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 Compact Textbooks in Mathematics

Markus Land

Introduction
to Infinity-Categories
Compact Textbooks in Mathematics

This textbook series presents concise introductions to current topics in mathematics

and mainly addresses advanced undergraduates and master students. The concept
is to offer small books covering subject matter equivalent to 2- or 3-hour lectures
or seminars which are also suitable for self-study. The books provide students and
teachers with new perspectives and novel approaches. They may feature examples
and exercises to illustrate key concepts and applications of the theoretical contents.
The series also includes textbooks specifically speaking to the needs of students
from other disciplines such as physics, computer science, engineering, life sciences,
finance.
• compact: small books presenting the relevant knowledge
• learning made easy: examples and exercises illustrate the application
of the contents
• useful for lecturers: each title can serve as basis and guideline for a
semester course/lecture/seminar of 2–3 hours per week.

More information about this series at http://www.springer.com/series/11225

Markus Land

Introduction to
Infinity-Categories
Markus Land
Department of Mathematical Sciences
University of Copenhagen
Copenhagen, Denmark

ISSN 2296-4568 ISSN 2296-455X (electronic)

Compact Textbooks in Mathematics
ISBN 978-3-030-61523-9 ISBN 978-3-030-61524-6 (eBook)
https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-61524-6

Mathematics Subject Classification: 18N60, 18N50, 18N55

This textbook has been reviewed and accepted by the Editorial Board of Mathematik Kompakt, the
German language version of this series.

© The Editor(s) (if applicable) and The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Switzerland
AG 2021
This work is subject to copyright. All rights are solely and exclusively licensed by the Publisher, whether
the whole or part of the material is concerned, specifically the rights of translation, reprinting, reuse
of illustrations, recitation, broadcasting, reproduction on microfilms or in any other physical way, and
transmission or information storage and retrieval, electronic adaptation, computer software, or by similar
or dissimilar methodology now known or hereafter developed.
The use of general descriptive names, registered names, trademarks, service marks, etc. in this publication
does not imply, even in the absence of a specific statement, that such names are exempt from the relevant
protective laws and regulations and therefore free for general use.
The publisher, the authors, and the editors are safe to assume that the advice and information in this book
are believed to be true and accurate at the date of publication. Neither the publisher nor the authors or
the editors give a warranty, expressed or implied, with respect to the material contained herein or for any
errors or omissions that may have been made. The publisher remains neutral with regard to jurisdictional
claims in published maps and institutional affiliations.

This book is published under the imprint Birkhäuser, www.birkhauser-science.com, by the registered
company Springer Nature Switzerland AG.
The registered company address is: Gewerbestrasse 11, 6330 Cham, Switzerland
Preface

This book grew out of lecture notes for the courses “Introduction to ∞-categories”
and “∞-categories” that I taught at the University of Regensburg in the winter term
2018/2019 and the summer term 2019, respectively. Most of the material is not
original; on many occasions throughout the first chapters of the book, I follow the
arguments of Rezk [Rez20]. Further sources of inspiration are, of course, Lurie’s
book “Higher Topos Theory”, [Lur09], Cisinski’s book “Higher Categories and
Homotopical Algebra”, [Cis19], Joyal’s paper about quasi-categories, [Joy08], and
Haugseng’s lecture notes on ∞-categories, [Hau17]. Additional survey papers are
Rahn’s (or Groth’s, at the time of writing) “A short course on ∞-categories”, as well
as Gepner’s “An introduction to higher categorical algebra”, both of which appear
as a chapter in [Mil19]. In particular, Gepner’s paper is a very nice read before
attacking Lurie’s seminal work “Higher Algebra”, [Lur17], on the topic.
When reading this book, it is beneficial, but not strictly necessary, to have had
some exposure to ordinary category theory, although not much prior knowledge
is needed and the most important concepts are recalled in the beginning of the
book. For instance, it will be useful to have seen examples of categories, functors,
adjunctions, colimits and limits. Some exposure to algebraic topology in the form of
basic homotopy theory and the relation between topological spaces and simplicial
sets is also helpful. In particular, knowing that many categories which appear in
algebraic topology admit enrichments in topological spaces will help appreciate the
construction of the coherent nerve, which produces from a category enriched in
topological spaces an associated ∞-category and although a reader who is familiar
with model categories will certainly recognise some arguments throughout the first
two chapters of the book, no knowledge of model categories is necessary to follow
the reasoning in this book.
Summing up, the material presented in this book is well suited for anyone with
some background in homotopy theory and category theory and an interest in the
basic theory of ∞-categories. The book can be the basis for a lecture course on the

v
vi Preface

topic, covering roughly two terms of 4 h of lecture per week; the set of exercises can
be used for parallel exercise sessions. Likewise, the book can be used for reading
courses or, of course, as an individual read.

Copenhagen, Denmark Markus Land

Acknowledgments

I want to thank Hoang Kim Nguyen and Denis-Charles Cisinski for many helpful
discussions about the basics of higher category theory, and Harry Gindi for many
valuable questions and comments during the lectures. Thanks also to Sebastian
Wolf, Paul Bärnreuther, and Jonas Kleinöder for spotting errors in earlier versions of
this manuscript, and to Søren Galatius, Thomas Nikolaus, and Irakli Patchkoria for
comments on the notes. Many thanks go to Fabian Hebestreit and Christoph Winges
for very helpful comments and corrections while they were teaching a similar class a
year later, and to Sune Precht Reeh for many helpful comments while I was teaching
this class in Copenhagen.
I wish to thank Moritz Kerz for suggesting to write this book and the editorial
board of Mathematik Kompakt for supporting the proposal to do so.
Many, many thanks also go to Tobias Schwaibold for his thorough reading of
the manuscript and for providing numerous suggestions which greatly enhanced the
presentation of the material in this book.
Last but not least, many thanks to our TEX-pert for developing this class file!

vii
Contents

1 Categories, Simplicial Sets, and Infinity-Categories .. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1

1.1 Categories and Simplicial Sets . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 3
1.2 ∞-Categories . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 24
1.3 Anodyne Maps and Fibrations .. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 57
1.4 Joins and Slices . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 81
2 Joyal’s Theorem, Applications, and Dwyer–Kan Localizations . . . . . . . . 97
2.1 Joyal’s Special Horn Lifting Theorem.. . . . . . . . . . . .. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 97
2.2 Pointwise Criterion for Natural Equivalences .. . . .. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 105
2.3 Fully Faithful and Essentially Surjective Functors.. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 117
2.4 Localizations .. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 132
2.5 Fat Joins, Fat Slices and Mapping Spaces . . . . . . . . .. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 141
3 (Co)Cartesian Fibrations and the Construction of Functors.. . . . . . . . . . . 163
3.1 (Co)Cartesian Fibrations . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 163
3.2 Marked Simplicial Sets and Marked Anodyne Maps .. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 176
3.3 Straightening-Unstraightening .. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 192
4 Limits, Colimits, and Quillen’s Theorem A . . . . . . . . . . .. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 205
4.1 Terminal and Initial Objects . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 205
4.2 The Yoneda Lemma for ∞-Categories .. . . . . . . . . . .. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 210
4.3 Limits and Colimits . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 218
4.4 Cofinal and Coinitial Functors .. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 237
5 Adjunctions and Adjoint Functor Theorems . . . . . . . . .. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 249
5.1 Adjunctions . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 249
5.2 Adjoint Functor Theorems . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 265

A Exercises . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 273

Bibliography . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 295

ix
Categories, Simplicial Sets,
and Infinity-Categories 1

Motivation and Overview

In this book, we will discuss some of the foundations of (∞, 1)-categories,

henceforth simply called ∞-categories. Examples of ∞-categories are given by
ordinary categories, and by topologically (or simplicially) enriched categories.
Furthermore, topological spaces give rise to ∞-groupoids. In fact, the associated
∞-groupoid depends only on the (weak) homotopy type of the topological space,
and any ∞-groupoid arises in this fashion—this is the content of the homotopy
hypotheses which we will see in Chap. 2. The collection of all ∞-groupoids itself
is a nice ∞-category which takes in some sense the role of the category of sets in
ordinary category theory.
∞-categories arise naturally at various points in homotopy theory and derived
(algebraic) geometry, and they have some very nice features:
(1) What were previously only constructions like homotopy (co)limits in model
categories become objects with universal properties in ∞-categories.
(2) If we can show that certain objects have universal properties, then we can
construct many interesting maps whose existence cannot be anticipated by
merely considering the construction of the associated objects (or which rely
on having a particular construction at hand), e.g., calculating natural maps from
topological K-theory (viewed as a functor on C ∗ -algebras) or the Tate diagonal
(which is of utmost importance in the new description of TC).
(3) Therefore, the ∞-categorical machinery often allows for good definitions of
objects: For instance, the algebraic K-theory of a discrete ring can now be
defined just as Quillen and Segal have imagined it. No S −1 S, Q, or S•
construction is needed; much rather, it is simply a group completion, just as we

© The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2021 1

M. Land, Introduction to Infinity-Categories, Compact Textbooks in Mathematics,
https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-61524-6_1
2 1 Categories, Simplicial Sets, and Infinity-Categories

know it from K0 . This does not mean that these constructions are not useful—it
is good to know that the group completion can be described in these terms.
(4) One very big advantage of ∞-categories is that certain collections of ∞-
categories assemble into a nice new ∞-category, and that one can thus perform
many categorical arguments at that level. Examples include the Goodwillie
tower of a functor, the Goerss–Hopkins–Miller obstruction tower, the universal
property of algebraic K-theory as a noncommutative localizing invariant, its
variant for hermitian K-theory, the smash product of spectra, and many more.
(5) With the help of ∞-categories, it becomes intuitively clear that that the
assignment sending a topological space or a scheme to certain categories (of
sheaves or complexes of sheaves) satisfies descent properties, as, e.g., the
faithfully flat descent theorem of Grothendieck for derived categories. Among
other things, this fact leads to the modern treatment and understanding of
descent theorems for K-theory. Analogously, it allows to define a motivic J-
homomorphism, K(S) → Pic(SH(S)), which is used, e.g., in motivic Atiyah
duality.
(6) There is a nice treatment of generalized Poincaré duality for finite CW-
complexes, based on studying locally constant sheaves of spectra on such
spaces, which is in spirit very similar to what you might know from local
systems on X (in fact, these are simply locally constant sheaves of abelian
groups on X). This leads to very a nice picture of Poincaré duality for closed
manifolds or, more generally, Poincaré duality complexes; and this approach
makes most clear for what kind of cohomology theories there is Poincaré duality
for such spaces, which is very useful, e.g., in surgery theory.
The above list may convince you that the theory of ∞-categories is useful in
practice. However, it also has some drawbacks. In my opinion, the biggest one is the
following (exaggerated on purpose):

! It is practically impossible to construct anything by hand.

