which rendered her manner exceedingly constrained when they were together.  Hagar was almost as taciturn as her mistress, and as the girl asked few questions, she remained in complete ignorance of the household affairs, and had never seen any one but Mrs. Murray, Hagar, and the doctor.  She was well supplied with books, which the former brought from the library, and thus the invalid contrived to amuse herself during the long, tedious summer days.  One afternoon in June, Edna persuaded Hagar to lift her to a large, cushioned chair close to the open window which looked out on the lawn; and here, with a book on her lap, she sat gazing out at the soft blue sky, the waving elm boughs, and the glittering plumage of a beautiful Himalayan pheasant, which seemed in the golden sunshine to have forgotten the rosy glow of his native snows.  Leaning her elbows on the window-sill, Edna rested her face in her palms, and after a few minutes a tide of tender memories rose and swept over her heart, bringing a touching expression of patient sorrow to her sweet, wan face, and giving a far-off wistful look to the beautiful eyes where tears often gathered but very rarely fell.  Hagar had dressed her in a new white muslin wrapper, with fluted ruffles at the wrists and throat; and the fair young face, with its delicate features, and glossy folds of soft hair, was a pleasant picture, which the nurse loved to contemplate.  Standing with her work-basket in her hand, she watched the graceful little figure for two or three moments, and a warm, loving light shone out over her black features; then nodding her head resolutely, she muttered: 

“I will have my way this once; she shall stay,” and passed out of the room, closing the door behind her.  Edna did not remark her departure, for memory was busy among the ashes of other days, exhuming a thousand precious reminiscences of mountain home, chestnut groves, showers of sparks fringing an anvil with fire, and an old man’s unpainted head-board in the deserted burying-ground.  She started nervously when, a half hour later, Mrs. Murray laid her hand gently on her shoulder, and said: 

“Child, of what are you thinking?”

For an instant she could not command her voice, which faltered; but making a strong effort, she answered in a low tone: 

“Of all that I have lost, and what I am to do in future.”

“Would you be willing to work all your life in a factory?”

“No, ma’am; only long enough to educate myself, so that I could teach.”

“You could not obtain a suitable education in that way, and beside, I do not think that the factory you spoke of would be an agreeable place for you.  I have made some inquiries about it since you came here.”

“I know it will not be pleasant, but then I am obliged to work in some way, and I don’t see what else I can do.  I am not able to pay for an education now, and I am determined to have one.”

Mrs. Murray’s eyes wandered out toward the velvety lawn, and she mused for some minutes; then laying her hands on the orphan’s head, she said: