Rhoda's education

Rhoda's Education.

"It looks very pleasant," thought Rhoda, as she stood waiting.

"It looks very pleasant," thought Rhoda as she stood waiting for some one to answer the bell. "Oh, if I were coming to school! But there! It won't do to begin thinking about that. Those girls seem to be having a nice time. I wish poor Isa was here. I should like to hear her laugh like that for once. Here comes somebody at last. Is Miss Hardy at home?" she asked as a somewhat pert-looking servant opened the blind of the door.

Rhoda was ushered into a small, pleasant room, evidently used as a library, and surrounded on all sides with low book-cases filled with books looking as if they were made to be read. She waited several minutes, and had begun to feel a little uncomfortable, when Miss Hardy entered the room, followed by another person, whom Rhoda guessed at once to be the housekeeper.

"My dear child, what has brought you here now?" was her salutation. "Did not Miss Davis write?"

"Yes, ma'am," answered Rhoda, feeling as if she were in a dream. "Miss Davis wrote that I was to be here the first of June."

"The first of June! You must be mistaken. I told her to ask you to be here the first of September."

For all answer, Rhoda took the letter from her travelling-bag and handed it to Miss Hardy. The lady read it, while a shade of amusement and vexation passed over her face.

"So much for setting a girl who is just going to be married to writing a business letter!" said she, handing the letter to Mrs. Hallowell.

"It does say the first of June, sure enough," remarked Mrs. Hallowell. "Miss Davis was thinking about her own wedding-day."

"It is an awkward mistake," said Miss Hardy. "You see school closes in two weeks, and then we shut up the house and have our long vacation. But never mind," she added, kindly; "we will arrange it somehow. You did quite right to come."

"And it will be a great convenience to have you here during the closing weeks of school," added Mrs. Hallowell. "We always have so much company. Come, I will show you your room. Would you rather have a very small room to yourself, or a large one with some one?"

"A small one by myself, please," answered Rhoda; "I don't care how small, if I can get into it.

"Oh what a pretty little room, and what a nice window!"

"Yes, it is pleasant. Those trees are catalpas, and are lovely when in blossom. Well, child, make yourself comfortable, and I will send Hester to call you when your supper is ready."

"Shall I wait on the table to-night?" asked Rhoda. "I would just as soon; I am not at all tired."

"Yes, you may, if you choose. It will be half an hour to tea, so you will have time to change your dress."

"Well, how do you like her?" asked Miss Hardy when Mrs. Hallowell returned.

"Very much," was the reply. "She asked me whether she should not wait on the table to-night, and that looks well. But I must say she looks much more like taking Miss Davis's place in the school-room than Tilly's in the kitchen."

"I think so myself, but we shall see. How could Miss Davis make such a blunder? I hardly ever let her send away a letter without looking it over, but I was very busy and it slipped my mind."

"Well, as I said, it will be nice to have her here through the last two weeks—that is, if she takes hold well."

"But what to do with her in vacation-time?"

"We will see when the time comes. Maybe you can find her a place in town. I have a feeling that there is a providence in it."

CHAPTER XV.

WHAT A BIT OF SOAP DID.

MRS. HALLOWELL was quite satisfied with Rhoda's way of "taking hold."

Rhoda's work was to set and wait on the table, to take care of the dishes, to dust and once or twice a week to sweep the library and school-room, and to attend to the door. She found it very easy and not at all disagreeable; but all her philosophy could not prevent her eyes from filling sometimes, when she heard the girls practising or saw them tripping into the school-room with their books at the time of morning prayer. It was hard to dust and arrange the piano and organ and never touch the keys, but she had laid down a rigid rule for herself in that matter, and adhered to it. She did venture to ask for a book to read; and once, when Miss Hardy spoke to her in passing through the dining-room, she preferred another petition.

"How do you like your place, Rhoda? Do you feel at home?"

"Oh yes, ma'am; I like it very much."

"Mrs. Marshall said you spoke about having something to read. Miss Adams has the charge of the books, and will let you have anything you like. Is there anything else?"

"If you please, Miss Hardy, if I might come in to prayers," said Rhoda, with a little hesitation; "I generally have my work done by that time, and it would seem more like home."

"Certainly you can come," said Miss Hardy. "I am glad you spoke of it."

And thenceforth Rhoda joined the rest of the family at prayers, just as if—so Hetty said—she felt herself as good as anybody.

Hester and Rhoda did not get on very well together. Hester had been somewhat affronted, in the first place, by Rhoda's preferring "a little hole," as she said, to a room with her. Then, Rhoda had not been disposed to encourage the flood of gossip which Hetty poured forth concerning the teachers, the girls, and the neighbours. Then, Rhoda preferred sitting in her own room and reading or studying when her work was done to strolling about the streets. She went once or twice when Hester asked her to go shopping, and even went into a saloon and got some ice cream, but the third time she declined.

"You needn't be afraid," said Hetty. "Ayers's is a very nice place. Miss Hardy goes there herself and lets the girls go."

"Yes, I know, and see how much money they spend! Miss Sellers must get rid of as much as a dollar a week there, I should think."

"Well, what of it? Her family is rich, and she has lots of money."

"And I haven't lots of money nor any family," said Rhoda; "and what little I have I want to save for a special purpose. That is one reason why I don't like to go shopping. I see things that take my fancy, and am tempted to spend a quarter here and ten cents there for what I don't need at all. And 'that's the way the money goes,' you know."

"Oh, well, if you are such a miser, there's no more to be said; only I'm thankful I'm not."

"I don't think I am a miser, Hetty; but I am saving money for a special reason."

Then, Rhoda did not show a proper spirit, in Hetty's opinion. She was always ready to do all sorts of odd jobs, and seemed ambitious of accomplishing rather more than her allotted task.

"Let me do that," she said, one day, to Mrs. Hallowell, who was washing the urn and other silver at breakfast. "I am used to it. I took care of all the silver at Mrs. Ferrand's, and they used a great deal."

"I shall be glad if you will," answered Mrs. Hallowell.

And thenceforth Rhoda had the care of the silver.

"More fool you!" said Hetty. "Now you will have to do it all the time."

"That is just what I want," said Rhoda as she lifted the urn to put it away.

"Oh yes, no doubt," said Hetty, sarcastically, to Aunt Sarah, a very efficient and intelligent coloured woman, who was filling the place of cook for the present. "She just wants to get the blind side of Miss Hardy: that's what she wants, with her work and reading and going to prayers."

"She'll be smart if she does," remarked Aunt Sarah. "I've been working for Miss Hardy off and on a good many years, and I never found out that she had any 'blind side.' If you mean that she wants to please Miss Hardy, I guess you are right, and I guess she'll make it out. That's the kind Miss Hardy likes, you see. You'd better be taking pattern by her than finding fault with her, my girl."

Hetty twisted her head and said she "wasn't going to be a slave to nobody."

"You won't be a slave, nor nothing else," declared Sarah, "not if you don't mend your ways. I never did see a young gal with such slomiking ways, never. Down goes everything just where you happen to be, and there you leave it. I'd like to know how long that old petticoat of yours has been lying on the stairs, and this morning I found a hairbrush right on the top step. You'll have somebody's life to answer for some day, you'll see."

The time flew quickly, as it generally does with busy people; and there remained only a few days to the end of school.

"Well, Rhoda, I believe I have provided a home for you during vacation," said Miss Hardy, calling Rhoda into her room one evening. "Mrs. Elsmore, the doctor's wife, is going to take a cottage at Cape May for the season, and she wants a girl to take care of little Harry. It will be an easy place; for Harry is a good little fellow, and Mrs. Elsmore is a very pleasant woman. Do you think you would like to go? Say just what you think."

"I should like it ever so much," said Rhoda, with sparkling eyes. "I love children, and I always did want to see the ocean."

"You don't ask anything about the wages," said Miss Hardy, smiling.

"I thought you would settle that," answered Rhoda. "I shouldn't know how much I ought to ask."

"You must learn to be a woman of business. Mrs. Elsmore will give you two dollars a week. It that enough?"

"Oh yes, ma'am, plenty."

"You must make yourself a bathing-dress and get all the good out of it you can," remarked Miss Hardy. "Would you like to take something to read?"

"Yes, ma'am. I should like to take the first volume of 'The Pictorial History of England,' if you have no objection."

"Certainly I have not. Take two volumes if you like. You seem to be fond of solid reading."

"I can't say I am so very fond of it," answered Rhoda, candidly, "but I don't have much time, and I want to improve myself. I think history is rather horrid and disgusting a great many times, but I suppose one needs to know it, especially—I beg your pardon, ma'am," said Rhoda, becoming conscious that she was, as Mr. Ferrand would have said, "getting out of her station."

"For thinking history horrid? You need not do that, for I think so myself," said Miss Hardy, smiling. "Well, especially what?"

"Especially if one is thinking of teaching, I was going to say," answered Rhoda.

"You are right, Rhoda. Teachers are too apt to be deficient in general knowledge. They know their own special branches, and often very little beyond them; and I am afraid the same is true of many school-girls."

"I am sure it is so with Miss Isa," Rhoda ventured to say. "Her father never lets her read an amusing book—not even a magazine—for fear of dissipating her mind. Have you heard from her lately, Miss Hardy?"

"Not very lately. Her mother wrote that she was taking music and French lessons from very superior masters. I am afraid she works too hard."

"Indeed she does, Miss Hardy," said Rhoda; "and the mischief is she works all the time. She never has any real amusement or any time for idleness. I never see our young ladies going out with the boat or botanizing but I wish Miss Isa was with them. I know she will break down some day, and have fits or something. I like work as well as anybody, but I think idleness is very nice sometimes."

"Not only nice, but necessary. Well, Rhoda, I am glad you like my arrangements for you."

"That girl has an uncommon mind," observed Mrs. Marshall, who had been busy writing, but who had a way of seeing and hearing everything. "She ought to be doing something better than waiting on the table."

"I am thinking about her case," replied Miss Hardy. "I almost wish I had set her to teaching the little ones when she first came. She has very nice manners."

But Rhoda was not destined to see Cape May or to use her new bathing-suit this season. School had closed with the usual exercises, and all the scholars had gone. Hester had secured a place in a hotel at Cape May, much to her own delight. The teachers had gone their several ways, including Mrs. Marshall, who had set out for a visit to her only sister, in California; and the day came when the house was to be locked up and left to its own devices, and to the gambols of the mice and the centipedes.

"We will just go over the house once more," said Miss Hardy to Rhoda. "Then Aunt Sarah can close the shutters and lock up."

The survey was nearly completed. Miss Hardy had gone through to one of the back staircases, with which the old house was very well provided, when Rhoda, who had lingered a moment in the painting-room, heard a heavy fall. Both Sarah and herself rushed to the spot, to find Miss Hardy lying at the bottom of the stairs, with one leg doubled under her, pale as death, and unable to rise, but, as usual, quite collected and composed.

"I believe I have broken my leg," said she. "I can't move in the least. I slipped on something that lay on the top stair and fell all the way down. Run and bring Doctor Elsmore, Rhoda; and, Sarah, call James to help you and get me on the drawing-room sofa. That is the nearest place."

When Rhoda came back with the doctor, she found Miss Hardy on the sofa, and Sarah standing over her loosening her dress.

"It's all that Hester," said she, indignantly, "just going and leaving a piece of soap on the stairs, of all places in the world."

"She ought to be whipped, or any one else who leaves things on stairs," said the doctor. "One of the loveliest wives and mothers I ever knew was killed by just such a piece of careless stupidity. It was well this was no worse."

The leg was set and Miss Hardy made as comfortable as circumstances admitted, and then arose the question of what was to be done. Aunt Sarah would stay and do the work, but who was to wait on Miss Hardy?

"I shall, of course," said Rhoda, quietly—"that is, if Mrs. Elsmore will release me. I dare say she can find somebody to fill my place easily enough."

"More easily than Miss Hardy can, I dare say. Mrs. Elsmore is a reasonable woman, and won't stand in the way," said the doctor. "But, my girl, you are young. Do you think you are competent to nurse a woman with a broken leg?"

"I think so, doctor, with Aunt Sarah's help," answered Rhoda, modestly. "I have had a good deal of experience at nursing, and under a professional nurse. I took most of the care of Miss Brown when she had her broken leg; and when I don't know what to do, I can always ask, you know."

"Can you? Well, perhaps you can. I have known people that couldn't. Miss Hardy, I don't think you can do better than to accept this young woman's offer."

"But it will be such a great disappointment to you, Rhoda," said Miss Hardy. "I know you wished to go to Cape May, and I am afraid it won't be very pleasant for you in this great, shut up house with no company."

"Aunt Hannah used to say 'It isn't pleasant' was no reason at all," said Rhoda. "I think I ought to stay, Miss Hardy."

"Aunt Hannah is a sensible woman, as I should expect an Aunt Hannah to be," said the doctor. "But there must be no talking, or we shall have our patient in a fever. I think we had better consider the matter settled, Miss Hardy."

CHAPTER XVI.

MISS THURSTON.

FOR a week or two Miss Hardy suffered a good deal, and required constant care and attention; but after that time matters grew better. A very famous surgeon, a cousin of Miss Hardy's, came down to see her, and he and Dr. Elsmore between them contrived an arrangement which enabled the patient to sit up in bed—a great relief. The case was a simple one and doing as well as possible, and Rhoda received a blunt compliment on her handiness from Doctor Douglass:

"You understand yourself, I see. I like to see people's brains reach to the ends of their fingers."

Rhoda found her quiet life far from disagreeable. She read aloud to Miss Hardy a part of every day, she worked at her algebra, and took a certain pleasure in rambling over the great solitary house.

"You must not let yourself get dull and lonely," said Miss Hardy. "How will you manage to amuse yourself?"

Rhoda hesitated a moment.