The main problem consists of constructing functors between ∞-categories. We
will define ∞-categories as certain kinds of simplicial sets, and a functor will
be a map of simplicial sets. With this definition, a functor cannot be defined by
specifying associations on objects and morphisms, and then checking that units and
composition are respected. We have to provide much more data in the first place,
which can sometimes, but not always be done by hand. Therefore, we always need
some machinery that allows us to construct such functors.
Typical examples of problems which we will face are the following:
(1) Let 1 → J be the inclusion of one morphism in the free standing isomorphism
J . Given a morphism f in an ∞-category, does its classifying map factor
through 1 → J if and only if f is an equivalence?
1.1 Categories and Simplicial Sets 3

(2) Given a natural transformation between functors which is pointwise an equiva-

lence, can we find an inverse of the transformation? Notice that forming inverses
is not unique, so that the usual proof in ordinary categories does not work. Also
note that being a natural transformation means more than a collection of maps
which have a property (that certain squares commute).
(3) Given a collection of composable morphisms x0 → x1 → x2 → . . . in an
∞-category C, can we find a functor N → C refining these data?
(4) Given a fully faithful and essentially surjective functor, can we find an inverse?
Notice that these are all questions whose answer in ordinary category theory is
yes. One would expect them to hold in ∞-categories as well, and it is the objective
of this book to prove precisely such kinds of results. In principle one could say
that any reasonable fact from ordinary category theory should have an analog in
∞-categories, but we have to be very careful with what it means to be a reasonable
fact. Here are some reasonable (depending on your background) statements:
(1) The category of commutative abelian groups/rings is a full subcategory of the
category of groups/rings.
(2) The forgetful functor Cx/ → C preserves connected colimits.
x
(3) The colimit over a constant functor I → ∗ → C is given by x if I is connected.
All these statements are not true in the setting of ∞-categories. This has to do
with the fact that commutativity in ∞-categories is not a property, but a datum.
In particular, maps might or might not preserve such data. The other fact is more
intuitive to understand: The analog will hold true if we replace “connected” by
“contractible”.
Our first goals in this book will be to address some of the above problems. At
the same time, we will get to know a type of argument that is used in the (basics of
the) theory: combinatorial arguments in simplicial sets. In the last part of the book,
we will discuss another very important tool to construct functors: the straightening-
unstraightening equivalence. We will not prove it, but we will discuss some aspects
of it. Afterwards, we will use it to study adjunctions between ∞-categories and
finally prove adjoint functor theorems.

1.1 Categories and Simplicial Sets

The purpose of this section is to get acquainted with the basic objects which we
will be studying throughout the book: simplicial sets. These simplicial sets are
most naturally considered as a category of presheaves on the simplicial indexing
category  which we will define in a moment. We will then study basic notions
in (ordinary) category theory and discuss the relation between simplicial sets and
ordinary categories implemented by the nerve construction, which says that the
4 1 Categories, Simplicial Sets, and Infinity-Categories

category of categories fully faithfully embeds into simplicial sets, and that one can
explicitly characterize which simplicial sets arise as nerves of categories.
In order to avoid talking about classes, we will work in a set theoretic setting
which we will introduce shortly. In addition to the usual ZFC axioms (Zermelo-
Fraenkel set theory plus the axiom of choice), we will assume another axiom, called
a large cardinal axiom:

Axiom
For every cardinal κ there exists an inaccessible cardinal κ  with κ  > κ.

A cardinal κ is called inaccessible if the collection of sets V<κ of hereditary

cardinality less than κ (i.e., the set and all its members have cardinality less than κ)
itself satisfies the ZFC axioms. The collection V<κ is called a universe. It turns out
that this large cardinal axiom cannot be proven from ZFC and, in fact, is logically
independent. In particular, an inaccessible cardinal κ is larger than ℵk for any k.
From the axiom, we may fix a sequence

κ0 < κ1 < κ2 < . . .

of inaccessible cardinals and consider their associated universes V<κ .

Definition 1.1.1
A set is called

(1) small, if it is contained in V<κ0 ;

(2) large, if it is contained in V<κ1 ;
(3) very large, if it is contained in Vκ2 ;
(4) very very large, if it is contained in V<κ3 , and so on.

In this book, we will not encounter any sets other than small, large and very large
sets.

Example The set of small sets is large. The set of large sets is very large, and so on.

Definition 1.1.2
A category C consists of a (possibly large) set of objects ob(C), and, for any two objects x
and y, a (also possibly large) set HomC (x, y) of morphisms, equipped with composition
maps

HomC (x, y) × HomC (y, z) → HomC (x, z)

and identities ∗ → HomC (x, x) for all objects x, satisfying associativity and unitality.
1.1 Categories and Simplicial Sets 5

A category is called locally small if all hom-sets HomC (x, y) are small, it is called
small if it is locally small and the set of objects is also small. It is called essentially small
if it is locally small and the set of isomorphism classes of objects is small.

Remark 1.1.3
In category theory, a category would usually be defined as to have a (possibly proper)
class of objects and, for any two objects, a set of morphisms. In our language, this is
what we call a locally small category. In general, however, we will not assume that a
category is locally small.

Definition 1.1.4
A partially ordered set is a set P equipped with a reflexive, antisymmetric and transitive
relation ≤. That is, a ≤ a, if a ≤ b and b ≤ a then a = b, and if a ≤ b and b ≤ c,
then a ≤ c. A map of partially ordered sets is a map of sets f : P → Q such that x ≤ y
implies f (x) ≤ f (y). This defines a category PoSet whose objects are posets and whose
morphisms are maps of posets.

Example Finite linearly ordered sets: The set {0, 1, . . . , n} is linearly ordered, 0 ≤
1 ≤ · · · ≤ n, and written as [n]. A general finite poset S is called linearly ordered
if it is isomorphic to one of the [n]’s. Morphisms of linearly ordered sets are just
morphisms of the underlying poset. We obtain a category LinOrdSet.

Example The subset poset: Let S be a set. Consider its set P(S) of subsets: P(S) =
{I ⊆ S}. This set is partially ordered by inclusion:

I ≤J ⇔I ⊆J

Definition 1.1.5
The category  is the full subcategory of the category PoSet of posets consisting of the
linearly ordered set [n] for all n ≥ 0. Notice that a morphism from [n] to [m] is thus
simply a weakly monotonic map.

Example There are two special maps in , namely the face and the degeneracy maps.
For every n ≥ 0 and 0 ≤ i ≤ n, the face maps are the maps

di : [n − 1] → [n]
6 1 Categories, Simplicial Sets, and Infinity-Categories

which are uniquely determined by the property that i ∈

/ Im(di ) and that di is
injective. Furthermore, for n ≥ 1 and 0 ≤ i ≤ n − 1, the degeneracy maps are
the maps

si : [n] → [n − 1]

which are uniquely determined by the property |si−1 (i)| = 2 and that si is surjective.
In other words, we have si (i) = si (i + 1) = i.

Definition 1.1.6
Let C be a category. We denote the category of functors Cop → Set by P(C) and call it
the category of presheaves on C. An object x ∈ C determines a representable presheaf,
namely the presheaf HomC (−, x) which sends y ∈ C to the set of morphisms from y to
x. This determines a functor C → P(C) which is called the Yoneda embedding.

Definition 1.1.7
A simplicial set is a presheaf on , i.e., a functor op → Set. Given a simplicial set X,
its set of n-simplices is given by X([n]) and will be written as Xn . An n-simplex x is
called degenerate if there exists a surjection α : [n] → [m] with m = n, and an n-simplex
y such that x = α ∗ (y). Equivalently, x is degenerate if x = si∗ (y) for some y ∈ Xn−1
and some 0 ≤ i ≤ n − 1. An n-simplex is called non-degenerate if it is not degenerate.
We denote the category P() of simplicial sets by sSet.

Definition 1.1.8
We let n be the simplicial set represented by [n] ∈ . Concretely, we have (n )m =
Hom ([m], [n]).

Definition 1.1.9
Let X be a simplicial set. We consider the equivalence relation ∼ on the set of 0-simplices
X0 which is generated by relating x and y if there exists a 1-simplex f ∈ X1 such that
d0 (f ) = x and d1 (f ) = y. (This relation is reflexive but in general neither transitive nor
symmetric.) Then we define the set π0 (X) as follows:

π0 (X) = X0 /∼

Lemma 1.1.10
The Yoneda lemma: Let F : Cop → Set be a functor and x ∈ C an object. Then the map

HomP(C) (HomC (−, x), F ) → F (x)

given by sending η to η(idx ) is a bijection.

1.1 Categories and Simplicial Sets 7

Proof The inverse is given by sending an element s ∈ F (x) to the function HomC (y, x) →
F (y) sending f to f ∗ (s). It can be explicitly checked that this is a natural transformation
and an inverse of the above-described map. 


Lemma 1.1.11
The Yoneda embedding C → P(C) is fully faithful.

Proof This follows immediately from the Yoneda Lemma: The effect of the Yoneda
embedding on morphisms is the map

HomC (x, y) → HomP(C) (HomC (−, x), Hom C (−, y))

given by sending f to

f∗
HomC (z, x) → HomC (z, y).

It is readily seen that this map is inverse to the map as described in the Yoneda lemma, which
is given by sending a map f ∈ HomC (x, y) to the function HomC (z, x) → HomC (z, y)
given by sending ϕ to ϕ ∗ (f ) = f∗ ϕ. 


Corollary 1.1.12
For a simplicial set X, there is a canonical bijection

HomsSet (n , X) ∼
= Xn .

Definition 1.1.13
A (co)limit of a functor F : I → C is an object of C, abbreviated as colimI F , equipped
with maps F (i) → colimI F , for every i ∈ I , which are compatible in the sense that for
every morphism i → j in I , the diagram

F (i) colimI F

F (j )

commutes. This datum is required to satisfy the following universal property: Whenever
a given further object X ∈ C is also equipped with maps F (i) → X which are compatible
8 1 Categories, Simplicial Sets, and Infinity-Categories

in the above-mentioned way, then there exists a unique morphism colimI F → X making
the diagrams

F (i) X

colimI F

commute.
Dually, a limit of F is an object limI F , equipped with maps limI F → F (i) which
are again compatible, satisfying the dual universal property: Whenever we are given an
object X equipped with compatible morphisms X → F (i) for all i ∈ I , there exists a
unique morphism X → limI F which makes the obvious diagram commute.

Remark 1.1.14
Notice that such a universal property specifies an object up to a unique isomorphism.
Notice also that the universal property refers to more than just the object colimI F . The
reference maps are part of the data, and this is what makes the object unique up to a
unique isomorphism.

Example A colimit of the empty diagram ∅ → C is an initial object, i.e., an object

which admits a unique morphism to any other object. Dually, a limit of the empty
diagram ∅ → C is a terminal object, i.e., an object which admits a unique morphism
from any other object.

Example A colimit of a functor defined on the diagram • ← • → • is called a

pushout. Dually, a limit of a functor defined on the diagram • → • ← • is called a
pullback.

Example The quotient vector space V /U is a pushout of the diagram

U V

0 V /U

Observation 1.1.15
One can phrase general (co)limits via initial and terminal objects. This point of view
will be used later when we discuss limits and colimits in ∞-categories. Given a functor

(continued )
1.1 Categories and Simplicial Sets 9

1.1.15 (continued)
F : I → C we can consider the category of (co)cones of this functor. Given a category
I we consider two new categories I  and I  , which are constructed from I by adding
an initial respectively a terminal object. There is an obvious functor I → I  and
I → I  . We can thus consider the functor categories FunF (I  , C) and FunF (I  , C)
of functors which restrict to F along the above-mentioned inclusion. They are called
the categories of cones and cocones over F , respectively. One can then show that a
colimit as described above is an initial object in the category of cones, and that a limit
is a terminal object in the category of cocones.

The following lemma follows immediately from the definition of (co)limits and
the fact established in Exercise 6 that the category Set is bicomplete (otherwise the
statement does not make sense).

Lemma 1.1.16
Let C be a category and let F : I → C be an I -shaped diagram in C. Then, for every
object x ∈ C, there are canonical bijections

(1) HomC (colimI F, x) ∼= limI HomC (F (i), x), and

(2) HomC (x, limI F ) ∼
= limI HomC (x, F (i)).
Moreover, these bijections characterize (co)limits uniquely.

Definition 1.1.17
An adjunction consists of a pair of functors (F : C → D, G : D → C) together with a
natural isomorphism between the two functors Cop × D → Set given by

HomD (F (−), −) and HomC (−, G(−)).

Given a functor F : C → D and a diagram X : I → C, there are canonical

comparison maps

colim F (X) −→ F (colim X) respectively F (lim X) −→ lim F (X).

I I I I

One says that F preserves colimits respectively limits, if the corresponding compar-
ison map is an isomorphism.

