“No, my dear girl; and that Being who sees principle triumph, will reward it.  Go then, my child; you see and feel what you ought to do, therefore, act up to it.  It is only when the right path is rugged, there is any merit in walking in it.”

“You are right, my excellent friend; may God direct this rebellious heart of mine.  Oh, how unlike am I to that dear departed one, who,——­” here she burst into tears.  Mrs. Cameron now rose to go, and Helen promised to call after she had been to Mrs. Sherman’s.

In the afternoon, she dressed herself to go for the work.  Her deep mourning added, if possible, to her lady-like appearance.  When in health, she was extremely lovely; but it was a beauty, one can hardly describe, since it arose not from regularity of feature.  Suffice it to say, she found Mrs. Sherman alone, who received her, not only kindly, but with a degree of feeling and respect, that is rarely accorded those, whom adversity has depressed.  She apologized for not having sent the work, and said, that indisposition, alone, induced her to trouble Helen to call for the directions as to making the shirts, about which the doctor was very particular.  While pointing out how they were to be done, a little girl, about eleven, burst into the room, and threw herself on the sofa.  On her mother desiring her to leave, she cried out in a wayward tone, “No, I shan’t, I want to stay here, because I like it, and I will, too; papa would let me if he was at home, and if you turn me out, I’ll tell him, so I will.”

“Susan, my child, you must, indeed you must leave me, I want to speak to Miss Willoughby alone.”

“Oh, yes, I know you do; you don’t want me to hear you tell her how to make papa’s shirts.”

“Fie! my dear, how can you act thus perversely,” said Mrs. Sherman, as she forcibly led her to the door, which had no sooner closed on the petulant child, than she apologized, with much feeling, and seemed greatly mortified at this contre temps of her little girl.  “In fact, my dear Miss Willoughby,” she said, “she is, with several others, running almost wild, for want of a good school in the place.”

“Oh, madam!” cried Helen, in almost breathless haste, “do you say a school is wanted here? oh, tell me, would they think me too young, if I were deemed capable, which I feel I am; for my beloved mother spared no pains in grounding me thoroughly in the essential points, and, for accomplishments, I have had the best masters.”

“Indeed!” said Mrs. Sherman, “could you undertake to impart the rudiments of music?”

“I am sure I could,” said Helen, blushing as she spoke, at the idea of having, thus, to praise herself, “for when I left off learning, I could play anything off at sight.”

“If that be the case, I can easily get you a few pupils to commence with, but how will you manage for a room?”

“Oh,” replied the enthusiastic girl, cheered by these opening prospects, “there is a room at the back of our parlour, which, being so large, I did not care to furnish, it would make an admirable school room.”