"After all, it can do no harm to ask," she said to herself; and then added aloud, "Miss Hardy, if you don't object—if it would not disturb you—if I might practise on the piano over in the farther class-room—"

"Certainly," answered Miss Hardy—"practise as much as you like; only I think you had better use the piano in the little music-room at the head of the stairs. It is a better instrument, and you will be within hearing of the bell. I remember Mrs. Ferrand's telling me you were fond of music. You will find plenty of music there in the little cupboard at the side of the fireplace."

Rhoda was now indeed happy. She made her selections of music, and went up stairs feeling almost as if she were in a dream. The piano was a very good one, and Miss Hardy listened with pleasure as Rhoda played and sung.

"She has real talent," she said to herself. "Not one girl in twenty plays with such expression, and not one in a hundred has such a voice. She must certainly have lessons. It is a shame to let such talent be thrown away."

It was not Miss Hardy's way to act in a hurry. She waited for two or three weeks, letting Rhoda practise every day, hearing her read aloud, and talking with her on all sorts of subjects. One day, when Rhoda brought her book as usual, Miss Hardy said,—

"Never mind the history now, Rhoda. Get your work; I want to talk to you. But what have you there so very pretty?" she asked as Rhoda unrolled a parcel of snow-white wool and a pair of long slender needles.

"I was going to ask you about it," said Rhoda. "I was in Mrs. F—'s store looking at some little knitted shirts, and she asked me if I knew any one who could make them. I told her I could, and that I knew a much prettier pattern than hers. She said she would pay me a dollar a pair, and I told her I would like to knit them if you had no objection."

"Not the least," answered Miss Hardy. "It is very pretty work. Do you know, Rhoda, you have a very straightforward way of telling a story?"

"Aunt Hannah taught me that," said Rhoda. "She used to say, when I would begin to tell something, 'Now, don't begin in the middle. Stop and think what you want to say.'"

"Aunt Hannah must have been a very wise woman. But now give me your attention, for I want to talk about a very serious matter. I understand from my sister and niece, as well as from some things you have said yourself, that you are very desirous to have a regular education?"

"Yes, ma'am," answered Rhoda, her heart beating fast. "It has been the greatest desire of my life ever since I was twelve years old."

"How much have you studied already?"

"I have been well drilled in the common-school studies," answered Rhoda, considering. "I have been through the arithmetic and grammar two or three times, and I have studied American history a little. Besides that, I have been through three books of Euclid and as far as quadratic equations in algebra."

"Did you do that in school?"

"No, ma'am. After I came back to 'The Home,' I used to recite to Miss Brown, and while I was at Mrs. Ferrand's I went on by myself. I worked most at nay algebra, because I wanted to help Isa."

"What music-lessons have you had?"

"I learned to read notes and sing church music at sight in the singing-school, and Miss Emily Willson taught me the notes on the piano and how to play a little; and once, when we were visiting at Mr. Evans's, Aunt Annie gave me some lessons. We had no piano at home, but I used to practise on Miss Emily's till they went away. Father always said he meant to buy me a piano."

"Whom do you mean by 'father'?" asked Miss Hardy. "I thought you were an orphan."

Rhoda gave Miss Hardy a short account of her life.

"It was a most heartless and shameful proceeding," said Miss Hardy, who had a capacity for virtuous indignation. "I never heard anything worse."

"I believe I should think so if any one else had been the sufferer. And I don't think I did anything to deserve it, Miss Hardy. Of course I sometimes did wrong, like other children, but I do think I was as good as the average, and I am sure not one of the children I knew took more pains to please their parents than I did, or loved them more."

"I have no doubt of it. But even if you had not been as good as the average, it would have been no excuse for turning you off."

"So it seems to me," remarked Rhoda. "It seems to me that people are as much bound to children they adopt as to their own by birth. I remember, when we were at Aunt Annie's, a lady's saying to her,—

"'My husband and myself adopted a child one time, and had her name changed, and all, but as she grew older, she showed so many of her inherited tendencies that we had to let her go.'

"'Suppose she had been your own child, and had showed the same tendencies, would you have turned her off?' asked Uncle Evans.

"But the lady thought that was different."

"Yes, I dare say. But, Rhoda, not to pursue that matter any further, suppose I were to take you into the school on the same footing as the other scholars, giving you the advantage of the professor's lessons in music, could you contrive to clothe yourself, do you think?"

The world seemed to turn round with Rhoda for a moment at this question. Then she steadied herself by picking up a dropped stitch, and answered, quietly,—

"Yes, ma'am, I think so. I have a good stock of clothes, and I have seventy-five dollars in the bank at Milby and twenty-five here. I should think, with what I have, that ought to dress me for two years. I should have to be very plain, of course, but I think I could be decent."

"I have no doubt of it. How old are you?"

"I was sixteen last Christmas."

"Well, suppose you make the most of your time for three years; do you think at the end of that time you could be ready to take hold and help Mrs. Marshall and myself in the school? Because if you do, I think we will try it."

Rhoda tried to speak, but the words would not come. Instead came a great burst of thankful, joyful tears.

"Tut, tut!" said Miss Hardy. "That will never do. Don't you know the doctor said I must be kept quiet?"

"I am very silly," said Rhoda, striving to compose herself; "but oh, Miss Hardy, if you knew how I have longed for such a chance when I have seen the scholars going to their lessons! I felt as if I would work like a slave only to have their opportunities. I have tried every way to save money, hoping I might get enough to pay my board at least a year while I went to the public schools. But I never thought of a chance like this."

"It has been no sudden resolution with me," remarked Miss Hardy. "I have been thinking of it ever since you came here, and observing you closely."

"I am glad I did not know it," said Rhoda. "Miss Hardy, I don't know how to thank you."

"You may thank me by going down town and finding some fresh lemons," said Miss Hardy, smiling. "To-morrow we will have a little examination, to see where it will be best for you to begin."

A more thankful heart was not under the sun than Rhoda's that day. She would not even go out for her walk till she had shut herself into her little room, and there poured out her heart to her heavenly Father and dedicated her life and talents anew to him and his service.

"It's all right—just as it ought to be," was Aunt Sarah's comment. "I always knowed you was meant for a young lady the first minute you came into the house,—you had such polite, genteel ways of speaking, and eating, and all; and when you was fixed for Sunday, there wasn't one in the school looked any nicer than you—not a bit like that loose-ended Hetty, with her great greasy braids of false hair, and her dress hitched up and stuck out forty different ways, and her hair frizzled up like my old feather brush that Tony stuck in the fire. You couldn't make a lady of her, not if you was to work at her for ever."

"You know what a lady is, don't you, Aunt Sarah?"

"Well, I ought to, honey. I've always lived in the first families in Cumberland county, and my mother before me. Yes, indeed, I know, and I am just as glad as if you was my own."

The next day but one Rhoda brought a letter from the post-office which she felt sure was directed in Mrs. Ferrand's hand, and she lingered in the room while Miss Hardy opened and read it.

"Mr. and Mrs. Ferrand and Isa are coming here day after to-morrow," said Miss Hardy; "we must have everything in order, Rhoda."

