fain persuade me 'atthe Rector was only in jest; and when that wouldn't do, he says,"Well, Nancy, you shouldn't think so much about it: Mr. Hatfieldwas a little out of humour just then: you know we're none of usperfect - even Moses spoke unadvisedly with his lips. But now sitdown a minute, if you can spare the time, and tell me all yourdoubts and fears; and I'll try to remove them."

'So I sat me down anent him. He was quite a stranger, you know,Miss Grey, and even YOUNGER nor Maister Hatfield, I believe; and Ihad thought him not so pleasant-looking as him, and rather a bitcrossish, at first, to look at; but he spake so civil like - andwhen th' cat, poor thing, jumped on to his knee, he only strokedher, and gave a bit of a smile: so I thought that was a good sign;for once, when she did so to th' Rector, he knocked her off, likeas it might be in scorn and anger, poor thing. But you can'texpect a cat to know manners like a Christian, you know, MissGrey.'

'No; of course not, Nancy. But what did Mr. Weston say then?'

'He said nought; but he listened to me as steady an' patient ascould be, an' never a bit o' scorn about him; so I went on, an'telled him all, just as I've telled you - an' more too.

'"Well," says he, "Mr. Hatfield was quite right in telling you topersevere in doing your duty; but in advising you to go to churchand attend to the service, and so on, he didn't mean that was thewhole of a Christian's duty: he only thought you might there learnwhat more was to be done, and be led to take delight in thoseexercises, instead of finding them a task and a burden. And if youhad asked him to explain those words that trouble you so much, Ithink he would have told you, that if many shall seek to enter inat the strait gate and shall not be able, it is their own sins thathinder them; just as a man with a large sack on his back might wishto pass through a narrow doorway, and find it impossible to do sounless he would leave his sack behind him. But you, Nancy, I daresay, have no sins that you would not gladly throw aside, if youknew how?"

'"Indeed, sir, you speak truth," said I.

'"Well," says he, "you know the first and great commandment - andthe second, which is like unto it - on which two commandments hangall the law and the prophets? You say you cannot love God; but itstrikes me that if you rightly consider who and what He is, youcannot help it. He is your father, your best friend: everyblessing, everything good, pleasant, or useful, comes from Him; andeverything evil, everything you have reason to hate, to shun, or tofear, comes from Satan - HIS enemy as well as ours. And for THIScause was God manifest in the flesh, that He might destroy theworks of the Devil: in one word, God is LOVE; and the more of lovewe have within us, the nearer we are to Him and the more of Hisspirit we possess."

'"Well, sir," I said, "if I can always think on these things, Ithink I might well love God: but how can I love my neighbours,when they vex me, and be so contrary and sinful as some on 'em is?"

'"It may seem a hard matter," says he, "to love our neighbours, whohave so much of what is evil about them, and whose faults so oftenawaken the evil that lingers within ourselves; but remember that HEmade them, and HE loves them; and whosoever loveth him that begat,loveth him that is begotten also. And if God so loveth us, that Hegave His only begotten Son to die for us, we ought also to love oneanother. But if you cannot feel positive affection for those whodo not care for you, you can at least try to do to them as youwould they should do unto you: you can endeavour to pity theirfailings and excuse their offences, and to do all the good you canto those about you. And if you accustom yourself to this, Nancy,the very effort itself will make you love them in some degree - tosay nothing of the goodwill your kindness would beget in them,though they might have little else that is good about them. If welove God and wish to serve Him, let us try to be like Him, to doHis work, to labour for His glory - which is the good of man - tohasten the coming of His kingdom, which is the peace and happinessof all the world: however powerless we may seem to be, in doingall the good we can through life, the humblest of us may do muchtowards it: and let us dwell in love, that He may dwell in us andwe in Him. The more happiness we bestow, the more we shallreceive, even here; and the greater will be our reward in heavenwhen we rest from our labours." I believe, Miss, them is his verywords, for I've thought 'em ower many a time. An' then he tookthat Bible, an' read bits here and there, an' explained 'em asclear as the day: and it seemed like as a new light broke in on mysoul; an' I felt fair aglow about my heart, an' only wished poorBill an' all the world could ha' been there, an' heard it all, andrejoiced wi' me.

