As it was my mother’s intention to give me a thoroughly good education, she began, after the departure of Miss Edmonds, to consider the propriety of sending me to a noted seminary for young ladies, about two hundred miles from Philadelphia, as she learned from various sources of the excellence of the institution.  There was but one difficulty in the way, and that was the money needful for defraying my expenses.  At my father’s death, he left us the owners of the house we occupied, and a sum of money, though not a large one, in the Savings’ Bank.  Up to the time of which I speak, we had only drawn the annual interest of our money, while the principal remained untouched, my mother having obtained needle-work to eke out our small income; but, in order that I should finish my education according to the wishes of my mother, as well as my own, a portion of the principal must be withdrawn.  After some reflection upon the subject, my mother decided that a good education might prove of more value to me than money, so a portion of the money was drawn, and we began the preparations for my departure from home.  It was the high reputation which the school sustained that influenced my mother in her decision to send me so far from home.  There was a lady residing in the near vicinity of the school who had been a loved school-mate of my mother in their youthful days.  My mother wrote to her upon the subject and received a very friendly reply, informing her that, owing to their own early friendship, she would be most happy to fill a mother’s place to me, so long as I should wish to remain at school.  I should have been much elated at the proposed journey had it not been for the thought of leaving my mother, who had ever been my confidant and adviser.  My mother also felt keenly the coming departure, although she strove to conceal her feelings as much as possible.  I strongly objected to leaving her alone, but we had as yet been unable to devise any plan to avoid so doing.  My mother would have rented a portion of our dwelling, but it was not adapted for the convenience of two families, neither could she endure the disquiet of keeping boarders.

“Clara,” said my mother one day, as we sat at work, “I think I will send for Aunt Patience to come and stay with me during your absence.”

She laughed outright at the look of dismay with which I regarded her, occasioned by the recollection which I retained of a visit she paid us when I was eight years of age.  She was a maiden lady somewhat advanced in years, possessed of a very kind heart and many excellent qualities; but the name of Patience seemed to me a misapplication in her case, for she certainly possessed but a small quantity of that valuable article.  Early in life she had passed through many trials, which might have tended to sour her disposition.  I remember that during the visit referred to, my mother had occasion to spend a day from home, leaving me in care of Aunt Patience.  It seemed a very long day to me.  Like all children, I was restless and troublesome, and to one unaccustomed to the care of children it was doubtless very annoying.  During the day I received a severe box on the ear from Aunt Patience, for saying to her in an outburst of childish anger, when provoked by her continued fault-finding,