"Are they going to stay here?" asked Rhoda, divided between joy at the prospect of seeing Isa once more and a certain dread of meeting Mr. Ferrand.

"No. My sister says that, considering the state of the case, Mr. Ferrand thinks they had better take rooms at the hotel, and perhaps it will be as well."

"I shall be so glad to see Isa again," said Rhoda. "I never was so fond of any girl as of her. How I do wish she could come here to school! I should be perfectly happy if she could."

"And I wish so too," said Miss Hardy. "However, I think you will find plenty of friends among our scholars."

"I was not thinking of myself so much as of Isa," said Rhoda. "It doesn't seem right to say so, but, Miss Hardy, Isa isn't one bit happy at home."

"So I have feared."

"It isn't Mrs. Ferrand's fault," continued Rhoda—"she is almost the loveliest person I ever saw—but Mr. Ferrand doesn't understand Isa. He wants her to be a scholar, and it is not in her. She works harder than any slave, and, after all, she doesn't succeed. That Mr. Sampson gives her the longest lessons—just think! Six propositions in geometry—and then the minute her lessons are done, she must go at her music, and she has no more ear than—than the tongs," said Rhoda, rather at a loss for a comparison.

"But how does she learn her lessons?"

"She doesn't; that's the worst of it. The girls at school like her and feel sorry for her, so they do her sums for her and let her copy their exercises. Isa knows that isn't right, and it makes her unhappy; but her father is so displeased and so mortified if she has a bad report that she keeps on doing it. Then she isn't well any of the time."

"How is she unwell?"

"She has a headache and a backache, and she is so nervous she can't sleep, and she is tired all the time. Besides that, I don't know but it was my fancy, but the last time I saw her I thought she seemed queer. She was so absent, and every now and then such a dull, vacant kind of look would come over her face, and for half a minute she would seem to forget what she was saying."

"That is bad," said Miss Hardy.

"Dr. Morton told Mr. Ferrand that he ought to take her out of school last spring," continued Rhoda, "but he thought there was no need of it. Mr. Ferrand doesn't approve of amusement. He says change of employment is the best recreation, and that if one is tired riding the best way to rest is to walk."

"Mr. Ferrand is a wise man," said Miss Hardy. "I think we will try to have Doctor Douglass happen down while Isa is here. Mr. Ferrand is an old college friend of the doctor's, and thinks highly of him. Did you bring the daily paper?"

"Yes, ma'am; here it is," said Rhoda, taking it from her basket.

"And here is a letter in it, and for you," said Miss Hardy, handing it to Rhoda.

"Oh, from Miss Carpenter. I am so glad," exclaimed Rhoda. "She hardly ever gets time to write."

She read her letter, and uttered an exclamation of surprise.

"What now? No bad news, I hope?" said Miss Hardy.

"No, ma'am—at least I hope not. Miss Carpenter says that an old gentleman has been at 'The Home' inquiring for me, and by her description it must be Mr. Weightman. She says he wanted to know where I was living and what was my real name before I was called Rhoda Bowers. I can't think what he wants of it."

"Perhaps he means to leave you a fortune," said Miss Hardy.

Rhoda laughed heartily at the idea.

"More likely he wants to do me an ill turn," said she. "I shouldn't be a bit surprised if he were to write to you telling you what a bad girl I was."

"He may save himself the trouble," said Miss Hardy. "I know bad girls when I see them, and good girls too. But, Rhoda, while I think of it, what is your real name?"

"Thurston—Rhoda Mary Thurston. Mrs. Mulford told me all about my parents. She said my father was a good mechanic, but he was always unlucky, and finally died by a fall from the roof of a building. I was born and my mother died at 'The Home.' Mrs. Mulford said mother was one of the best women she ever knew, and very well-educated. She had charge of the nursery, but she only lived two years after I was born, and I don't remember her at all, but they all say I am like her."

"I think you had better take your real name again," said Miss Hardy.

"I am sure I would much rather," answered Rhoda, flushing. "I have tried not to have any hard feeling toward Mr. and Mrs. Bowers, but I don't like to think of them."

"Very well. Henceforth you are Miss Thurston. I shall introduce you by that name, and put it down in the catalogue."

"But you will let me take care of you all the same?" said Rhoda, anxiously; "you won't want anybody else?"

"Oh no; never fear," answered Miss Hardy, smiling. "You are too good a nurse to be put aside."

CHAPTER XVII.

DOCTOR DOUGLASS.

IT was something like a douche of cold water to Mr. Ferrand when Miss Hardy, with a certain twinkle in her eyes, introduced:

"Miss Thurston, one of my young ladies."

But he "accepted the situation" like the gentleman he really was, in spite of his numerous crochets.

"I have had the pleasure of meeting Miss Thurston before," said he, cordially shaking hands with Rhoda. "I am glad to see her looking so well, and so pleasantly situated. Mrs. Ferrand, my dear, here is an old friend."

But Isa had already thrown herself upon Rhoda's neck with a cry of joy, which was decidedly hysterical in its sound, and Mr. Ferrand, for a wonder, did not reprove her, as he certainly would have done if such a demonstration had taken place in his own home.

"Suppose, Rhoda, you take Isa up and show her the house," said Miss Hardy, presently.

Mr. Ferrand looked a little uneasy, but he did not interfere.

"Isa is not looking well," remarked Miss Hardy when the girls had left the room.

"She is not well," answered her sister. "I hoped Henry Douglass might come down while we were here. I should like him to see her."

"I have written to him that you were coming," said Miss Hardy. "I presume we shall see him before many days."

"My dear, you are over-anxious about Isabella," remarked Mr. Ferrand. "The child is essentially well, though perhaps somewhat fatigued with her late application. We have had a visit in Milby from a very superior music-master who only stayed a month. I was desirous of having our daughter profit as far as possible by his instructions, and she has therefore taken a lesson every day and spent most of her time at the piano. But she is quite well, and the recreation of travelling will soon remove any little extra fatigue."

It struck Miss Hardy that there was a little unnecessary self-assertion and emphasis in Mr. Ferrand's remarks, as if he were trying to convince himself as well as his wife.

"And so you have taken our young friend Rhoda into the number of your pupils?" continued Mr. Ferrand, as though willing to change the subject. "Is not that rather a hazardous experiment? I do not mean as regards Rhoda herself—she has a fine mind, and a real love of study for its own sake; but will not the parents of your pupils take umbrage at a young person in her station in life being put on an equality with their daughters?"

"If they do, they have their remedy: they can take their daughters away," said Miss Hardy, smiling. "But I have no fears on that score. It is not the first time I tried the experiment."

"I thought you wrote me that you had secured her a place as nurse with a family going to Cape May?" remarked Mrs. Ferrand.

"So I had, and a very good place. Rhoda was delighted with the prospect, but after I was hurt, she would not hear of leaving me; and indeed I don't know what I should have done without her. She is an excellent nurse and a most agreeable companion."

"I had thought, myself, of taking her into the family and educating her with Isabella," said Mr. Ferrand, "but something occurred which changed my determination. I found out afterward, however, that the person whose representations influenced me was untrustworthy. However, it has all turned out for the best."

