“Oh, mamma! come smell this mignonette.  Why can’t we grow some in boxes in our window?”

Mr. Andrews leaned over his son’s pillows, softly put his hand on the boy’s forehead, and said: 

“My son, Miss Earl professes to love you very much, but I doubt whether she really means all she says; and I am determined to satisfy myself fully.  Just now I can not leave my business, but mamma, intends to take you to Europe next week, and I want to know whether Miss Earl will leave all her admirers here, and go with you and help mamma to nurse you.  Do you think she will?”

Mrs. Andrews stood with her hand resting on the shoulder of the governess, watching the varying expression of her child’s countenance.

“I think, papa—­I hope she will; I believe she—­”

He paused, and, struggling up from his pillows, he stretched out his poor little arms, and exclaimed: 

“Oh, Edna! you will go with me?  You promised you would never forsake me!  Tell papa you will go.”

His head was on her shoulder, his arms were clasped tightly around her neck.  She laid her face on his, and was silent.

Mr. Andrews placed his hand on the orphan’s bowed head.

“Miss Earl, you must let me tell you that I look upon you as a member of my family; that my wife and I love you almost as well as if you were one of our children; and I hope you will not refuse to accompany Kate on the tour she contemplates.  Let me take your own father’s place; and I shall regard it as a great favor to me and mine if you will consent to go, and allow me to treat you always as I do my Hattie.  I have no doubt you will derive as much benefit from travelling, as I certainly hope for Felix.”

“Thank you, Mr. Andrews, I appreciate your generosity, and I prize the affection and confidence which you and your wife have shown me.  I came, an utter stranger, into your house, and you kindly made me one of the family circle.  I am alone in the world, and have become strongly attached to your children.  Felix is not merely my dear pupil, he is my brother, my companion, my little darling!  I can not be separated from him.  Next to his mother he belongs to me.  Oh!  I will travel with him anywhere that you and Mrs. Andrews think it best he should go.  I will never, never leave him.”

She disengaged the boy’s arms, laid him back on his pillows, and went to her own room.

In the midst of prompt preparations for departure Edna’s new novel appeared.  She had christened it “Shining thorns on the hearth,” and dedicated it “To my countrywomen, the Queens who reign thereon.”

The aim of the book was to discover the only true and allowable and womanly sphere of feminine work, and, though the theme was threadbare, she fearlessly picked up the frayed woof and rewove it.