Lemma 1.1.18
Left adjoints preserve colimits, and right adjoints preserve limits.
10 1 Categories, Simplicial Sets, and Infinity-Categories

Proof Let F : C → D be a functor which admits a right adjoint, say G. Let X : I → C be a

diagram which has a colimit colimI X ∈ C. We claim that F sends that colimit to a colimit of
the diagram I → C → D. In formulas, we claim that the canonical map colimI F (X(i)) →
F (colimI X(i)) induced from the compatible maps F (X(i)) → F (colimI X(i)), which are
part of the datum of the colimit (and then applying F ), is an isomorphism. In order to see
this, it suffices to show that this canonical map induces a bijection on hom-sets for all other
objects y ∈ D:

HomD (F (colim X(i)), y) ∼

= HomC (colim X(i), Gy)
I I

∼
= lim HomC (X(i), Gy)
I

∼
= lim HomD (F (X(i)), y)
I

∼
= HomD (colim F (X(i)), y)
I

By the Yoneda lemma, this completes the proof. The argument for the claim that right adjoints
preserve limits is similar. 


Lemma 1.1.19
Let F : C → D be a functor which admits right adjoints G and G . Then there is a
specified natural isomorphism between G and G which is uniquely characterised by
being compatible with the adjunctions. Hence, adjoints, if they exist, are unique up to
a unique isomorphism.

Proof Consider the following two natural bijections:

HomC (Gx, G x) ∼
= HomD (F Gx, x) ∼
= HomC (Gx, Gx)

Then the identity of Gx corresponds to a natural transformation G → G . Applying the same

trick to HomC (G x, Gx) shows that this must be a natural isomorphism. 


Definition 1.1.20
A category is called (co)complete, if it admits (co)limits indexed over arbitrary small
categories (statt (co)limits). It is called bicomplete if it is both complete and cocomplete.

Lemma 1.1.21
If C is bicomplete, then the (co)limit is left/right adjoint to the constant diagram functor.
In particular, forming (co)limits determines a functor

Fun(I, C) → C.
1.1 Categories and Simplicial Sets 11

Proof Let us spell out the colimit case. Consider the constant functor const : C → Fun(I, C).
Now we specify for each functor F : I → C an object, namely colimI F . Part of the datum
of a colimit are compatible maps {F (i) → colimI F }{i∈I } which are easily seen to assemble
into a natural transformation

F → const(colim F ).
I

Next, we consider the composite

HomC (colim F, X) → HomFun(I,C) (const(colim F ), constX) → HomFun(I,C) (F, constX)

I I

which is a bijection by the universal property of a colimit. The proof of the lemma thus
follows from Exercise 10. The case of limits is completely analogous. 


Lemma 1.1.22
Given an adjunction with F : C → D being left-adjoint to G : D → C, and given a
further auxiliary small category I , then the functors

again form an adjoint pair. Here, F∗ is given by post-composition with F , and likewise
G∗ is given by post-composition with G.

Proof The adjunction is determined by a counit map ε : F G → idD and a unit map η : idC →
GF that satisfy the triangle identities of Exercise 9. We now use these maps to construct
counit maps and unit maps for the pair of functors (F∗ , G∗ ) as follows: Let ϕ ∈ Fun(I, D).
We need to specify a natural map ε∗ : F∗ (G∗ (ϕ)) → ϕ of functors I → D, so let x ∈ E. We
define the new counit ε∗ to be the map

εϕ(x)
F (G(ϕ(x))) −→ ϕ(x).

It is easy to see that this is natural in ϕ, since ε itself is a natural transformation. Similarly,
we define a natural transformation η∗ : ψ → G∗ F∗ (ψ) given by

ηψ(y)
ψ(y) −→ G(F (ψ(y))).

Then, it is easy to see that the triangle identities are satisfied, because (ε, η) satisfy the
triangle identities. 

12 1 Categories, Simplicial Sets, and Infinity-Categories

Proposition 1.1.23
If C is a bicomplete category, then Fun(I, C) is bicomplete as well. A (co)limit of the
diagram X : J → Fun(I, C) is given by the functor sending i ∈ I to colimJ X(j )(i).

Proof Let us prove that Fun(I, C) is cocomplete. The completeness argument is similar (or
can be formally deduced from this case by applying the functor (−)op correctly). We claim
that the composite

is a colimit functor whose existence we wish to show. By Lemma 1.1.22 this functor has a
right adjoint given by

const∗ : Fun(I, C) → Fun(I, Fun(J, C)) ∼

= Fun(J, Fun(I, C)).

The proposition is proven once we have convinced ourselves that this is itself the constant
functor (which follows immediately from the definition), since we can then allude to
Lemma 1.1.21. 


Corollary 1.1.24
The category of simplicial sets sSet is bicomplete.

Definition 1.1.25
Let D be a category and x an object of D. The slice category D/x has objects pairs (d ∈
D, αd → x), and morphisms from (d, α) to (d  , α  ) consist of those maps β : d → d  in
D such that the obvious triangle involving α, α  , and β commutes. There is a canonical
functor D/x → D which sends a pair (d, α) to d.
If F : C → D is a functor and let x ∈ D be an object. We define the slice category
associated to F and x by the pullback

Thus, F/x has as objects pairs (c ∈ C, α : F (c) → x) and morphisms consist of those
maps β : c → c such that the obvious triangle involving α, α  , and F (β) commutes.
1.1 Categories and Simplicial Sets 13

Sometimes, in particular when F is the inclusion of a subcategory, we simply

write C/x instead of F/x , leaving the functor F understood. There is also an obvious
dual notion of slice categories built from Dx/ whose objects are pairs (d, α : x →
d). In the following, we use the slice category associated to the Yoneda embedding
C → P(C) of Definition 1.1.6.

Lemma 1.1.26
Every presheaf is a colimit of representables. More precisely, for every presheaf
F : Cop → Set, the tautological map

colim HomC (−, X) → F

X∈C/F

is an isomorphism.

Proof The proof relies once again on the Yoneda lemma, i.e., we show that this map induces
a bijection on maps to an auxiliary presheaf G. For this purpose, we calculate

HomP(C) (colim HomC (−, X), G) ∼

= lim HomP(C) (HomC (−, X), G)
X∈C/F X∈C/F

∼
= lim G(X).
X∈C/F

It is not hard to see that the latter is in fact the set of natural transformations from F to G. 


Let i : C0 ⊆ C be a small subcategory of a category, and let D be a bicomplete

category.

Fact 1.1.27 The restriction functor

i ∗ : Fun(C, D) → Fun(C0 , D)

has a left adjoint denoted by i! and a right adjoint denoted by i∗ . They are given as

i! (F )(x) = colim F (c)

c∈(C0 )/x

and

i∗ (F )(y) = lim F (x).

c∈(C0 )x/
14 1 Categories, Simplicial Sets, and Infinity-Categories

Notice that the slices are small by assumption, so that the colimits and limits exist. It is a nice
exercise to convince yourself that this formula produces adjoints for the restriction functor
i∗.

Definition 1.1.28
In the above situation, we call i! (F ) the left Kan extension of F along i and i∗ (F ) the
right Kan extension of F along i.

Observation 1.1.29
The statement that the tautological map is an isomorphism shows that the identity of
P(C) is a left Kan extension of the Yoneda embedding (along the Yoneda embedding).

Corollary 1.1.30
If D is a cocomplete category and C is a small category, then the canonical functor

Funcolim (P(C), D) → Fun(C, D)

obtained by restriction along the Yoneda embedding is an equivalence. Here, Funcolim

denotes the full subcategory of the functor category on those functors which preserve
colimits.

Proof Given a functor f : C → D, we want to construct a colimit-preserving functor

fˆ : P(C) → D, such that fˆ(X) = f (X) for X ∈ C. By Lemma 1.1.26, given an object
F ∈ P(C), we are forced to define

fˆ(F ) = colim f (X).

X∈C/F

It is easy to check that this is in fact a functor: For F → G a morphism in P(C), there is an
induced functor from the category C/F to the category C/G given by post-composition with
the given morphism. Then it is not hard to see that taking the colimit produces a map

colim f (X) → colim f (X).

X∈C/F X∈C/G

Also, it can be readily seen that this is in fact a functor.

In order to see that this functor preserves colimits, we observe that fˆ admits a right adjoint
G given by

G(d)(X) = HomD (f (X), d).

1.1 Categories and Simplicial Sets 15

In the proof of Lemma 1.1.26, we saw that the set of natural transformations between F and
F  is given by

HomP(C) (F, F  ) = lim F  (X).

X∈C/F

Therefore, we see that

HomD (fˆ(F ), d) ∼
= lim HomD (f (X), d) ∼
= lim G(d)(X).
X∈C/F X∈C/F

Hence fˆ is left-adjoint to G and thus preserves colimits. 



Corollary 1.1.31
Let X be a simplicial set. Then

X∼
= colim n .
[n]∈/X

Lemma 1.1.32
Let X be a fixed simplicial set. Then the functor sSet → sSet sending Y to X × Y
admits a right adjoint Hom(X, −) determined by the formula

HomsSet (n , Hom(X, Z)) = HomsSet (n × X, Z).

Sometimes we will also write Z X for Hom(X, Z).

Proof Mapping [n] to the set on the right-hand side clearly determines a simplicial set which
we call Hom(X, Z). Since it satisfies the adjunction property on representable simplicial sets,
we can extend the adjunction to all simplicial sets. (Keep in mind that every simplicial set is
a colimit of representables.) Notice that we use the fact that the functor X × − : sSet → sSet
preserves colimits. This is certainly true in Set because the Hom-set provides a right adjoint.



Definition 1.1.33
We let Top be the category whose objects are topological spaces and whose morphisms
are continuous maps. The following are important objects for us: Let n ≥ 0 be a natural
number. The topological n-simplex ntop is the subspace of Rn+1≥0 consisting of those
points whose coordinates add up to 1. The topological simplices form a cosimplicial
space [n] → ntop , where the induced maps are the unique affine linear maps that do
16 1 Categories, Simplicial Sets, and Infinity-Categories

what they should on vertices. More precisely, given α : [n] → [m], the induced map
α∗ : ntop → m
top is given by

α∗ (t0 , . . . , tn ) = (v0 , . . . , vm ),

where vi = tj .
j →i

Definition 1.1.34
The singular simplicial set of a topological space X is the simplicial set
 
S (X) = [n] → HomTop (ntop , X) .

Definition 1.1.35
The geometric realization | − | : sSet → Top is the unique colimit-preserving functor
which sends n to ntop . Concretely, the geometric realization of a simplicial set X is the
topological space

|X| = colim ntop .

n  ∈/X

An even more concrete formula is given by

 
|X| = Xn × ntop /((f ∗ (x), t) ∼ (x, f∗ (t))
n∈

for x ∈ Xn , t ∈ m
top and f : [m] → [n] a morphism in .

Proposition 1.1.36
The singular complex is right-adjoint to geometric realization.

Proof By definition of adjunctions, we need to specify a natural isomorphism of functors

sSetop × Top → Set between

HomTop (|X|, Y ) ∼
= HomsSet (X, S (Y )).

But by the previous work, we know that these functors are equivalent to

lim HomTop (ntop , Y ) and lim HomsSet (n , S (Y )),

/X /X

and the latter two are already isomorphic (by definition of S (Y )) before forming the limit. 

1.1 Categories and Simplicial Sets 17

Definition 1.1.37

(1) The boundary ∂n is the subsimplicial set of n whose k-simplices consist of the
non-surjective maps [k] → [n].
(2) For any subset S ⊆ [n], the S-horn nS ⊆ n consists of those k-simplices f : [k] →
[n] where there exists an i ∈ [n] \ S such that i is not in the image of f . A horn
n = n is called inner horn if 0 < j < n and it is called (left or right) outer horn
j {j }
if j = 0 or j = n, respectively.
(3) The spine I n ⊆ n is given by those k-simplices f : [k] → [n] whose image is
either of the form {j } or of the form {j, j + 1}.

Definition 1.1.38
The n-skeleton skn (X) of a simplicial set X is given by the simplicial set i! i ∗ (X), where
i : ≤n ⊆  is the inclusion of the full subcategory on objects of cardinality ≤ n +
1. Dually, the n-coskeleton coskn (X) of a simplicial set is given by the simplicial set
i∗ i ∗ (X). This implies that the k-simplices of coskn (X) are given by

coskn (X)k = HomsSet (skn (k ), X).