Meantime, Rhoda and Isa, seated in Rhoda's little room, were pouring out such a flood of talk as only two such girls are capable of.

"And Aunt Harriet is going to educate you—is she really?" asked Isa.

"So she says. I practise two hours a day now, besides reading history to Miss Hardy, and I have begun the Latin grammar. I can tell you, Isa, I have to pinch myself sometimes to be sure that I am awake and not dreaming. And the best of it is that I owe it all to you and your mother. But what have you been doing lately? Miss Hardy said you had been taking some wonderful music-lessons."

"Wonderful! Yes, I should think so," said. Isa, with a groan. "A lesson every day, and then practise five hours. What do you think of that, Miss Thurston?"

"I think it is a shame," said Rhoda, warmly. "You look regularly worn out."

"Well, I am," said Isa, wearily. "I think I shouldn't want to go to heaven if they have music there. I should like to lie down and sleep a thousand years. And my head—"

"Well, what about your head?" said Rhoda, as Isa paused.

There was no answer, and Rhoda looked up from the ruffle she was arranging. Ira's head had dropped on her breast, her eyes were half closed, and there was a slight purplish tinge on her lips. Rhoda, startled, rose from her chair, but before she could speak Isa seemed to recover herself, and went on as if unconscious of any pause:

"My head feels so badly I don't know what to do. It doesn't ache, but it feels heavy and empty at the same time."

"How I wish you could come here to school!" said Rhoda, a good deal alarmed by what she had seen, but thinking it better to take no notice, as Isa seemed unconscious of anything unusual. "The girls do have such good times."

"What do they do? Tell me all about it," said Isa. "And may I lie down on the bed? Oh, you don't know how good it seems to be doing nothing," she continued, sinking down, and turning her face toward Rhoda. "You won't mind if I go to sleep, will you? I am so tired and heavy."

"No. Go to sleep, there's a dear," answered Rhoda. "I will cover you up, and then I must just run down and see to setting the table and tell Sarah to make a sweet omelet for desert. I want your father to have a nice dinner, such as he likes."

Rhoda betook herself to the dining-room, and busied herself with the arrangements of the table. She was presently joined by Mrs. Ferrand.

"Useful and handy as ever, I see," was her comment. "Where is Isa?"

"She is asleep on my bed," answered Rhoda. "She seems very tired, and I thought she would enjoy her dinner all the more for a nap."

"She is tired, poor child! Rhoda, how does she strike you?"

"I think she looks thin and worn—more so than usual."

"Do you see any other alteration—anything odd about her? Do tell me," added Mrs. Ferrand, as Rhoda hesitated.

"I thought there was something odd about Isa before I left Milby," answered Rhoda. "She seems to have times of forgetfulness almost as if she lost herself for a minute."

"That is it, exactly. I can't make Mr. Ferrand see it. He says she is listless and absent-minded, and that her hesitation in speaking is only a trick such as girls are always catching. But I can't think so; I wish I could. I don't know what it is I fear, but I am afraid."

"I think Isa would be the better for a change," remarked Rhoda. "I wish she could come here."

"And so do I, but I fear her father would never consent. You look very well, Rhoda."

"I am well; I never was better. Mrs. Ferrand, you don't know how often I thank you for introducing me to your sister.'

"Not at all, child. It is we who should thank you. Harriet says you have been everything to her since she has been laid up. But about Isa. I wish you would watch her carefully and tell me what you think of her. I do hope Doctor Douglass will come down."

Dr. Douglass came down next day, as he announced, for a three days' holiday, and made himself very agreeable, especially to the girls. The second day of his stay, Dr. Elsmore proposed to carry Mr. Ferrand to see certain lately opened marl-beds in which various interesting animal remains had been discovered. Dr. Douglass was invited to join the party, but declined:

"I am going to carry off these girls for a row up the race to the Tumbling Dam pond, and show them the scenes of my innocent childhood, where I used to ensnare the agile turtle and hunt the pensive and melodious frog. Put on your oldest frocks, young women, and also your rubbers."

Mr. Ferrand looked doubtful when appealed to, but he stood a little in awe of Doctor Douglass, and made no substantial objection.

"You may find some valuable botanical specimens, and you should observe the difference in the soil and vegetable growths from those of our region," said he. "Doubtless our cousin knows how to combine amusement with instruction."

"Doubtless 'our cousin' has too much sense to do anything of the kind," retorted the doctor. "Not one grain of instruction will you get this afternoon, my young friends, so don't expect it. Come, get your hats, and lose no time."

"And don't hurry home," added Miss Hardy. "Tell Sarah to put up a lunch, Rhoda, and then you can stay as long as you like."

Cohansey race is a place by itself. It is canal, so to speak, about a mile long and of various widths, leading through oak woods and shrubs to a pond large enough to be called a lake, and named, for some inscrutable reason, the Tumbling Dam. Various sentimental names have been applied by sentimental young girls to this pretty piece of water, but none of them ever stick. The Tumbling Dam it remains, and will remain to the end of time. Calla-like plants grow in the edges of the water, and hollies, scarlet honeysuckles, and magnolias adorn its banks. You might think yourself in the depth of a wilderness instead of within half a mile of great iron-works and mills.

They were gone the whole afternoon, and came home tired and happy, Isa delighted with the possession of a very small turtle which the doctor had captured and given her for a pet.

"Well, have you had dissipation enough?" asked Mr. Ferrand.

"Not half enough," answered the doctor. "We are meditating even more. Miss Hardy, can you spare Miss Thurston for a couple of days? Because, if you can, I propose to take her and Isa up to town by the boat to-morrow, keep them two or three days, and show them the lions and bears of the Quaker City."

"I can spare her, certainly," said Miss Hardy. "She ought to have a holiday before school begins."

"I don't know about Isa," said Mr. Ferrand, doubtfully. "She has not touched the piano or opened a book for nearly a week. I think she should settle to some employment."

"Go and put your turtle in water, Isa," commanded the doctor. "Give him something to crawl out upon, and he will do very well.

"The fact is, Ferrand, I want to observe the girl," he added when Isa and Rhoda had left the room. "There is something radically wrong with her—very seriously wrong, I fear; but perhaps not. Anyhow, I want to observe her a little. As for lessons, you ought not to mention the word to her."

Mr. Ferrand demurred a little still, but at last consented.

The expedition was a brilliant affair. The weather was beautiful. The doctor carried them to the Park, Girard College, and other sights, and brought them home greatly delighted.

"And what do you think of Isa's health?" said Mr. Ferrand when they were alone together.

"Bad—very bad," was the answer; "hardly could be worse."

They were talking in the library. The doctor closed the door carefully, returned to the table, stood a minute in silence, and then broke out:

"Ferrand, I do think you have been utterly insane to let that girl be driven so. What were you thinking of? Couldn't you see with your own eyes how it was affecting her? Why, she tells me she has been practising music six hours a day for the last four weeks; and such tasks in school! That Sampson must be a mule. I wish I had the arrangement of his hair."

