“No, Miss, ’t aint for Muff exactly,” said Joe, “though she pitied you, as they all did, in thinking of drowning the cat; but bless the dear children, they are all trying in their way, I do believe; to please their mother, and to win her to be more happy and gentle like.  You see she has had a hard struggle with them, so many as there are, and so little to do with; and that and bad health have soured her temper like; but she’ll come to.  Oh Miss Edith, take my word for it, if ever you have to live where folks are cross and snappish, be you good-humoured.  A little of the leaven of sweetness and good temper lightens a whole lump of crossness and bad humour.  One bright Spirit in a family will keep the sun shining in one spot; it can’t then be all dark, you see, and if there’s ever such a little spot of sunshine, there must be some light in the house, which may spread before long, Miss.”

“Goodnight, Joe,” and “Good night, ladies,” passed, and the friends were left alone—­alone upon the quiet beach.  The sun had set, for it was late; the tide was ebbing, and now left the girls a beautiful smooth path of sand for some little distance, on which the sound of their light steps was scarcely heard, as they rapidly walked towards home.

“Who would think, Edith, that our six weeks’ holiday would be at an end to-morrow?” said Emilie.

“I don’t know, Emilie, I feel it much longer.”

“Do you? then you have not been so happy as I hoped to have made you, dear; I have been a great deal occupied with other things, but it could scarcely be helped.”

“No, Emilie, I have not been happy a great part of the holidays, but I am happy now; happier at least, and it was no fault of yours at any time.  I know now why I was so discontented with my condition, and why I thought I had more to try me than anybody else.  I feel that I was in fault; that I am in fault, I should say; but, oh Emilie, I am trying, trying hard, to—­” and here, Edith, softened by the remembrance that soon she and her friend must part, burst into tears.

“And you have succeeded, succeeded nobly, Edith, my darling.  I have watched you, and but that I feared to interfere, I would have noticed your victories to you.  I may do so now.”

“My victories, Emilie!  Are you making fun of me?  I feel to have been so very irritable of late.—­My victories!”

“Just because, dear, you take notice of your irritability as you did not use to do, and because you have constantly before your eyes that great pattern in whom was no sin.”