Lemma 1.1.39

(1) The skeleton skn (X) is isomorphic to the smallest sub-simplicial set of X whose set
of k-simplices coincides with the ones of X for k ≤ n.
(2) The functors skn and coskn are left- and right-adjoint to each other.
(3) There is the formula coskn (X) = HomsSet (skn (• ), X).

Proof

(1) It is easy to see that the map skn (X) → X is levelwise injective, and that skn (X)k = Xk
for k ≤ n. Given any other sub-simplicial set Z with this property, we have skn (X) =
skn (Z) ⊆ Z, which yields the claim.
(2) Obvious, since adjoints compose.
(3) Obvious, by (2).




Lemma 1.1.40
The geometric realization of the horn is a horn, and the geometric realization of the
spine is a spine.
18 1 Categories, Simplicial Sets, and Infinity-Categories

Proof This follows from the fact that |n | = ntop and the following observations:
(1) I n = I n−1 0 1 ;
(2) there is a coequalizer

[n]\i [n]\j [n]\i n

× n
i.
0 i j n 0 i n,i k




Corollary 1.1.41
The geometric realization of a simplicial set is a CW-complex.

Proof Given a simplicial set X, define a filtration on |X| through |skn (X)| ⊆ |X|. Since
geometric realization commutes with colimits, we see that this is in fact a filtration of |X|
and the pushouts from above provide pushouts of geometric realizations. Next, we use that
|∂n | ∼
= S n−1 and |n | ∼
= Dn . 


Observation 1.1.42
A poset determines a category in the following way: Objects are the elements of the
posets P , and for each pair of elements x, y ∈ P , we have
⎧
⎨∗ if x ≤ y
Hom(x, y) =
⎩∅ else.

Furthermore, a functor between categories associated to posets is the same thing as a

map of posets, i.e., a map of sets respecting the partial ordering. This determines a fully
faithful functor PoSet → Cat. It follows that we can view [n] as a category. Sending
[n] to this category yields a cosimplicial small category.

Definition 1.1.43
The nerve of a category C is the simplicial set given by

[n] → Fun([n], C),

i.e., it is given by taking functors out of the previous cosimplicial category to the given
category.
1.1 Categories and Simplicial Sets 19

Lemma 1.1.44
n is isomorphic to the nerve of the category [n].

Proof Unravelling the definitions, we find that

(n )m = Hom ([m], [n]),

whereas

N([n])m = Fun([m], [n]).

Therefore, it suffices to recall that the functor Posets → Cat is fully faithful. 


Definition 1.1.45
The classifying space BG of a group G is the geometric realization of the nerve of the
group considered as groupoid with one object.

Definition 1.1.46
A Kan complex is a simplicial set X which has the extension property for horn inclusions
n → n for 0 ≤ j ≤ n, i.e., where any lifting problem
j

n
j X

admits a solution.

Lemma 1.1.47
The singular complex of a topological space is a Kan complex.

Proof By adjunction, there is an equivalence of the following two lifting problems:

n n
j S(X) | j| X

n n

Next, we recall that the topological horn inclusion has a retract, so that the right lifting
problem can be solved. 

20 1 Categories, Simplicial Sets, and Infinity-Categories

Fact 1.1.48 A Kan complex satisfies the extension property for any monomorphism of
simplicial sets K → L which induces a weak equivalence on geometric realizations (these
are called anodyne maps), see for instance [GJ09, Theorem 11.3].

Lemma 1.1.49
If the nerve of a category is a Kan complex, then the category is a groupoid.

Proof Since we can lift outer 2-horns, one can easily show that every morphism in C has a
right and a left inverse and is therefore invertible itself. 


Definition 1.1.50
Let f, g : X → Y be two maps of simplicial sets. We say that f and g are homotopic
if there exists H : X × 1 → Y such that H restricts to f and g. Given a pointed Kan
complex (X, x) we define its simplicial homotopy groups as follows:

πn (X, x) = [(n , ∂n ), (X, x)]∗

Fact 1.1.51 The homotopy relation is in fact an equivalence relation if Y is a Kan complex.
The simplicial homotopy groups of a Kan complex agree with the ordinary homotopy groups
of the geometric realization. In particular, they are groups for n ≥ 1 and abelian groups for
n ≥ 2. For more details about simplicial homotopies and simplicial homotopy groups, see
the book of Goerss and Jardine, [GJ09, I.6 and I.7].

Theorem 1.1.52
For a simplicial set X, the following three conditions are equivalent:

(1) X has unique extensions for nj → n if 0 < j < n.

(2) X has unique extensions for I n → n for n ≥ 2.
(3) X is isomorphic to the nerve of a category.

Proof We will show that (1) ⇔ (2) ⇔ (3).

In order to show (3) ⇒ (2), we consider a category C and its nerve N(C). Recall that its
n-simplices are given by Fun([n], C), and thus by chains of composable morphisms. Face and
degeneracies are given by composition and inserting identities. In particular, the restriction
along the spine inclusion I n picks out precisely the morphisms, so that restriction along the
spine induces an bijection between Fun([n], C) and HomsSet (I n , N(C)).
In order to show (2) ⇒ (3), consider a simplicial set X which has unique liftings against
spines. We define a category C as follows: The objects are given by X0 , the 0-simplices of
X; the morphisms from x to y are given by all 1-simplices f ∈ X1 such that d1 (f ) = x
1.1 Categories and Simplicial Sets 21

and d0 (f ) = y; and identities are given by s0 (x). Also, we need to explain how to compose
morphisms: Two composable morphisms determine a map I 2 = 21 → X which we can
extend over 2 and restrict to the new edge. We claim that this is indeed a category, for which
we have to check that identities really are identities and that composition is associative (both
follow from uniqueness):
(a) s0 (f ) : 2 → X has d0 s0 (f ) = f = d1 s0 (f ) and d2 s0 (f ) = s0 d1 (f ) = s0 (x).
Similarly, s1 (f ) : 2 → X is a 2-simplex, witnessing that idy ◦ f = f .
(b) Let f, g, h be composable 1-simplices. Consider the associated map I 3 → X. It can be
uniquely extended to a map : 3 → X. The restriction of this map to {0,2} is gf .
Therefore, the 2-simplex d2 ( ) is a composition of gf and h, i.e., |{0,3} = h ◦ gf .
On the other hand, the 2-simplex d0 ( ) yields hg, and thus the 2-simplex d1 ( ) yields
hg ◦ f . Hence

h ◦ gf = {0,3} = hg ◦ f,

which shows the associativity of composition.

We claim that there is a preferred map X → N(C) given by the following construction: A map
n → X can be restricted along the spine and thus determines a sequence of composable
morphisms of C, so that we obtain a map I n → N(C). This map can be (uniquely) extended
over n and thus provides an association which maps n-simplices of X to n-simplices of
N(C). Using the fact that an n-simplex of X is determined by its restriction to the spine, it is
now easily seen that the map X → N(C) satisfies the following two criteria:

(a) It is an isomorphism on 0- and 1-simplices.

(b) There is a commutative diagram

where the vertical maps are bijections and where the lower fibre product is over the
source and target maps and has n-many factors on both sides.
By (a) the lower map is a bijection, so the upper horizontal map is a bijection as well. This
shows that the map X → N(C) is an isomorphism of simplicial sets, which shows (2) ⇒ (3).
Next, we prove (1) ⇒ (2) via induction over n. For n = 2, this is clear, since the 2-spine
is the inner 2-horn. Therefore, we may assume that one can uniquely lift maps I k → X to k
for all k strictly smaller than n and consider a map I n → X for which we wish to show that
it extends uniquely to n . We will show that it extends uniquely to nj for some 0 ≤ j ≤ n,
and then use (1) to deduce the claim. We first observe that I n ∩n\{n} is the spine I n−1 of this
simplex, and likewise that I n ∩ n\{0} is the spine as well. Thus, by the inductive hypothesis,
there are unique maps n\{ε} → X extending the map from the spine to X for ε = 0, n. Since
the intersection of these two faces is given by n\{0,n} , which intersects the spine again in
a smaller spine, these two extensions agree on this intersection, by the inductive hypothesis.
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the remonstrances of Esther Morris, who persisted that the weather was "not fit for a dog
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and, heedless of rain overhead and mud below him, arrived at Cray Holm just when the
little party had adjourned to the drawing-room after dinner.

Mr. Spencer rose and met him with words of welcome, adding that he was just wishing for
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such a night. And if Anna's words were few, her father put his own interpretation on her
heightened colour, as she shook hands with Arthur, the last of the three. The father could
scarcely forbear a smile as he mentally noted how quickly the invitation had been
despatched to Mr. Glyn, and how prompt was the curate's response thereto.

Arthur said pleasant words to and made inquiry after the health of Aunt Adelaide, told Mr.
Spencer he fearlessly accepted his challenge to the mimic battle, only he must first answer
Miss Spencer's kind note verbally. This took some little time, for he had to tell that
Gertrude was not coming to Little Cray, and to add the reason why.

Congratulations and inquiries followed, and Anna was not the least pleased to hear that
the little dark-eyed governess was actually going to be the wife of a man whose position
and means were similar to those of her own brother.

Mrs. Esther Morris had looked out after the curate as he started on his wet walk to the
squire's, and had fervently wished that Mr. Glyn, "as kind a gentleman as ever trod on
shoe leather, might not find sour grapes at Cray Holm." We shall see.

We must peep into the other great house, in which Mr. Roger Ulyett and Mr. Worthington
are having a confidential chat. The rector has dined at Fairhill, and has arranged with his
host all the details of the Christmas treat to the villagers.

We already know something of Mr. Ulyett, so we will not describe his gorgeous mansion or
say much about its master. Mr. Spencer's portrait was sufficiently correct, so far as
character goes, though few knew how much of good was hidden under brusque manners
and a somewhat caustic mode of speech affected by the millionaire of Fairhill.

"By the way," said Mr. Worthington, "you will pardon my saying it, but Glyn seems to be
rather left out in the cold. All the details of this Christmas festival have been settled
without him."

"And far better so. He knows our plan, and has promised to look in and help to amuse the
folk, if needful."

"Which will not be the case. You have devised a programme which will give Little Cray folk
enough to talk of till Christmas comes again. But what is he going to do with himself at
dinner-time? Surely he will not be left to spend that hour in solitude? I should have asked
him, only we are all coming to you, and I thought—"

"I thought his sister was coming."

"She is not." And again the story of Arthur's letter and its contents is told, by a friend's
tongue this time.

"Well, to say the truth, I did not want Glyn to be engaged to me, in case a more congenial
invitation should reach him. I may be a disappointed man, you know," and the grimace
which accompanied this remark made Mr. Worthington burst into a hearty laugh, "but I am
no dog in the manger."
It was a favourite notion with Roger Ulyett to air his hopeless admiration of Miss Spencer
in the presence of his sympathetic friend, Mr. Worthington.

Not that Roger Ulyett had ever made a formal proposal for the hand of Anna Spencer, for,
as he told the rector, he was resolved to do nothing that would close the doors of Cray
Holm against him. If he could not win the fair young mistress, he should like to see her
and touch her hand as a faithful friend. "Men know they cannot reach the sun, but they
like to bask in its warm rays," he said.

The rector laughed at this speech, and replied, "A truce to your joking. You know this
sentimental talk is only meant in fun. You never had a serious thought of Anna Spencer."

"I never asked for her, for the excellent reason that she would have said 'No,' and would
have been in the right to say it. But she is a gem of a girl, and if she only make a wise
choice, Roger Ulyett will be the first to pray, 'May God bless her, and make her very happy
with him ever after!'"

Mr. Worthington noted the unusually deep feeling with which Mr. Ulyett spoke. All the
sharp, sarcastic ring had left his voice; the keen glance of his dark eyes softened into
positive tenderness, and a phase of character rarely exhibited by him was laid bare to the
rector's astonished gaze.