"We wished our daughter to make the most of her advantages," Mr. Ferrand began, but his friend interrupted him:

"Advantages! Yes, fine advantages for working her utter ruin. Can't you see what ails the girl?"

And he uttered a word which sent a terrible thrill to Mr. Ferrand's heart.

But he was too well entrenched in his own conceit to give up so easily:

"I cannot but hope you may be mistaken, Henry."

"Don't you think I know my own business? I have seen hundreds of such cases."

"Yet you might be mistaken perhaps the more for that very reason," said Mr. Ferrand. "I have heard that physicians are apt to see their pet diseases in all their patients. I do not think Isabella has been overtasked. I have not wished her to be so, neither do I desire to see her a dunce."

"Would you rather see her a dunce or an idiot?" demanded the doctor, irritably. "For one or the other she must be. I tell you, Ferrand, as sure as you are born, the girl has epileptic seizures. She has had two at my house, and Miss Thurston says she had one when she first came here—clearly marked epilepsy, and that of the worst kind. The fits are slight as yet, and it is just possible that with an entire change of air and scene, entire freedom from mental excitement, and cheerful companionship of her own age, the mischief may go no farther. Why, I should think you would have observed it yourself."

"I am not familiar with the symptoms," said Mr. Ferrand. "Can you describe them to me?"

Dr. Douglass gave the particulars, and Mr. Ferrand considered.

"I will not deny that I have noticed something like what you describe in Isa, but I thought it only one of those awkward tricks that girls are apt to pick up. Douglass, don't be hard upon me," said the poor father. "Indeed, I have meant to act for the best. Are you sure?"

"As sure as that I stand here. As I said, the attacks are slight at present, but they are none the less to be dreaded. Has Morton seen her? He is a man of sense."

"Never since last spring, when she had an attack of fever and headache. He said then that she should be taken out of school, but I thought I traced the attack to some improper habits of eating, and I felt desirous to have her finish the school-year."

"Another school-year like the last will finish her," said Doctor Douglass.

"I fear I have been very blind—culpably blind," said Mr. Ferrand, almost for the first time in his life admitting that he might be in the wrong. "I thought Doctor Morton extremely unfeeling in hinting that I had injured my son, but I fear it is true, and that I have destroyed both my children."

"Isa is in no danger of dying," said Doctor Douglass, gravely. "If she were, it would not matter so much."

"I understand you," returned Mr. Ferrand. "Death would indeed be a light calamity compared to—But I cannot think of it. Henry, can anything be done, or is the case hopeless? I have the fullest confidence in your judgment, and will spare no trouble or expense. A journey abroad, now—"

"I shouldn't advise that," said Doctor Douglass—"it involves too much fatigue and excitement; and besides, you never could refrain from 'improving her mind.' Let me consider."

He stood looking out of the window for a few minutes at Isa and Rhoda, who were playing croquet on the lawn. Then, as if the sight had inspired him with the idea he wanted, he turned to Mr. Ferrand, who stood the picture of distress:

"Why not leave her here with Harriet? She has a deal of sense in managing delicate girls, and makes a kind of specialty of it. I made Sellers send his daughter down here, and I never saw a child improve faster. Isa seems devoted to this Miss Thurston, who is a fine, sensible young woman, and evidently very much attached to your daughter. She told me in a conversation I had with her that she would do anything for Isa. Let Isa stay here and room with Miss Thurston, who will watch over her and keep her infirmity a secret from herself—a thing to be desired above all things. Let her have some easy lessons as a pretence of employment, with abundance of ease and idleness. The place is healthy and the atmosphere of the house pleasant and cheerful. I don't think you can do better than that."

"Perhaps Harriet might not be willing to accept such a charge, or Miss Thurston, either," said Mr. Ferrand.

"That we can tell by asking. They ought to understand the whole matter beforehand."

Miss Hardy was a little startled at first, but she loved her niece and sister, and was not one of those who set their own ease and convenience above everything else. She consented to receive Isa, if Rhoda would room with her and take charge of her.

Rhoda, on her part, did not hesitate an instant. She loved Isa dearly, and felt that to her and her mother she owed all her present advantages.

"You can have the room which was Miss Farly's last year," said Miss Hardy. "It is pleasant and sunny, and somewhat out of the way of the rest of the house. A great deal will depend on you, Rhoda."

"I know it," said Rhoda. "It is a great trust, but I will do my best; and even if poor Isa is not cured, she will be happy here."

"And that is half the battle," observed Doctor Douglass.

There was no mistaking Isa's delight when she was informed that she was to go to school to Aunt Harriet and room with Rhoda.

"You won't let me have hard lessons or music?" she said to her aunt. "Because, indeed, aunt, I cannot learn it if I try ever so hard."

"The doctor thinks we had better let the music go, at least for the present," answered Miss Hardy. "As for the other lessons, we will see. I think a good deal of play will be the best for the present."

Mr. Ferrand's eyes were at last opened, and he watched his daughter with most painful solicitude and with self-reproach, which were not lessened by the sight of her evident delight in getting away from him. He seemed to find his only relief in fitting up Isa's room with everything which he thought could give her pleasure. He was extremely cordial to Rhoda, and expressed to her in formal but earnest words his obligations to her.

"I have requested Miss Hardy to supply all things needful for both your wardrobes, and she will give to each of you the same allowance of pocket-money. If any unforeseen occasion for expense arises, you will please let me know."

"You are very good, Mr. Ferrand," said Rhoda, "but indeed it is not necessary. I have enough to clothe myself for the present."

"You must allow me to have my own way in the matter," said Mr. Ferrand. "I choose that my daughter's chosen companion should be fully on an equality with her school-mates in every respect. You must be content to be our other child, Rhoda, and Isabella's sister. On no other terms could I allow you take such a care upon yourself."

And Rhoda put her pride in her pocket, and let Mr. Ferrand have his own way.

CHAPTER XVIII.

SCHOOL.

THE school-year opened, as usual, on the second Wednesday in September, with its full number of pupils. Rhoda was a little embarrassed at first by the natural surprise of the girls on meeting as a school-mate and companion one whom they had left in such a different position, but the awkwardness soon wore off, and she took her natural place among them. She was soon a favourite with all, especially the younger girls, whom she was always ready to help on proper occasions.

Miss Hardy's girls were a well-bred and, for the most part, a well-principled set. Indeed, there was among them only one of those black sheep who are to be found in every school. This was a young girl named Caroline Burtis. She was an orphan and an heiress, according to her own account, who had come to school during the last quarter.

Miss Burtis put on very grand airs, considered herself, for some mysterious reason, quite superior to her companions, and also to her teachers, and made more fuss about her board and accommodations than all of the rest of the girls put together. She had begun by being very haughty toward Rhoda and declaring openly in her hearing that Miss Hardy had insulted all the other pupils by taking a common servant-girl into the school. She seemed to conceive a great aversion to Rhoda, and made no hesitation in saying that Miss Hardy had placed her in the school as a spy on the other girls.