'After he was gone, Hannah Rogers, one o' th' neighbours, came inand wanted me to help her to wash. I telled her I couldn't justthen, for I hadn't set on th' potaties for th' dinner, nor washedup th' breakfast stuff yet. So then she began a-calling me for mynasty idle ways. I was a little bit vexed at first, but I neversaid nothing wrong to her: I only telled her like all in a quietway, 'at I'd had th' new parson to see me; but I'd get done asquick as ever I could, an' then come an' help her. So then shesoftened down; and my heart like as it warmed towards her, an' in abit we was very good friends. An' so it is, Miss Grey, "a softanswer turneth away wrath; but grievous words stir up anger." Itisn't only in them you speak to, but in yourself.'

'Very true, Nancy, if we could always remember it.'

'Ay, if we could!'

'And did Mr. Weston ever come to see you again?'

'Yes, many a time; and since my eyes has been so bad, he's sat an'read to me by the half-hour together: but you know, Miss, he hasother folks to see, and other things to do - God bless him! An'that next Sunday he preached SUCH a sermon! His text was, "Comeunto me all ye that labour and are heavy laden, and I will give yourest," and them two blessed verses that follows. You wasn't there,Miss, you was with your friends then - but it made me SO happy!And I AM happy now, thank God! an' I take a pleasure, now, in doinglittle bits o' jobs for my neighbours - such as a poor old body'at's half blind can do; and they take it kindly of me, just as hesaid. You see, Miss, I'm knitting a pair o' stockings now; -they're for Thomas Jackson: he's a queerish old body, an' we'vehad many a bout at threaping, one anent t'other; an' at times we'vediffered sorely. So I thought I couldn't do better nor knit him apair o' warm stockings; an' I've felt to like him a deal better,poor old man, sin' I began. It's turned out just as Maister Westonsaid.'

'Well, I'm very glad to see you so happy, Nancy, and so wise: butI must go now; I shall be wanted at the Hall,' said I; and biddingher good-bye, I departed, promising to come again when I had time,and feeling nearly as happy as herself.

At another time I went to read to a poor labourer who was in thelast stage of consumption. The young ladies had been to see him,and somehow a promise of reading had been extracted from them; butit was too much trouble, so they begged me to do it instead. Iwent, willingly enough; and there too I was gratified with thepraises of Mr. Weston, both from the sick man and his wife. Theformer told me that he derived great comfort and benefit from thevisits of the new parson, who frequently came to see him, and was'another guess sort of man' to Mr. Hatfield; who, before theother's arrival at Horton, had now and then paid him a visit; onwhich occasions he would always insist upon having the cottage-doorkept open, to admit the fresh air for his own convenience, withoutconsidering how it might injure the sufferer; and having opened hisprayer-book and hastily read over a part of the Service for theSick, would hurry away again: if he did not stay to administersome harsh rebuke to the afflicted wife, or to make somethoughtless, not to say heartless, observation, rather calculatedto increase than diminish the troubles of the suffering pair.

'Whereas,' said the man, 'Maister Weston 'ull pray with me quite ina different fashion, an' talk to me as kind as owt; an' oft read tome too, an' sit beside me just like a brother.'

'Just for all the world!' exclaimed his wife; 'an' about a threewik sin', when he seed how poor Jem shivered wi' cold, an' whatpitiful fires we kept, he axed if wer stock of coals was nearlydone. I telled him it was, an' we was ill set to get more: butyou know, mum, I didn't think o' him helping us; but, howsever, hesent us a sack o' coals next day; an' we've had good fires eversin': and a great blessing it is, this winter time. But that'shis way, Miss Grey: when he comes into a poor body's house a-seein' sick folk, he like notices what they most stand i' need on;an' if he thinks they can't readily get it therseln, he never saysnowt about it, but just gets it for 'em. An' it isn't everybody'at 'ud do that, 'at has as little as he has: for you know, mum,he's nowt at all to live on but what he gets fra' th' Rector, an'that's little enough they say.'