But his host only paused for an instant, and was his old self again.

"It takes a fairly wise man, Worthington, to find out that he is an old fool. Happily for me, I
made the discovery, and took myself to task for it instead of indulging the world with a
laugh at my expense. But, old cynic as people think me, I have a soft place in my heart.
One article of faith with me is that 'true love ever desires first the happiness of the beloved
object. It cannot be true or worthy of the name if its first aim is self-pleasing.'"

The rector nodded approvingly.

"You have got some other notion into your head about Anna Spencer," he said.

"I have. I believe that there is a man to whom she would not say 'No,' were he to ask the
question I never dared to put into words. Not, mind you, that she would, even by a look,
do aught to draw a man on for the sake of a petty triumph, or even betray her real feelings
unsought. But I suppose certain feelings of one's own, make a looker-on clear-sighted. I
have my opinion on the subject."

"More's the pity, for your words can only point to one individual. Poor fellow! His
circumstances bind him to silence. He can never speak, let him feel what he may."

And Mr. Worthington was going to tell part of what he knew about Arthur Glyn's past and
his quiet self-devotion, but Mr. Ulyett stopped him.

"I knew Worsley Glyn, his father. No need to tell me what a weight that young fellow's
shoulders have had to carry from his very boyhood."

Then, turning the conversation, he went into some little details concerning a blanket
distribution amongst the fishermen's wives at Cray Thorpe, and these lasted until the
carriage came to take the rector home. I am afraid, when Arthur Glyn returned to his
fireside at the same hour, his dream repeated itself, and even Esther's entrance with the
bedroom candle did not put an end to it this time.
 CHAPTER IV.

CHRISTMAS morning came, and the overladen postmen left greetings at the world's door,
literally by the million. Arthur Glyn was not forgotten.

The little sister and her intended sent quite a budget of loving wishes, bright hopes—
heartfelt regrets, too, that the dear brother could not be with them.

Hilda, far-away in the sunny South, had timed her letter so that Arthur might have it just
at Christmas. There were more cards and letters still, and amongst the latter just one at
which the curate looked distrustfully. He had been trying to make a few hearts more glad
by his kindly thought, and when he expended a trifle for Esther and the white-headed
urchins, had felt sorry that his slender purse and the claims upon it would let him do no
more or better.

Arthur hoped that letter boded no evil. He did not know how he could bear it to-day; but
he had been somewhat disturbed by a rather urgent appeal for the balance of one of his
father's debts—the largest of those for which he had bound himself. The creditor was
retiring from business, a prosperous man, and was not in need of immediate payment, but
he wanted to straighten his books finally, and "could Mr. Glyn oblige him with the trifling
balance?"

It was nearly a hundred pounds, and Arthur had not ten. The incident made him uneasy
and down-hearted for the moment; but, like Hezekiah of old, he prayed, spreading his
letter before the Lord.

The old Jewish king found comfort in his trouble; so did the young English clergyman. The
one had a direct message in reply; the other had faith renewed and patience given to wait
and see what way out would be made for him, in God's good time. He could say with a
clear conscience—

"I have done what I could. My Master will require from me only in accordance with what
He has given."

Yet surely, it is hardly to be wondered at, if the seal of that letter, with a London post-
mark, and from an unknown correspondent, was the last which Arthur found courage to
break. When he did so, an exclamation of surprise and astonishment broke from him. Day-
dreams he had indulged in while sitting on that very spot, but the reality that met his sight
had never been pictured in the wildest of them.

The envelope contained a number of Bank of England notes, new and crisp to the touch.
He looked at the first: it was for a hundred pounds; the second, third—in short, the whole
ten, were the same value! A thousand pounds was the sum contained in that suspicious-
looking letter which he had shrunk from opening!

There was a large sheet of paper which covered the notes. Arthur snatched it eagerly. An
inscription on the outer page, in printed letters, to him that the contents were "A
Christmas-box for the Rev. Arthur Worsley Glyn."
But on the inner portion of the sheet were words which stirred the man's heart to its
deepest fibre. Brave with Christian courage, he had thus far acted up to his resolution, and
endured "hardness as a good soldier of Jesus Christ."

But the good-will of this unknown friend, made him weak, and he wept like a child.

We will read the words which so moved him over his shoulder, for the sheet lies open, and
the curate is on his knees, with bowed head and clasped hands, as he thanks God for the
wonderful answer which has come to the letter he had spread before his Divine Master.

"'Bear ye one another's burdens, and so fulfil the law of Christ.'"

"A brother in Christ claims the privilege of obeying this Divine

command, by lifting from your shoulders the burden so long and bravely
borne. He knows what you have accomplished, and of what mettle you
are made. Had health, strength, and fortune still favoured you, he might
have been contented to wait and see you rejoice over a task
accomplished without the helping hand of a human friend. He knows
that sometimes of late even the diminished load has proved too heavy.
He has pictured you on your knees before the Master you serve—a
prayer-hearing God. And he rejoices to think that the feeling which has
prompted him to send this free-will offering may be 'Our Father's' way of
answering His child's petition, for it pleases Him to work by feeble
human hands."

"'Take, then, brother, and use what is here enclosed. It has cost the
sender no self-denial—he wishes it had, for the sake of Him in whose
name he offers it to you. It rejoices his heart to devote it to your
service. May yours be the lighter for receiving and using 'A brother's
Christmas-box.'"

Arthur read and re-read the letter, written in printing characters; but there was nothing to
give him the slightest clue as to the sender—no mark on notes or paper; nothing on the
envelope, except the postal impress, and London was a field far too wide to travel over in
search of the unknown sender. Besides, Arthur had few acquaintances there, and none that
he knew of anywhere who would be likely to send such a Christmas gift as this.

He thought once of Leonard Thorold, but soon dismissed that idea from his mind. His
brother-in-law elect knew comparatively little of him.

Mr. Worthington? He was his true friend; but though his means were fairly good, they were
not such as to render it likely that he would bestow so large a sum. Besides, the rector
knew that it was more than treble the amount of the debts still owing.

He could not guess. Stay: there were two men in Little Cray that were rich enough, but
should either do such a thing? Mr. Ulyett he dismissed from his mind at once. Mr. Spencer?
Ana then a crimson flush covered the curate's too pale cheek. If he had indeed done this!

Off went Arthur into another dream, and in it, he said to himself, "If I stood now on the
same ground that I did a few years ago, with college honours, my Fellowship, health,
youth, strength, spirits, no debts or encumbrances, and a fair field to work in, I would not
fear to try my fortune. But!"
And here, you see, was the drawback. The "if" and the "but" spoiled the vision; and then
the first chime of the bells told Arthur that it was high time for him to turn his steps in the
direction of the old square tower whence the sound came. As he walked thither, he almost
made up his mind that Mr. Spencer was the sender of his letter and its contents.

"He is generous enough to do it—Christian enough to do it in such a spirit, and to

accompany it with such a message," said he to himself.

Mr. Ulyett was in his pew, with the usual look of preternatural keenness on his face. Mr.
Spencer's good countenance had, as was common to it now, a shade of sadness. No
wonder, on that day. But it lighted up as he listened to the old message which the angels
brought, and as he joined in the song, "Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace,
good-will toward men."

I do not think the curate's previous preparation had much to do with his actual sermon
that Christmas morning; but his hearers said that "young parson had never preached like
that before, and that he could beat even Mr. Worthington all to nothing."

Perhaps Arthur's flock wondered most when, before the General Thanksgiving, the curate
desired them to join him in thanking God for a special mercy vouchsafed to himself on that
Christmas morning.

Then, when all was over, and Arthur walked home to Cray Holm with the Spencers, Anna
looked at him in wonder, and even quiet Aunt Adelaide thought that Mr. Glyn seemed
almost like a new man, he was so bright, and seemed so happy.

Quite contrary to expectation, there was another guest at Cray Holm that day—an old
friend of Mr. Spencer's who had been called to the neighbourhood by urgent business, and
who, finding that he could not well reach home for Christmas, had thrown himself upon the
squire's hospitality. He had reached Cray Holm the night before, and was at church with
the little party that morning. He spoke in warm terms of the curate's sermon, and, on the
homeward way, asked his host many questions about Arthur Glyn's antecedents, the
answers to which need not be repeated.

As to Arthur, he thought no Christmas Day had opened so brightly for him since he had
enjoyed the happy season as a child, and in ignorance of the trials and responsibilities of
riper years.

The guest, Mr. Mervyn, gave his arm with old-world courtesy to Aunt Adelaide, at the same
time keeping pace with the squire, and chatting gaily about their mutual past.

Surely, under the circumstances, the younger pair acted discreetly in keeping at a little
distance behind, so that the elders might talk without restraint! The sun shone out and
spread a broad, if wintry smile over all the country round; the earth was crisp under foot,
and the air keen enough to make people recall their former verdict, and say that "things
looked a bit Christmas-like, after all."

Mr. Ulyett had waylaid the squire on his threshold before service, and made him promise
that the little party from Cray Holm should look in at his large one at Fairhill. As Mr.
Mervyn openly avowed his wish to go; Mr. Spencer would not disappoint his guest; dinner
was fixed for an earlier hour; and it was settled unanimously that they would all go—even
Aunt Adelaide.

Well might Arthur think that day just what Christmas should be, as he went into the
dining-room with Anna, and took his place by her side for the meal.
Nobody could tell quite how it happened, but as the three gentlemen sat for a little while
after dinner, the talk turned upon matrimony and the part that money ought to play in
uniting or severing loving hearts. Mr. Mervyn seemed rather to deem it a drawback for a
poor or even a rich man to marry "a lass wi' a tocher;" saying that he had always resolved
never to wed a wife with money. He had been true to his determination, and had been
rewarded by finding the richest of dowries in the dear wife herself.

Whereat the squire asserted that the man or woman possessing all the good qualities to
make a perfect partner would neither be better nor worse for having the money, unless it
were indispensable to their union.

"What does it matter which has it, provided either has enough to make marriage prudent?"
he asked.

"Ah, but," returned Mr. Mervyn, "I could never be so beholden to a wife. If I had not
possessed the means to offer such a home as I should like to see the woman I loved the
mistress of, I should have borne my trial and held my peace."

"Then, sir," said the old squire, waxing warm, and standing erect as he spoke, "your love
would have been worth little, and its strength but small, if money could have entered into
such calculation with it, and pride strangled it altogether."

But he had hardly uttered the words ere he checked himself, and with a pleasant smile
held out his hand to the old friend, who had risen, too, with a somewhat indignant manner,
saying, "Forgive me, Mervyn, if I spoke too warmly. The question is but an abstract one,
after all. I know: your true heart too well to doubt it. It happened that you could win your
wife and keep your resolution. But had you loved a rich lassie, you would never have
inflicted the cruel wrong of being silent about it, if you thought she had bestowed an
honest heart upon you."

Mr. Mervyn laughed and clasped the squire's hand, and so linked, they passed out and into
the drawing-room, the curate following, and greatly exercised in his mind by the
discussion, in which he had taken no part but that of listener. He knew that Anna Spencer
had half her dead mother's fortune, and that not a trifle, in her own right, and he had ever
deemed this a barrier which his pride could not overleap.

There was a little interval of singing, and Aunt Adelaide dozed now and then, as old ladies
will, and wakened with a start, to thank the young people for the music which had been
unheard by her, and to declare that it was very pretty indeed.

The little party walked to Fairhill in the gloaming, and saw the children, and helped to
distribute the gifts. And Mr. Spencer's face was like the weather—much more Christmas-
like than could have been expected. His heart was far too warm, his nature too kindly, to
be unsympathetic when he saw others happy. He tried to forget the cloud that had burst
over his own hearth, and thanked God that there was so much of sunshine left for others
and for him.