Rhoda, on her part, went quietly on her way, working hard at her lessons, happy in the musical instructions of a first-rate professor, and in the companionship of Isa, over whom she watched more like a mother over a child than one girl over another. It was soon discovered that she was equally handy and obliging in managing a boat, beginning a piece of crochet-work, or setting to rights a confused bit of embroidery; and henceforth no rowing- or sewing-party was complete without Rhoda Thurston. This being the case, Rhoda troubled herself very little about Miss Burtis and her airs.

On a sudden Miss Burtis changed her tactics, and became as polite to Rhoda as she had formerly been rude. One day, as Rhoda was going out on an errand for Miss Hardy, taking Isa, with her, they met Miss Burtis in the hall.

"Oh, girls, are you going out?" said she. "Will you just drop this letter in the post-office for me? I want it to go by the early mail, and I forgot to send it by Miss Hood."

"Certainly," said Rhoda, taking the letter. "Come, Isa, I want to find Miss Hardy and ask her about this wool."

"But you mustn't let Miss Hardy see the letter. You know," said Miss Burtis, in alarm, "she makes no end of fuss if the girls send letters on the sly. This is only to my cousin, but she is such an old maid she never will believe that."

"Excuse me, Caroline, but I can't do anything in that way," said Rhoda, handing her back the letter; "I don't like doing things 'on the sly,' as you say."

"But what harm is it, you goose? The letter is only to my cousin."

"If it is no harm, why don't you want Aunt Harriet to know?" asked Isa.

"Just as though one wanted to publish in the newspaper all that one did!"

"Letting Aunt Harriet know isn't publishing in the newspaper," said Isa.

"Really and truly, Caroline, I can't do it," said Rhoda. "If you will ask Miss Hardy—"

"Well, I sha'n't ask Miss Hardy, so there!" answered Caroline, pettishly, snatching the letter from Rhoda's hand. "For my part, I don't think a servant-girl need be above doing an errand. You would have been glad to do it and get paid for it three months ago, I dare say; but I suppose, as you are a charity girl, you think you must be extra particular."

"That is it exactly," said Rhoda. "Come, Isa, we shall be late."

"Mean thing!" said Caroline to herself. "I'll pay her off some way. But do just wait a minute, Rhoda," she added, aloud. "There! I didn't mean to hurt your feelings, but I am so disappointed. I do want this letter to go so much. It is very important indeed. Come, it isn't as if I was asking you to tell a lie, you know."

"I think it is all the same," said Isa.

"Who cares for what you think?" asked Caroline, rudely. "Every one knows that you haven't common sense, and that Rhoda is your keeper. Come, Rhoda, do."

"You might as well talk to the wall, Carry Burtis," answered Rhoda. "I wouldn't do it any way, and I am not likely to be persuaded by your insulting my friend. Come, Isa."

"What did Caroline mean by what she said to me?" asked Isa as they were walking.

"Who knows?" answered Rhoda, carelessly. "She meant to say the most spiteful thing she could think of. All the girls know that you are not well."

"You don't think that I am an idiot, do you, Rhoda? Tell me truly."

"No, unless asking such a silly question proves you one," answered Rhoda, laughing. "You have been overworked, and your mind needs rest. Dr. Douglass said such lessons as you had were enough to kill anybody. Don't let such a notion come into your head for a moment."

"I suppose pa did it for the best," said Isa.

"Of course he did. He was mistaken, that was all. Let us go and have some ice cream; Miss Hardy said we might. We will sit out on the balcony and watch for the steamer. See, there she comes."

Isa was diverted for the time, but she recurred to the words several times afterward, and it was plain they had made a strong impression on her. They set her to watching the operations of her own mind—a very undesirable thing in all cases, but particularly to one like Isa. So easy is it for an angry word to do mischief which nothing can ever mend again.

Miss Burtis's career in Cohansey was not a long one. It happened one night that Isa was feverish and restless, and Rhoda slipped on her dressing-gown and went down to get her some ice water, which she knew she should find in the dining-room. The moon shone brightly and the gas was always kept burning low in the hall, so she did not take a light. She found what she sought, and was coming back, when just at the head of the stairs she ran full against somebody who was coming down.

The unexpected shock knocked her pitcher out of her hand, and it rolled down stairs, making a great noise, while Rhoda caught hold of the person, exclaiming, as she did do,—

"Who are you?"

"Hush, can't you?" said Caroline's voice, in low but energetic tones. "You will raise the house. Let me go, I tell you."

But even if Rhoda had obeyed, it was too late. The alarm was given. In a moment Miss Hardy was out in the hall. A full blaze of the gas revealed Rhoda, barefooted and in her dressing-gown, and Caroline Burtis dressed as for travelling, with her bag in her hand.

It was not Miss Hardy's way to make a grand scene about anything. She led Miss Burtis to her room in the third story, and quietly turned the key on the outside. Then she went back to where Rhoda was picking up the pieces of the broken pitcher.

"How did it happen?" she asked.

Rhoda told the story.

"Did you see anything unusual when you were down stairs?"

"No, ma'am; I went to the dining-room, and came straight back again."

"Are you afraid to go over and call Mrs. Marshall? Don't make any noise about it."

Rhoda called Mrs. Marshall, and then went back to Isa, who was wondering at her delay.

"What kept you so long?" she asked. "I was getting frightened."

"Well, you might be, if you heard the noise," answered Rhoda. "I thought I should rouse the house. I ran against something and dropped my pitcher all the way down stairs."

"Didn't any one hear you?"

"Only Miss Hardy. There! Lie down and go to sleep."

The next day there was some telegraphing back and forth, and in the course of the next, Miss Burtis's guardian appeared and took her away. There was a rumor of some misbehaviour on her part, and nobody was sorry when she was gone; but Rhoda kept her own counsel, and the encounter on the stairs was known to nobody but herself and Miss Hardy.

This was Rhoda's only serious trouble in school. She would have been altogether happy, only for her anxiety about Isa, whose health did not improve, as Rhoda in her ignorance had confidently expected it would do, when the pressure of lessons was taken off. Only for this care, Rhoda would have been happier than ever before in her life.

"Yes, some folks has all the luck," grumbled Hester one day.

Hester had come back to Cohansey, confidently expecting to take her former situation with Miss Hardy. She was utterly astonished when she found her place filled by a quiet, steady young girl, and was informed that Mrs. Hallowell had no occasion for her services. She could not perceive or would not own that she was in the least to blame for Miss Hardy's accident, and could not see any reason why Mrs. Hallowell should decline to take her on that account.

"I suppose Rhoda is in the dining-room yet?" she said to Aunt Sarah, after Mrs. Hallowell had left the kitchen. "I thought she was coming down to Cape May with Mrs. Elsmore?"

"She was, but she stayed home to nurse Miss Hardy."

"It must have been stupid and dull," said Hester. "I should have died in a week. Where is Rhoda now?"

"Oh, she's one of the scholars now, and rooms up in eighteen with Miss Hardy's niece," said Sarah, secretly delighted with the chance of "taking down" Hester. "The family has adopted her, and she's going to have a first-rate education."

