She was not sick exactly, and yet not quite well.  She discovered, considerably to her surprise, that she was falling into the habit of sitting down on a stair to rest ere she had reached the top of the first flight; also, that she was sometimes obliged to stay her sweeping and clasp her hands suddenly over a strange beating in her heart.  But she laughed at her mother’s anxious face, and pronounced herself quite well, quite well, only perhaps a little tired.

Meantime all sorts of plans for usefulness ran riot in her brain.  She could not go away on a mission because her mission had come to her.  For a wonder she realized that her mother needed her.  She took up bravely and eagerly, so far as she could see it, the work that lay around her; but her restless heart craved more, more.  She must do something outside of this narrow circle for the Master.  One evening her enthusiasm, which had been fed for several days on a new scheme that was afloat in the town, reached its hight.  Ester remembered afterward every little incident connected with that evening—­just how cozy the little family sitting-room looked, with her for its only occupant; just how brightly the coals glowed in the open grate; just what a brilliant color they flashed over the crimson cushioned rocker, which she had vacated when she heard Dr. Van Anden’s step in the hall, and went to speak to him.  She was engaged in writing a letter to Abbie, full of eager schemes and busy, bright work.  “I am astonished that I ever thought there was nothing worth living for;” so she wrote.  “Why life isn’t half long enough for the things that I want to do.  This new idea just fills me with delight.  I am so eager to get to work—­” Thus far when she heard that step, and springing up went with eagerness to the door.

“Doctor, are you in haste?  Haven’t you just five minutes for me?”

“Ten,” answered the Doctor promptly, stepping into the bright little room.

In her haste, not even waiting to offer him a seat, Ester plunged at once into her subject.

“Aren’t you the chairman of that committee to secure teachers for the evening school?”

“I am.”

“Have you all the help you want?”

“Not by any means.  Volunteers for such a self-denying employment as teaching factory girls are not easy to find.”

“Well, Doctor, do you think—­would you be willing to propose my name as one of the teachers?  I should so like to be counted among them.”

Instead of the prompt thanks which she expected, to her dismay Dr. Van Anden’s face looked grave and troubled.  Finally he slowly shook his head with a troubled—­

“I don’t think I can, Ester.”

Such an amazed, grieved, hurt look as swept over Ester’s face.

“It is no matter,” she said at last, speaking with an effort.  “Of course I know little of teaching, and perhaps could do no good; but I thought if help was scarce you might—­well, never mind.”