As to Mr. Ulyett! Nobody would have imagined that a caustic word had ever dropped from
his lips, or that he could doubt the disinterestedness of any human being. He was the life
and soul of the Christmas gathering. He was pulled about by small hands, and clung to,
and made to act as a beast of burden. He looked so happy at being tyrannized over by a
crowd of children, that everyone felt it was the greatest mistake for him to be an old
bachelor.
Anna Spencer declared that she had quite fallen in love with Mr. Ulyett; which statement
must, however, be received with caution. Girls will guess that had such a sentiment really
existed, it would not have been publicly proclaimed.

All happy days must end. Before the guests departed, however, young and old sang a carol
together, a few words of prayer were said, with thanks for the past year's good, while a
blessing was asked for the new.

Then away through the lanes—and soon the moon looked down upon a sleeping village.

CHAPTER V.

ARTHUR managed during the evening to tell his friend the rector about his mysterious
Christmas-box. He showed him the letter, and asked Mr. Worthington if he could give him
any clue to the sender of such a valuable gift. The look of genuine astonishment on his
friend's face told even more than words. Mr. Worthington said, and truly, that he could not
even hazard a guess as to the unknown donor.

"What should you do with the money, were you in my place?" he asked.

"Keep it, use it, and thank God for it."

"That was my first thought, but—"

"What else can you do? Depend on it, Glyn, your first thought was the right one. Look on
this as God's gift, and use it as such, reverently and thankfully."

And Arthur took the advice and did so.

A month passed, and the curate was often the squire's invited guest at Cray Holm, and
Anna's bright eyes seconded her father's welcome.

The curate began to wonder whether he ought to be so happy, or whether he should look
upon that attractive fireside as dangerous ground, and flee whilst he had the power. He
had no right to involve another in the pain of parting, and what other ending could there
be? He recalled Mr. Spencer's words; he thought of the mysterious gift, and associated him
with everything that was kind towards himself. Should he go to this good friend, tell him all
that was in his heart, and abide by his decision?

He had about determined to do so, when a letter arrived from Mr. Mervyn. This gentleman
had not forgotten the curate's Christmas sermon, and through his own influence had
obtained the offer of a living for Arthur. It was of considerable value, but at a distance from
Little Cray. With this letter in hand, he went to Mr. Spencer and told his twofold tale—the
story of Mr. Mervyn's offer and of his own affection for Anna.

In answer to the latter, the squire opened the door of his daughter's pretty room, and told
Arthur to repeat his story there; Anna's reply would serve for her father too, he said; and
so he left them together.
I do not quite know how it is, that the very words used by wooers, and all the little tender
accompaniments which wait upon an offer and its acceptance can be given in detail, unless
a bird of the air does indeed carry the matter. The public are generally informed by us tale-
tellers of everything done and every word said by our heroes and heroines when the crisis
of their fate arrives. I will not be so communicative, though I could tell if I chose. Enough,
that when the door of Anna's boudoir reopened she came out, led by Arthur, whose face
sufficed to show Mr. Spencer what answer he had won. And as the girl threw her arms
round her father's neck, and laid her bonny, blushing cheek on his shoulder, the squire
clasped the young man's hand in his, and confirmed his daughter's gift.

"Only," he said, "I cannot spare her from Little Cray. If she does not reign under the old
roof; she must have her new nest quite near it."

Matters were arranged in this wise: By dint of Mr. Mervyn's friendly efforts, the new and
more valuable living was offered to Mr. Worthington, who, in consideration of his growing
family, accepted the same. Arthur became rector, instead of curate, of Little Cray, and by
the time the little sister's trousseau was ready, and her future home prepared by her
expectant bridegroom, Miss Spencer was also ready to take her part in a double marriage
ceremony, with Arthur.

When Arthur and his bride returned to Little Cray, after the usual tour, he on one occasion
spoke to Mr. Spencer of the anonymous Christmas-box—

"I always felt that I had only one friend who would do a kind act so kindly. But for the
encouragement then conveyed, I should never have dared to ask you for Anna," said he.

Then he discovered that Mr. Spencer had neither part nor lot in the matter, and had never
even heard of it, until Arthur told his story. It was to Anna's feminine wit, that he was
indebted for the discovery of the real sender.

"Had I known of it at the time, I should have guessed Mr. Roger Ulyett," she said. She was
right. While many a one had misjudged that gentleman, and deemed him cynical and hard
during his early residence at Little Cray, Anna had done justice to the true nobility of his
character under all circumstances, except in his manifest devotion to herself. In after days,
when Arthur's elder sister, Hilda, was Mrs. Roger Ulyett, and mistress of Fairhill, Roger was
brought, not to own that he was the sender of that Christmas-box, but to say—

"If I had done such a thing, I should only have paid a very small instalment of the debt I
owed your father. Had he taken advantage of a certain opening offered to him, I should not
stand where I do to-day. He neglected his opportunities—I secured them; hence my
fortune. It matters less now which of us got it, for it is all in the family."

SIX MILESTONES:

A CHRISTMAS MEMORY.
 CHAPTER I.

MANY men and women have days and seasons in their lives which stand out from all the
rest, and mark its stages as the milestones bid us mark the distances we travel on the
king's highway, and the guide-posts indicate a turn in a fresh direction.

I look back on such days and seasons, and I love to look, even though some of them bring
sorrowful pictures before my mind's eye, or tell of actual bereavement—of hushed voices
and empty chairs. For, thank God! the memories of mercies and blessings far outnumber
those of a sorrowful sort. Indeed, He has shown me the exceeding preciousness of trial as
a preparation for the enjoyment of happiness to follow, and which was held back for a little
while, until I was fit to be trusted with it.

Thirty years is a large portion of even a long life, but as each Christmas is drawing near, I
look back to the same season.

I was a homeless girl, just turned nineteen. I say "homeless," because there was no house
in the whole wide world which I had the right to call home, no roof under which I could
actually claim a shelter. I had neither father, mother, sister, nor brother, though three years
before I had all these. How I lost them, one by one, and was left with no provision or
property except two hundred pounds, the bequest of my great-aunt, I will not relate at
length.

I had, however, one dowry which was better than houses or land, and was sure to be the
best fitted to cheer me in my lonely condition, because it came to me as a direct gift from
God. This was a bright and happy disposition, which inclined me to thankfulness rather
than repining, and made me ever on the watch for some gleam of light, however dark
might be the overhanging cloud.

I was nineteen when I found myself in the position I have described—namely, about to be
homeless, and with an income of six pounds sterling per annum arising from the two
hundred pounds in the Three per Cents.

I can hardly say, however, that this was my only heritage, for during my father's
prosperous days, he had spent money freely enough on my education, and given me a
good all-round training, which was likely to prove useful, and of which, I could not be
deprived. Then he had left me an honoured name, and though, through unforeseen
circumstances, he had no money or lands to leave his child, what he did leave sufficed to
pay every claim, so that I could hold up my head and feel that his memory was free from
the reproach of insolvency.

It had always been a matter alike of principle and of—shall I say, pride?—with him to owe
no man anything. It lightened his last hours to know that no one would lose a penny
through the trouble which had deprived him of everything in the shape of worldly goods.

I hope I cheered him too, for, when the curate had gone, he turned his dying eyes upon
me, with a wealth of love and tenderness in the look, and said, "Lois, I never thought I
should leave you penniless. I expected to enrich my children by what has beggared you,
the last I have left. Can you forgive me?"

I turned a brave face towards him, choked back the sobs that wanted to make themselves
heard, and said, "I am young and strong. Do not fear for me, father. If I could only keep
you, I would work by your side, for you, or with you, and desire nothing better than to use
such talents as God has bestowed upon me to gain a livelihood for us both. As to forgiving,
do not name the word. What have I to forgive? You and my mother strove by every means
that love could devise to make my life a happy one."

He smiled, and then, as if talking to himself, he said, "Yes, the child will have happy
memories, and, thank God! No debt, no dishonour. He is faithful that promised to be a
'Father to the fatherless.' She may find earthly friends turn carelessly or coldly away, but
that Friend will never forsake my Lois. But she is so young to be left alone."

LAST HOURS.

I took up the subject in reply, though he had not addressed me directly.

"Not alone, father," I said. "What would be the worth of such promises as you have just
called to mind, if I could not lay hold of them and get strength and comfort from them? I
have no doubt, there will be rough places in my path, but what has God given me a brave
heart and a bright spirit for? No doubt to fit me for what lies before me."

"True, my child. He bestows His gifts in proportion to the need of His children," he replied,
and as my father spoke his face looked brighter still.

I would not give in whilst he lived and needed such ministry in word and work as I could
render, so I stayed by him to the last. Then, when I could do no more for this well-loved
parent, I went from the death-bed of my earthly father to the footstool of my Heavenly
Father, and prayed for a renewal of the strength which I felt was fast breaking down.

I did not ask in vain, and when I rose from my knees it was with power to face my position
and to begin my work.
It was on Christmas Day that the snow was cleared away round a newly made grave in
Askerton Churchyard, and I stood on the strip of black bare ground thus uncovered, and
saw all that remained of my father lowered to its last resting-place.

I was not quite alone. That would have been too terrible. My maternal uncle stood beside
me, a kindly man, with not much depth of feeling or of purse. He had a large and
expensive family, altogether out of proportion to his income, and knowing something of my
present circumstances, had come to the funeral of his brother-in-law in fear and trembling
—fear that the sight of my loneliness would be too much for his kindly nature to endure,
and that he should be obliged to offer me a home in his already over-peopled dwelling;
and trembling as to the reception I should meet with from his wife were I to accompany
him thither.

He did offer to take me back with him, and was, I am sure, immensely relieved when, with
grateful thanks, I firmly declined the invitation. Perhaps it may be thought I had little to
thank him for, but indeed I had, because I knew his will to serve me exceeded his ability.

My uncle asked me a number of questions, which I was quite prepared to answer, and at
every reply, his brow cleared. I could see that he had come to the funeral in doubt whether
the expenses of it might not have to be met by himself. But I reassured him on this and
every other point relating to money matters. There was absolutely nothing to be paid by
any outsider.

Then my uncle turned to me. "About yourself, Lois. What are you going to do?"

I replied, as cheerfully as possible, "Pack up what belongs to me. This will soon be done."

He thought I was a strange girl, and he said, "You bear up wonderfully, Lois. It is hardly
natural to see a girl like you coming from your father's funeral with dry eyes."

It was not natural. No one could be more sensible of this than myself, and when he said
those words, looking straight in my face, I had hard work to steady my quivering lips and
keep the tears from overflowing.

"Uncle James," I said, "it is the thought of my darling father that makes me both want to
weep and keeps me from weeping. When I think of what I have lost, it is hard work
indeed. He was so good."

I paused, and he looked pityingly down upon me, for he understood by my face and tone
something of the struggle that was going on within, and of which before, he hardly
guessed the existence.

"But," I continued, "think what it would have been for my father, ruined in means, broken
in health, bereft of the true helpmeet of thirty years, and of his two eldest children, to
begin a new struggle with the world. I turn my back upon the old, happy past, the very
memory of which would break me down just now, and I say to myself, 'God knew best. He
has reunited the two who loved each other so well on earth. He has given them back the
children over whose graves they shed such bitter tears. What if I am left solitary?' I keep
saying to myself, 'It is best so,' and this is why I will not weep, Uncle James."

"It is really wonderful, Lois, how a girl like you can argue the matter out in this way and
keep so calm. Well, my dear, if you have quite made up your mind that you will not go
back with me, I will try to catch the half-past two train. I think your aunt and the children
hoped I might be home in time for dinner at five. Being Christmas Day, you know, they
would all miss me. But before I start tell me where you go from here, and if you have
money for present needs."

"Our old nurse, who married the lodge-keeper, will find me accommodation for a few days.
I am willing to work, and hope soon to find some employment. As to money, I have this."

My face went very hot as I opened my purse. It held just half-a-sovereign, and about as
much silver as made up a pound.

"And is this all? My poor child, I have not brought a great deal with me, but I can spare
you a five-pound note; and mind, you must write for more when you want it. My sister's
orphan daughter shall not be without a shilling to call her own."

I kissed my uncle's kind face, and thanked him, adding, "I shall pay this back, Uncle
James. You have plenty of calls upon your purse without my adding to them. Will you
please give me gold instead of the note?"