"Oh dear me!" said Hester, sarcastically. "She will be more stuck up than ever. Well, some folks has all the luck."

"'Twan't all luck, neither," answered Aunt Sarah. "Rhoda was one that did well all she undertook. When she was working, she gave all her mind to it, and when she was nursing, she gave all her mind to that. I never see a girl so handy in a sick-room. As for her education, she'd a had one any way. She was always learning everything she could. She used to watch my cooking, and get me to show her how to make nice things; and when Hannah was doing up the girls' white dresses, Rhoda used to look at her till she learned her ways. It was just so about everything else. If you were in the kitchen a year, you'd never improve a bit, because you wouldn't try; and it would be the same if you were in school."

Isa, for her part, was as happy as Rhoda, though in exactly a contrary way. Freedom from hard work and from the dread of fault-finding was a thing utterly new in her experience. It was thought best that she should have some pretence of employment, and she was set to reviewing her English grammar, and to taking lessons in drawing, for which she really showed some talent. These, with the daily Bible lesson, formed the whole of her school-duties, and they were made as easy to her as possible.

For it became more evident every day that Isa's mind had lost its spring. Probably that last four weeks of music-lessons had been the last feather on the camel's back. She could hardly commit the easiest lesson, and stumbled painfully over the simplest reading. Her great enjoyment lay in the daily Bible lessons, to which she listened with interest, though she hardly ever answered a question.

"You love your Bible, don't you, Isa?" Mrs. Marshall said to her one day.

"Yes, ma'am," answered Isa, looking up, with a sweet smile. "I don't understand it all very well, but it makes me feel quiet and happy, and it seems so good to have time to read as much as I like. I don't think He will mind my not understanding, do you?"

"No, my love. He will see and know, and teach you to know all that is necessary."

Isa had one other great enjoyment, and that was in embroidering a wonderful worsted chair cover for her mother. She had always loved needlework, but Mr. Ferrand considered that plain work was only fit for servants, and ornamental needlework was utterly unworthy the attention of rational beings. Now, however, it was enough that anything gave pleasure to Isa, and Mr. Ferrand had himself purchased a handsome and expensive work-box for his daughter, with the materials for her work, and had told Rhoda to spare no expense in supplying whatever Isa wanted in that line. He seemed anxious that the two girls should be on a perfect equality, for he had at the same time presented Rhoda with an equally beautiful writing-desk, to Isa's delight, no less than Rhoda's.

One day, as Rhoda was busily practising a duet with Matty Sellers, there came a ring at the bell.

"What made you start so?" asked Matty.

Rhoda laughed:

"A very funny thing. Do you know I never hear the bell ring without thinking that I ought to go to the door?"

"I think you are a real sensible girl, Rhoda," said Matty, in the serious tone with which she usually announced her wonderful discoveries.

"Thank you. Why?"

"Because you never seem one bit ashamed of having been a servant. I don't know why you or any one should be, of course, but still a great many people are, or would be—you know what I mean," said Matty, who was famous for grammatical entanglements. "There, Rhoda! They are asking for you."

"Miss Thurston is wanted in the library," said Annie, putting her head in at the door.

"Who is it, Annie?" asked Rhoda.

"Two gentlemen—one young and one old. The old gentleman sent up his card, and the name was Francis."

"It can't surely be Mr. Francis of Hobarttown? I never knew any other," said Rhoda to herself.

She arranged her dress a little and hurried down, to find Mr. Francis himself as well as Mr. Antis in the library with Miss Hardy.

"Upon my word, little Rhoda, you have grown a fine young woman," said Mr. Francis. "I should have known you anywhere, however. I suppose I must call you Miss Thurston, now that you are grown-up and an heiress."

"She doesn't understand," said Mr. Antis.

"No, I suppose not. Probably she has not heard that Mr. Jacob Weightman is dead, and that you and I are his executors?"

"You don't mean to say, Mr. Francis, that Uncle Jacob has died and left anything to me!" said Rhoda in amazement.

"Even so, my girl. He has left you the lot which was his sister's, and on which he has built a fine mill, and ten thousand dollars besides. The mill is worth ten thousand—I will pay that if you want to sell it; so you see you are really an heiress on a small scale."

"I should think it was a pretty large scale," said Rhoda. "But Uncle Jacob! I can hardly believe it. He always hated me from the first time I came to Boonville to live."

"He did you great injustice," said Mr. Antis; "and so I always supposed. We found among his papers a will written in Aunt Hannah's hand, but neither signed nor sealed, leaving you her place and all her other property. The will was not legal, of course, but under the circumstances it should have been binding on any honest man; but Uncle Jacob was too fond of money to be right straight."

"It always did seem very strange that Aunt Hannah's will should not be found," said Rhoda.

"I suppose from the date she had destroyed the first and made another not two hours before she died," replied Mr. Antis. "Jeduthun tells me she had asked him and Kissy to come up that evening, and doubtless she meant they should witness this will."

"What has he done with the rest of his property?" asked Rhoda.

"He has left five thousand to the Caneota Bible Society and as much to the orphan asylum, and a thousand to missions. The rest goes to the nieces, share and share alike."

"How much will their parts be?"

"About eight thousand to each one—Mrs. Bowers, Mrs. Evans, and Mrs. Chapman."

"I am glad he remembered poor Mrs. Chapman at last," said Rhoda. "He never would help her when he was alive, though she used to want for necessary clothes. Aunt Annie has given her and the children many an outfit, I know. But I am afraid Mr. Bowers will be dreadfully disappointed."

"So he is. He talks of breaking the will, and what not, but that is all nonsense. He cannot touch it, and that he knows very well. He will have to take his eight thousand or nothing. That is all he will get."

"I always supposed Mr. Weightman was much richer," said Rhoda.

"He was at one time, but he lost a deal in bad investments," said Mr. Francis. "Well, my girl, what are you going to do?"

"I haven't learned to feel that the money is mine yet," answered Rhoda. "Just think! Ten thousand dollars!"

"Twenty."

"Of my own! Won't I make a nice tea-party for the old ladies?"

"Considering already how she can throw it away," said Mr. Francis.

"That's the Rhoda of it," said Mr. Antis, smiling. "When she was a child, if any one gave her ten cents, she was always considering how to buy somebody a present with it."

"She might do worse. Well, now, my girl, what do you mean to do?" asked Mr. Francis as Miss Hardy left the room. "You seem to be pretty well off here. I like the looks of Miss Hardy."

"You would like her the more if you only knew her," said Rhoda. "I think I must stay here, Mr. Francis. You see, Miss Hardy took me into the school when there wasn't the least chance of my being able to make her any return; and even if I wanted to go anywhere else, I don't think it would be right."

"Decidedly not," said Mr. Francis.

"And then I don't want to go anywhere else," continued Rhoda. "I wish all the orphan girls in the world were as well off."

"I wish all the orphan girls one tries to help had as strong a sense of it," said Mr. Antis, who had had "experiences" in that line. "How is Mr. Ferrand's daughter? He told me she was a good deal out of health."