usual, to assume the injured role.

"Well, Miss," she said, "'tain't for me to contradick you nor your ma. I can't help havin' my hown feelin's an' hopinions; but the Lord made me to be down-trod, an' I'm willin' to habide 'is will an' stay down-trod."

This was beyond Bessie; she had no answer, no argument for folly such as this, if, indeed, she grasped the woman's meaning; but she did understand that she was still making her moan over matters and things in general, and that in some way she seemed to be blaming her own dear mother. She looked displeased and turned away; but here Mrs. Granby, who had her head in a wardrobe, looking for a large sheet of paper, withdrew it and came to the front.

"Well," she said, raising her voice so that it might be heard above the rattle of the stiff paper which she unfolded and wrapped about the completed work Jane was to carry back, "well, if so be as you enjoy bein' 'down-trod,' as you do enjoy most things as other folks don't find pleasin', there ain't nobody goin' to hinder you; but you look here, Mrs. Flemin', you nor nobody else ain't goin' to cast no slurs onter Mrs. Bradford which there never was a better lady, nor one that was so far from down-treadin' folks but more like to be upliftin' 'em if only they'll let themselves be uplift, an' all her family the same an' the little ladies brought up accordin'; so, if you please, no slurs on any of 'em afore me an' Mary Richards which we would have feelin's on account of it an' wouldn't stan' it in _this_ house. I don't see why you can't live agreeable like other folks; an' it does fret me outer patience to hear a body mortifyin' the Lord's mercies an' you such a heapin' lot sent to you this very winter, an' it's for your own good I speak, which the Lord He does get out of patience with us sometimes I do believe when we're faithless an' mistrustin', an' takes back His blessin's when He finds we don't hold 'em in no appreciation."

By this time Mrs. Fleming had dissolved into tears and buried her face in an already much bewept pocket-handkerchief.

Seeing this Mrs. Granby resumed in a soothing tone and with some self-reproach.

"But just hear me now rattlin' on about my neighbors' short-comin's an' me plenty of my own, me that ain't a woman of many words neither. There, Mrs. Flemin', don't mind, an' if you've a min' to compose your feelin's in the kitchen just step in an' I'll fit your dress soon's Jane's business is over."

But Mrs. Fleming had no idea of retiring to privacy to compose her "feelin's;" she preferred to indulge them in public, and she sat still, sobbing only the louder. The situation was becoming embarrassing to the young party, and Maggie, with her usual ready tact, seized upon an opening to change the subject.

"Why, Mrs. Granby," she said, "I did not know you made dresses. I thought you only did plain sewing such as you have done for our family."

"I do a bit at it, Miss Maggie," answered the seamstress; "though, to be sure, I wouldn't undertake to dress-make for ladies like your ma and aunts an' the like, but for them as hasn't much ambition as to their figgers, I can make out, an' I did tell Mrs. Flemin' I'd fit hers, so she could make it herself an' she shouldn't have to do no expenses about it, for it's on'y right we should all lend a helpin' hand, an' where would me an' the Richardses be if your folks hadn't thought the same an' acted accordin', which there's never a night on my bended knees I don't ask the Almighty's blessin' on you, an' there's none more deserves it, an' I do b'lieve the dear Lord's of the same way of thinkin', for there's none as I see happier nor more prosperin' an' does one's heart good to see it, an' never will I forget the night we was in such a peck of troubles an' seein' no way out of 'em me an' the Richardses, an' your pa comin' in an' turnin' the tide, an' since then, yes, ever since, all goin' so comfortable an' pleasant with us. I did think when I saw Mr. Bradford's face that night I first opened the door to him that he was the agreeablest-lookin' gentleman I ever did see, but me no idea what a blessin' he was a bringin' us all an' help outer our troubles, which the Richardses' troubles is always mine too. But I declare, just hear me runnin' on, as I always do if I get on them times; you'd think I was the greatest hand to talk ever was."

Lily was having her "fun," and she was quite loth to take leave when Mrs. Granby had the parcel ready and Maggie made the move to go.

"I'm sure, Miss Maggie," said Mrs. Richards, "that I am truly glad to hear that Miss Neville is likely to get well. I suppose she'll be leaving her uncle's now and going away with her mother. It isn't likely Mrs. Neville will want to be leaving her child again after such an escape as she's had. I'm sure I couldn't abide one of mine out of my sight after such a thing. And the bravery of her, too, the dear young thing. My husband says it was a risk a strong man, and one of the police themselves, might have shrunk from."