I remembered then, with a species of exultation, that he hadfrequently been styled a vulgar brute by the amiable Miss Murray,because he wore a silver watch, and clothes not quite so bright andfresh as Mr. Hatfield's.

In returning to the Lodge I felt very happy, and thanked God that Ihad now something to think about; something to dwell on as a relieffrom the weary monotony, the lonely drudgery, of my present life:for I WAS lonely. Never, from month to month, from year to year,except during my brief intervals of rest at home, did I see onecreature to whom I could open my heart, or freely speak my thoughtswith any hope of sympathy, or even comprehension: never one,unless it were poor Nancy Brown, with whom I could enjoy a singlemoment of real social intercourse, or whose conversation wascalculated to render me better, wiser, or happier than before; orwho, as far as I could see, could be greatly benefited by mine. Myonly companions had been unamiable children, and ignorant, wrong-headed girls; from whose fatiguing folly, unbroken solitude wasoften a relief most earnestly desired and dearly prized. But to berestricted to such associates was a serious evil, both in itsimmediate effects and the consequences that were likely to ensue.Never a new idea or stirring thought came to me from without; andsuch as rose within me were, for the most part, miserably crushedat once, or doomed to sicken or fade away, because they could notsee the light.

Habitual associates are known to exercise a great influence overeach other's minds and manners. Those whose actions are for everbefore our eyes, whose words are ever in our ears, will naturallylead us, albeit against our will, slowly, gradually, imperceptibly,perhaps, to act and speak as they do. I will not presume to sayhow far this irresistible power of assimilation extends; but if onecivilised man were doomed to pass a dozen years amid a race ofintractable savages, unless he had power to improve them, I greatlyquestion whether, at the close of that period, he would not havebecome, at least, a barbarian himself. And I, as I could not makemy young companions better, feared exceedingly that they would makeme worse - would gradually bring my feelings, habits, capacities,to the level of their own; without, however, imparting to me theirlightheartedness and cheerful vivacity.

Already, I seemed to feel my intellect deteriorating, my heartpetrifying, my soul contracting; and I trembled lest my very moralperceptions should become deadened, my distinctions of right andwrong confounded, and all my better faculties be sunk, at last,beneath the baneful influence of such a mode of life. The grossvapours of earth were gathering around me, and closing in upon myinward heaven; and thus it was that Mr. Weston rose at length uponme, appearing like the morning star in my horizon, to save me fromthe fear of utter darkness; and I rejoiced that I had now a subjectfor contemplation that was above me, not beneath. I was glad tosee that all the world was not made up of Bloomfields, Murrays,Hatfields, Ashbys, &c.; and that human excellence was not a meredream of the imagination. When we hear a little good and no harmof a person, it is easy and pleasant to imagine more: in short, itis needless to analyse all my thoughts; but Sunday was now become aday of peculiar delight to me (I was now almost broken-in to theback corner in the carriage), for I liked to hear him - and I likedto see him, too; though I knew he was not handsome, or even what iscalled agreeable, in outward aspect; but, certainly, he was notugly.

In stature he was a little, a very little, above the middle size;the outline of his face would be pronounced too square for beauty,but to me it announced decision of character; his dark brown hairwas not carefully curled, like Mr. Hatfield's, but simply brushedaside over a broad white forehead; the eyebrows, I suppose, weretoo projecting, but from under those dark brows there gleamed aneye of singular power, brown in colour, not large, and somewhatdeep-set, but strikingly brilliant, and full of expression; therewas character, too, in the mouth, something that bespoke a man offirm purpose and an habitual thinker; and when he smiled - but Iwill not speak of that yet, for, at the time I mention, I had neverseen him smile: and, indeed, his general appearance did notimpress me with the idea of a man given to such a relaxation, norof such an individual as the cottagers described him. I had earlyformed my opinion of him; and, in spite of Miss Murray'sobjurgations: was fully convinced that he was a man of strongsense, firm faith, and ardent piety, but thoughtful and stern: andwhen I found that, to his other good qualities, was added that oftrue benevolence and gentle, considerate kindness, the discovery,perhaps, delighted me the more, as I had not been prepared toexpect it.