He did as I asked, deprecated the idea of repayment, and went away, I am sure, full of
good-will and affection towards me, but not a little relieved to find that, God helping me, I
meant to help myself.

I did sit down for a little while after my uncle left me, to indulge the grief which I had kept
back whilst he was present. His allusion to all those who would be awaiting his coming, in
order to gather round the Christmas dinner-table, was in such a strong contrast to my
utter loneliness, that I was forced to let the waiting tears find a channel.

This little indulgence did me good, and I was even able to picture the welcome that my
uncle would receive, and to fancy how the troop of children would be looking for him, and
set up a glad shout when he came in sight; how clinging arms would surround his neck,
and the youngest of all the flock would insist on being triumphantly carried, held by his
father's strong grasp, shoulder-high into his mother's presence, and she would also be
waiting with words of welcome.

Then my uncle would tell them about my poor father, and how he had left Lois so much
better than he expected, and they would put the subject out of mind as a thing well got
over, and begin to enjoy themselves as we had been used to do on bygone Christmas
Days.

I did not think hardly of them as I drew this mental picture. My aunt was only akin by
marriage, and of the large troop of cousins we knew but little personally.

I was not without another invitation for that Christmas Day. Our good rector and his wife
had asked me to go to their house, and they really wished me not to return to that which
was home no longer. But for the sake of them and their little ones, I would not carry my
sorrow to the rectory. I felt it would be cruel to kill by my presence the innocent mirth in
which I was unfit to share, and so I went back to Birch Hill—my old home—to complete my
preparations for leaving it. Hannah Brown, our former nurse, was waiting for me there,
and after Uncle James left she assisted me to finish my work.

There was not much to be done. I had gradually prepared for leaving the only home I had
ever known. In half an hour, I had passed through the various rooms, and taken a silent
farewell of everything to which I had been accustomed from my very birth. All the contents
of the house would soon be scattered, the place would have a new master, and I felt that
when I next crossed its threshold it would be for the last time.
My old nurse had no children. She and her husband were a quiet, sober, elderly couple, so
no young hearts would be saddened by my presence in their little home. Still, it may well
be supposed in that, in spite of my efforts to be brave and look boldly towards the
unknown future, my heart sank within me as I turned my back on all that had been
associated with my life thus far.

That Christmas Day may well stand out among others, may well be deemed the date at
which one stage of my life-journey ended. I call it the first of the six milestones.

CHAPTER II.

WITH all my troubles, however, my old nurse was very good to me on that sad Christmas
Day. She left me alone. By this, I do not mean that she neglected me. My few wants were
thoughtfully supplied, and whenever I looked into her kind face, I saw there a world of
tender sympathy. But she did not speak much or trouble me with words, which would have
been equally useless and meaningless at such a time. She kept the house quiet, and
showed her desire to comfort me rather by deeds than words.

In so doing, Hannah Brown manifested a truer instinct than do many much better bred
people. As a rule, one's friends, and kind ones too, think that in the first days of a great
sorrow, we must be perpetually followed up and down, and consoled by torrents of
commonplace verbiage. If they did but know the uselessness of words, and the pain of
being compelled to listen, when the sore heart would fain bare its wounds before the Great
Physician, and ask for healing at His compassionate hand alone!

Time, too, was precious with me. I must get work, and soon, though I knew not where to
seek it. I had written to my own old governess, now the happy mother of a family, to ask
her help, half hoping that she might find room for me as teacher to her children.

She would have done so, but already the post was filled by a kinswoman of her own. She
did what was next best, and sent me the particulars of two situations, either of which she
believed she had influence to obtain for me. I quote from her letter about the two places.

"Lady Minshull will engage you, Lois, if you think such a place as you
would occupy at Westwood Park would meet your views. I have no fear
as to your qualifications. Her children are young and accustomed to
obey, which is a great advantage, especially to a beginner at tuition. But
while you will have all outward comforts, the social atmosphere of
Westwood is a cold one. You will be the governess, and as such, Lady
Minshull will look down upon you with an air of conscious superiority.
She will talk to you about her children in a thoroughly common sense
way; but your intercourse will be a purely business one, and if you were
to spend half your life under that roof, you and Lady Minshull would
never come any nearer. Friendship or affection between her and a
governess, however gifted and well-born, would never cross her mind as
a possibility."
 "Mind, you would have absolutely nothing to complain of; so far as
externals go. But you would never call Westwood 'home,' and there
would be some danger of your carrying a mummified heart in a living
human body, for want of being allowed to love those among whom you
found yourself. I do not know whether my being in the neighbourhood
would be any compensation, but as my husband is Lord Minshull's
lawyer, he goes to the Park very often, and I occasionally, so that we
should meet sometimes."

"The other situation open to you is in a Yorkshire vicarage. There is a

large family, eight altogether the two eldest boys are away at school,
and two tiny girls are not old enough to need teaching; but your actual
pupils would be five."

"You will smile at the arithmetic which adds two, two, and four, and
makes the total nine, but the fifth is a girl of fourteen, the only child of a
wealthy man in the immediate neighbourhood. She is taught with the
vicar's children, and lives at the vicarage, within reach of her parents,
who cannot wholly part with her, but who feel the advantage of
companionship for their one darling."

"You will be surprised to find that the salaries offered by the titled lady
and the poor parson are identical, namely, forty pounds a year and
laundress's expenses. The vicar could not afford so much but for the
liberal terms he receives with Mary Baxendell, but he is a conscientious
man, and gives the governess her full share of this payment."

"He and his wife are well-born and highly intellectual people, of whose
Christian practice I know enough to make me honour them with all my
heart. They are really poor in this world's goods. Their surroundings are
of the simplest, though not without refinement. Food, clothing, furniture
—all, in short, at Hillstowe Vicarage, must needs be of the plainest. But
it is the home of warm hearts and cultured minds, though a very long
way from Askerton and Birch Hill, as well as from every one you have
known. Choose for yourself, dear Lois, and may God direct you!"

I need quote no more. As I read the last lines of description, I caught myself saying, "Give
me the home, however poor, so long as warm hearts shelter there, and the farther it is
from my old one the better."

Then I read the prayer of my old friend, "May God direct you!" and, rebuked by
conscience, I fell on my knees and asked for the guidance I so much needed. When I rose,
after no stinted time, I found that conscience confirmed my first choice, with this one
reservation; it suggested doubts as to the fitness of a girl of nineteen to teach those who
were so few years younger than herself.

However, I wrote to the Rev. David Barr, at Hillstowe Vicarage, with all possible frankness,
told him my age, position, and capabilities, as honestly and fully as I could in a letter, and
awaited the result. He did not keep me in needless suspense, but met me with equal
frankness, and owned that he had some doubts about engaging one so young.

"If I could see you," he added, "the difficulty which presents itself to my mind might
vanish. But we are about two hundred miles apart, and an interview seems hardly
possible, as I can neither afford the cost of such a journey nor offer to pay your expenses.
I shall have to go about half-way in your direction three days hence; if you could afford to
come the other half on the chance of an engagement, let me know."

I turned out the contents of my purse, already reduced by one-third, and resolved to risk
journey. I could go by the cheapest train, which started early in the morning, but on
returning, I must travel second class.

The bare railway fares would take more than one of my four remaining pounds. But I had
an inward hankering after that Yorkshire home, and if I failed to obtain an entrance, there
was Westwood Park to fall back upon, where the children were young; and Lady Minshull
being absent, I need not send an answer for a week to come.

Hannah Brown packed a little basket for me, so that I should not need to buy anything at
the refreshment rooms. A bottle of new milk, some home-made cake, a little packet of
sandwiches—enough for me, and good enough for any one. The kind woman went with me
to the station, on that frosty morning in early January, the crisp snow crunching beneath
our feet and the stars glittering overhead, for it was hours before dawn. We had good two
miles to walk, and the train started at six o'clock. On the road we met furniture vans,
empty, but going to be filled with the contents of my old home, that they might be
conveyed to the auctioneer's rooms and scattered at the fall of his hammer.

Such a meeting was not likely to raise my spirits, but I made no remark, though my eyes
filled.

I was glad there was no stronger light for Hannah to discern my trickling tears. But I think
her love made her conscious of them, for she whispered—

"Keep a brave heart, Miss Lois, and trust still. God is faithful, and He is above all. I don't
think He would have given you such a spirit as you have, or such a bright disposition,
unless He had known they would be wanted. He has bestowed many grand gifts upon you,
though He has taken some away. You have health, strength, youth, and a good firm will of
your own, as well as a loving heart and the power to feel for others. It is always a comfort
to one who has been about children to say, 'I never knew the tongue of that girl utter a lie,
or her hand act one.' You were always true, Miss Lois. Be so still. In your talk with this
gentleman you are going to meet, seem what you are, and be sure you undertake nothing
but what you can do. And may God bless and speed you!"

I had hardly time to answer; but the dear woman's words gave me fresh courage, and I
felt my heart grow lighter and my hopes stronger as I sped on my way. It was bitterly cold,
and it was a new thing for me to travel third class, but at any rate I was well wrapped, and
as I looked at my fellow-passengers, I felt how many around me were far worse off than
myself.

There was an ill-clad mother, with such a young baby and another two-year-old child. I
could spare a shawl to the woman and her infant, and I took the other child, a clean,
wholesome little thing, upon my knee. Fed with a little of my cake and milk, and huddled
beneath my cloak, this child had a peaceful sleep. So the time was whiled away and the
long journey shortened for us all. We got out at the same large station, and I rejoiced to
know that the mother and her little ones were near home, and to see them taken in charge
by the waiting husband and father.

The crowd of the passengers dispersed, and I stood alone, but not for long. A tall figure,
whose dress bespoke the parson, and whose ruddy face suggested the country home,
stepped forward and said, "Are you Miss Anstey?"
I replied, "Yes; and you, I presume, are Mr. Barr."

"It is very good of you to risk such a journey and in such weather," he said. "I wish my
means had allowed me to make a less trying arrangement."

I thanked him and said, "I hope we shall be satisfied with the result of the journey."

Then Mr. Barr took me to the waiting-room, where he thought we might be able to talk
without much interruption, as the porter said the next half-hour would be a slack time,
with but few passengers about.

"You must have some refreshment," said Mr. Barr. "What will you take? I am going to lunch
with a friend, so shall need nothing, but I must care for you. Hot soup, tea, or coffee would
suit best, I think, after your cold journey."

"Thank you, I have all I need," said I, producing my basket; and spreading a snowy napkin
on the waiting-room table, I uncovered my provisions, so neatly packed by Hannah's
careful hands. I saw a look of interest and amusement on Mr. Barr's face as he watched
me, and noticed that the basket contained a small drinking-glass, two plates for the cake
and sandwiches, and that I drew out a silver pocket-knife, to divide the former with.

"You see, I have more than enough," I said. "Will you take a sandwich or a little of the
cake and a draught of milk? Here is a second glass on the top of the water-bottle; and
you, too, have been travelling."

Mr. Barr smiled and accepted my offer, while protesting that he ought to be the entertainer.

"You were right in saying that you stand in need of nothing more," he said. "You must be a
very methodical young lady, Miss Anstey."

"I told him it was not I who had prepared and packed the provisions, but my old nurse,
with whom I was staying until I could find a new home."

"But it was not your old nurse who washed and replaced this waiting-room tumbler, after
polishing it on the corner of that spare napkin," he replied.

These words showed me that Mr. Barr was a keen observer, and that the smallest trait of
character was not likely to escape him. This did not make me feel more comfortable, for I
can truly say that I already formed no high estimate of my powers, and when he asked me
a great many questions, I felt still more humbly about myself.

"Mrs. Goulding was mistaken," I thought, "when she told me that I could choose between
Hillstowe Vicarage and Westwood Park. I doubt whet Mr. Barr will have anything further to
say to one so inexperienced as myself. He seems to know so much and shows me that I
know so little. However, come what may, I will pretend to nothing, profess nothing to
which I am not fully equal."

