“I wish I knew where all these pretty things would go when Aunt March dies,” she said, as she slowly replaced the shining rosary and shut the jewel cases one by one.

“To you and your sisters.  I know it, Madame confides in me.  I witnessed her will, and it is to be so,” whispered Esther smiling.

“How nice!  But I wish she’d let us have them now.  Procrastination is not agreeable,” observed Amy, taking a last look at the diamonds.

“It is too soon yet for the young ladies to wear these things.  The first one who is affianced will have the pearls, Madame has said it, and I have a fancy that the little turquoise ring will be given to you when you go, for Madame approves your good behavior and charming manners.”

“Do you think so?  Oh, I’ll be a lamb, if I can only have that lovely ring!  It’s ever so much prettier than Kitty Bryant’s.  I do like Aunt March after all.”  And Amy tried on the blue ring with a delighted face and a firm resolve to earn it.

From that day she was a model of obedience, and the old lady complacently admired the success of her training.  Esther fitted up the closet with a little table, placed a footstool before it, and over it a picture taken from one of the shut-up rooms.  She thought it was of no great value, but, being appropriate, she borrowed it, well knowing that Madame would never know it, nor care if she did.  It was, however, a very valuable copy of one of the famous pictures of the world, and Amy’s beauty-loving eyes were never tired of looking up at the sweet face of the Divine Mother, while her tender thoughts of her own were busy at her heart.  On the table she laid her little testament and hymnbook, kept a vase always full of the best flowers Laurie brought her, and came every day to ‘sit alone’ thinking good thoughts, and praying the dear God to preserve her sister.  Esther had given her a rosary of black beads with a silver cross, but Amy hung it up and did not use it, feeling doubtful as to its fitness for Protestant prayers.

The little girl was very sincere in all this, for being left alone outside the safe home nest, she felt the need of some kind hand to hold by so sorely that she instinctively turned to the strong and tender Friend, whose fatherly love most closely surrounds His little children.  She missed her mother’s help to understand and rule herself, but having been taught where to look, she did her best to find the way and walk in it confidingly.  But, Amy was a young pilgrim, and just now her burden seemed very heavy.  She tried to forget herself, to keep cheerful, and be satisfied with doing right, though no one saw or praised her for it.  In her first effort at being very, very good, she decided to make her will, as Aunt March had done, so that if she did fall ill and die, her possessions might be justly and generously divided.  It cost her a pang even to think of giving up the little treasures which in her eyes were as precious as the old lady’s jewels.