This was an unusually long speech for Mrs. Richards, who was that which Mrs. Granby so mistakenly called herself, "a woman of few words," for she, as well as the rest of the family, had been greatly interested in the adventure of the heroic little girl who had braved and endured so much to rescue her young brother and sister.

Maggie hesitated one moment, then said:

"No, Mrs. Richards. Mrs. Neville has gone back to her son, but Miss Lena has not gone with her. She is to stay with Colonel and Mrs. Rush for a long time, perhaps a year, and we are all so glad about it."

"And could the mother go and leave her, and she might any time take a turn for the worse, and be took off sudden?" interposed Mrs. Fleming, whose tears did not prevent her from hearing all that passed. "You never know when there's been burnin' if there ain't smothered fire, an' it shows up when you least hexpect it."

No one took any notice of this cheerful prophecy, but Mrs. Granby asked:

"And the young lady is like to be quite well again and about soon, Miss Maggie?"

"Oh, yes," answered Maggie, confidently; "and we hope to have her back at school before long. She is quite well enough now to enjoy everything except walking; but her feet are still tender and she cannot yet walk about. But come, girls, it is time to go;" and the young party took their leave.

When not far from their respective homes, which were all in the same neighborhood, they met Gracie Howard, and Maggie stopped to speak to her, although Gracie had shown no sign of wishing to do so; indeed, she seemed as if she would rather pass on. Of course, the others lingered too.

"Gracie," said Maggie, "I hope you will come to the meeting of our club the day after to-morrow. It is so long since you have been."

Gracie colored violently, looked down upon the ground, and in a nervous way dug the toe of her overshoe into the snow which had fallen that morning and still lay in some places on the street.

"I don't know; no, I think not--I think--perhaps I may go out with mamma," she stammered, anxious for some excuse, and yet too honest to invent one that was altogether without foundation. Perhaps she would go out with her mother; she would ask her to take her.

"Oh, come, Gracie; do come," persisted Maggie, determined to carry her point if possible. "It is so long since you have been, and you know there is a paper owing from you. Your turn is long since passed; and we'll all be so glad to have you."

Grade's color deepened still more, and she cast a sidelong glance at Lily, who stood at Maggie's elbow; and Lily saw that she was doubtful if that "all" included herself. Lily was very outspoken, particularly so where she saw cause for disapproval, and above all if she thought others were assuming too much; and she had on certain occasions so plainly made known her opinion of some of Grade's assumption, that a sort of chronic feud had become established between the two, not breaking out into open hostility, but showing itself in a half-slighting, half-teasing way with Lily, and with Gracie in a manner partly scornful, partly an affectation of indifference.

Some six weeks since, at a meeting of the club of the "Cheeryble Sisters," to which all three little girls belonged, Gracie's overweening self-conceit and irrepressible desire to be first had led her into conflict with another of her classmates, Lena Neville, in which she had proved herself so arrogant, so jealous and ill-tempered that she had excited the indignation of all who were present. But if they had known what followed after Gracie had been left alone in the room where she had so disgraced herself, how would they have felt then? How she had stood by and seen the source of contention, a composition, which she believed had been written by Lena, torn to atoms by a mischievous little dog, withholding her hand from rescuing it, her voice from warning the dog off from it simply for the indulgence of that same blind, overpowering jealousy. The destruction was hardly wrought, when repentance and remorse too late had followed--repentance and remorse, intensified a thousandfold by after events on the very same day.

But that guilty secret was still locked within her own heart, weighing heavily upon her conscience, but still unconfessed, still unsuspected by others. Ever since that miserable afternoon she had shrunk from meeting her classmates, and although she had been obliged to do so at school, she had avoided all other opportunities of seeing them, and on one excuse and another had refused to attend the meetings of the club which came together every Friday afternoon, the place of rendezvous being at Mrs. Bradford's, Maggie being the president as she had been the originator of the club.

It was true that Gracie had later discovered that the ruined paper was one of her own, a composition on the very same subject as Lena's, and which had, by the merest accident, and without her knowledge, been exchanged for that of the young classmate whom she chose to consider as her rival; and this had in some measure relieved the weight of sorrow and remorse she had felt when Lena was severely burned and lay for days hovering between life and death. But she could not shut her eyes or blind her conscience to the fact that she had been guilty in intention, if not in actual deed, and she could not shake off the haunting sense of shame or the feeling that others must know of the contemptible action of which she had been guilty.

Knowing nothing of this, Maggie and the other members of the club believed that her avoidance of them and her low spirits were caused by shame and distress for the bad temper and unkindness she had shown to Lena on that memorable day; and now Maggie, feeling sorry for her and also very loath to have any unpleasantness in the club, would