I derived great comfort from remembering that I had striven prayerfully to leave myself in
God's hands. I had asked Him to overrule all for my good, and was I to begin by fretting at
the first prospect of not having the work to do which I had mentally chosen for myself?

I went on answering carefully and truthfully all Mr. Barr's questions. He paused after a
time, then said, "You seem to have studied a great many subjects. Mrs. Goulding told me
that you might be called a very well-educated, even an accomplished, girl."
"I have dipped into a good many things," I replied, "but I cannot be said to have studied
the subjects. I have only a very superficial knowledge of any. How could I have more at
my age? But my father thought it good to give me a little of each, so that I might
afterwards improve myself by further study. I have no great talent for anything, and have
obtained no special proficiency in any one of the so-called accomplishments. I keep
working on and trying to improve, but I really know very little. I am afraid, considering the
ages of Miss Baxendell and your eldest daughter, I should be more like a fellow-student
than a governess, and that you will consider me too young to teach them."

Mr. Barr had been so very particular in his questions that I made up my mind to the loss of
the money expended on my journey and the extinction of my hopes.

"You are young, Miss Anstey, and if you had told me you were fully competent to teach all
the 'ologies into which you have dipped, I should have declined your services with thanks,
and deeply regretted that I had been the means of bringing you so far. As it is, I believe
you will suit us, if you think that such modest surroundings as ours will meet your
requirements. I have made many inquiries, and perhaps tried your patience a little, but
you will excuse this when you consider the circumstances. To the governess is entrusted
the parents' most precious treasures; through her they will receive the instruction which
will influence their after lives for good or evil. And my wife and I have a double
responsibility resting upon us in making choice of a governess, because the one dear
daughter of valued friends will receive the same instruction and impressions as our own
children from her lips and life. Mrs. Goulding has told me your past history, and from her I
know that you have been a dutiful daughter and are a brave-hearted girl."

"Your own lips have added the information that you are a true one, and that no thought of
self-interest would induce you to give a false impression of your powers. You will have to
work and study, no doubt, because your little cup of knowledge will be constantly drawn
upon. You must try to keep replenishing it."

The revulsion of feeling produced by these kind words, and the knowledge that my journey
was not to prove vain, rendered me almost unable to answer. For the first time since I met
Mr. Barr, my voice trembled and tears came into my eyes. But I was very glad, and at
length I found words to tell him so.

He knew, it seemed, that I might have gone to Westwood Park, for Mrs. Goulding had
given him to understand that an engagement with Lady Minshull was absolutely open to
me, should I not go to Hillstowe, and he asked me why I chose to come so far on a mere
chance of being engaged by him.

"Because I wanted, not only to find employment, but a home," I replied.

"You shall have it at Hillstowe," said Mr. Barr. "I am a poor parson, and my wife and I are
hardworking people. All about us is planned for the simple supply of our daily needs. We
have no luxuries or superfluities, though I dare say many of our neighbours, looking at our
troop of children, would say several of them were superfluous. But my wife is a true
mother, and though her heart has so many occupants, she will find room in it for you. We
have said nothing about holidays yet, but you will not be dissatisfied because yours are too
short. The truth is, we have to send our eldest lads back to school before we have room
for the governess, so you will come a day after they leave us, and begin your vacations a
day before they commence theirs."

I would rather have heard Mr. Barr say there would be short holidays or none, since I had
no real home. But I promptly reflected that, with forty pounds a year, I should be able to
find one for myself, if no one invited me. There were always the lodge and Hannah Brown
to fall back upon, though it would be terrible to return to the immediate neighbourhood of
my old home. However, I was glad at heart, for my mission had sped, and I was not going
to meet trouble half-way and on the heels of present success.

Mr. Barr saw me into the return train, and then bade me a kindly farewell, with a promise
that I should hear from his wife soon. She wrote to me a few days later, and on the last
Monday in January, I parted with my good old nurse, and started for Hillstowe Vicarage.
Hannah Brown was very unwilling to receive payment for the homely accommodation
afforded me at the lodge, but I took care that she should not lose by her goodness to me.
When I reached Hillstowe I had a solitary half-crown left, and no certainty of more until
Midsummer. Mr. Baxendell paid half-yearly for his daughter's board and education, and
when his cheques came, in June and December, I should receive my share of their value.

Five months was a long time to look forward to when one had no certainty of a shilling
beyond the half-crown aforesaid, without begging or borrowing; and against both plans for
raising money I determinedly set my face.

My old governess had no idea of my poverty. My Uncle James never calculated how far five
pounds would go in my present circumstances; perhaps he had so many calls on his purse
nearer home, that he was afraid to glance in the direction of his orphan niece, especially as
I wrote cheerfully of my prospects, and said I should soon repay his loan.

As I crossed the threshold of Hillstowe Vicarage, I felt that I had reached another of my six
milestones.

CHAPTER III.

IT was a kind but careworn face which looked down upon me as I alighted from the vehicle
that brought me from Hillstowe Station. The trap was a borrowed one, for the vicar kept
none. But his parishioners were very neighbourly, and were always ready to place a
conveyance of some kind at his disposal, without fee or reward.

The kind motherly face was that of Mrs. Barr, and it was very sweet to a weary girl
amongst strangers and far from all her old surroundings, to see those gentle eyes shining
upon her. I shall never forget what I felt when she bade me welcome, not only with words
but in sweeter ways still. She clasped my hand, outstretched to meet hers, and then
putting her left arm round me, she drew me towards her and kissed me more than once.

No salute, no just touching of my cheek, but warm, repeated motherly kisses fell on my
quivering lips, whilst the gentle pressure of that kind arm seemed to say that I was no
longer without shield or shelter on the rugged path of life.

My arms went up and round her neck. I could not help it. I returned those kind kisses with
interest, and despite every effort at self-control, I wept on her shoulder, as I had never
wept since I closed my father's eyes in death.

Mrs. Barr gave quick directions about the placing of my luggage; then drew me into a
room which I saw must be the vicar's study.
"Sit here for a moment, my dear," she said, drawing me to a broad window seat and taking
her place by my side, while still holding me in that motherly clasp. "Tears are blessed
things sometimes, and knowing what I do of your late trials, I am glad for you that you
can weep freely. But we shall try and help you to dry your tears. I hope you will be happy
with us, and find in your daily occupations one remedy for your trouble."

I tried to tell her that I was not broken down by the memory of past trouble, but by the
kindness of her welcome. I told her so, and she smiled at my words, gave me another little
hug, and left me to recover myself. Soon she returned and led me to my room. It was
simply furnished, but there was nothing lacking; and in position, it was one of pleasantest
in the vicarage.

My possessions were neatly arranged for unpacking; straps were loosed and little helps
rendered which well-taught servants see to when a guest arrives. I knew afterwards that
Mrs. Barr's hands had been busy on my behalf. On going down, I found tea ready and saw
the young people, and Mr. Barr, who passed my future pupils in array before me.

Mary Baxendell came first. A sweet, refined, loving girl, towards whom my heart went out
at once; then Margaret Barr, who was thirteen, and had an air of quiet determination that
almost made me quake to begin with. Lilian came next, bright-faced and suggestive of fun
and mischief; then twin boys, Harry and Ned, seven years old, Saxon-faced and sheepish;
these were my pupils.

"You shall see the other two—Dot and Baby," said Mr. Barr; and in trotted Dot, otherwise
Dorothy, as her name was mentioned. She was a dear little dumpling of a child; blue-eyed
and flaxen-curled, and she planted herself in front of me, evidently to take my measure.
She surveyed me calmly from head to foot and back again, pondered for a moment, then
extended her plump arms, was lifted on to my knee, and with a sigh of content, nestled
her curly head on my breast.

"Poor Dot can do with any amount of cosseting and petting," said Mr. Barr. "She cannot
forgive Baby Flossy for having superseded her, and will be baby herself for a long while
yet. She still sleeps in a little cot by her mother's side, which arrangement is hardly
conducive to rest. One baby wakes the other sometimes."

Mrs. Barr laughed as she stroked Dot's curly head, but I thought the somewhat worn look
on her face was not difficult to understand. Surely these two babies must often wake the
mother.

I do not want to tell much about my life at Hillstowe Vicarage, but I must give a few
particulars, or I shall do scant justice to the good pastor and his wife. If ever two people
united the truest refinement of manners and the most thoughtful Christian courtesy, and
manifested sweetest patience and consideration towards all with whom they had to do,
they were the vicar of Hillstowe and his true helpmeet.

They had such scanty means and lived such hardworking lives, the mother in her home,
the pastor in ministering to his flock, that it was wonderful to me how they could find time
to think and care so well for all.

I used to think, as I saw Mrs. Barr in the most simply-made cotton gown, and actively
engaged from morning to night, that, in spite of all the sordid cares which beset her, her
gracious dignity of carriage would have well become a duchess. What stitching and
contriving she got through! What making down of garments from elder to younger, not
only of girls, but boys! All the masculine garments, those of Mr. Barr only excepted, were
made by her busy fingers. She told me this very simply, saying she had bought paper
patterns and cut and fitted the clothes unassisted by any tailor.

"My husband's stipend is small," she said, "and though I have a little income, we can only
make ends meet by much stretching. My tailoring would not bear town criticism, but here
it is seen only by country eyes, and passes muster."

I thought the children's garments models of neatness and suitability, and said I should be
very proud of turning out such work. I offered to help her, but for some time I could not
induce Mrs. Barr to accept my aid. She and her husband held high views as to the dignity
of a governess's work, and said that they felt it alike a duty and a pleasure to give the
instructress of their children a place next only to that filled by themselves, as parents. The
governess at Hillstowe Vicarage was not regarded as a stop-gap, to fill any household
place that chanced to be vacant.

My need of quiet for reading and rest was duly considered. The room used for teaching in
was really intended for the drawing-room, but was the only apartment that could be
spared for the purpose. With true wisdom, Mr. and Mrs. Barr decided on giving up their
drawing-room, and instead of having a useless show apartment, gave their children a
large, bright room for lessons. After seven in the evening it was my own, and no one
intruded upon me without invitation. At the same time, I was free to join Mrs. Barr and the
elder children in the dining-room if I chose; the pastor was always in his study then. If the
little ones were restfully inclined and the mother's arms free, this evening hour was a very
pleasant time.

By degrees, I coaxed Mrs. Barr into letting me help her, by representing the benefit it
would be for me to learn the many lessons she was so competent to teach. Then, when
her fingers were freed from the needle, she would take a book and read aloud to us.

Our party usually consisted, besides our two selves, of Mary Baxendell and Margaret Barr,
though the latter generally withdrew into a separate corner, and stopping her ears, chose
her own book, in preference to listening whilst her mother read. Mary Baxendell would sit
on a low chair or on the rug, and take in with eager ears the word-pictures or wise lessons
which came so musically from those cultured lips. I could not help sighing at times, as I
thought how large a portion of Mrs. Barr's daily life was taken up with things so far
beneath her, and I pictured her amidst different scenes and adorning by her gracious
presence some stately home with all the appliances of wealth around her.

Was I right, I wonder, in regretting that her lot was cast where it was? Did she not there
shed happiness on all around her? Were these little cares and calculations unbecoming to
this true wife and mother, who had deliberately chosen to share the lot of the good man to
whom she had given her heart? Her life was a thoroughly womanly life, her example a
noble one, which must influence others for good. Would wealth and ease have developed
such a character as Mrs. Barr's?

After asking myself all these questions, I came to the same conclusion about her that I had
done about myself. The discipline must have been needed, and for some wise end, the All-
wise had permitted her to occupy this particular niche, so different from that to which she
had once been accustomed. For Mrs. Barr had been, like myself, brought up in a luxurious
home, and had never known a care about money matters until the children increased
around her, while the pastor's income remained the same and much of her own had been
lost.

Each day passed at Hillstowe showed me how my choice of this sphere of work had been
Divinely directed in answer to prayer. Could I be with this dear woman, so patient,