CHAPTER VII.

THE DAY OF SMALL THINGS.

EDAH now considered her plans for the winter as settled, and began to make her arrangements accordingly, for she was very much given to making a systematic division of her time, and giving to each hour its regular employment. She thought that by rising early enough she could perform all her household duties before breakfast, and be free to sit down immediately afterwards with her books or her work, or to instruct Pauline, who had become really fond of study, and was making very good progress.

She found many interruptions, however, to this plan. Mrs. Champlin often exacted the whole of her attention, or some of the neighbors would drop in to spend an hour or two, or sometimes Susan would take a perverse fit, and persist in interrupting her just when she was the most engaged. She sometimes found it hard not to be irritated under all these hindrances, especially as she grew more and more interested in her studies; but she made great efforts, and felt that she was really gaining very much in regard to temper. She forced herself to lay down her books cheerfully, and to attend to Mrs. Champlin's long stories about nothing, and what was still more difficult, she obliged herself to bear with perfect gentleness all her complaints and insinuations, which sometimes put Susan, and even Sam, entirely out of patience. Still, with, all her interruptions and hindrances, she continued to have a good deal of time, and really made good progress in her studies.

She did not forget Mr. Willson's remark about the Sunday School, and was anxious to make a beginning, but she did not exactly know how. She thought it over and over, and at last decided to do nothing till she could ask Mr. Willson's advice.

One day, two of the neighbors' children came in to play with Pauline. They were pretty little girls of ten and eleven years old, and Edah, who had taken a good deal of interest in them, was always glad to see them. Pauline, who was very assiduous in entertaining her visitors, was on this occasion showing them the new hymn-book that Edah had given her, when Sarah Bell proposed that they should sing some of the hymns. Nothing could please Pauline better. They sang one after the other, and Edah joined her own sweet and cultivated voice to those of the children.

"Sister," said Pauline, "I wish you would sing that chant out of the Prayer-Book that you sang the other night—the one you said they sang in church."

"The Gloria in Excelsis, do you mean," asked Edah; "the one that begins—'Glory be to God on high'?"

"Yes," replied Pauline. "Now, listen, girls."

Edah sang the glorious old chant, and the children listened with breathless attention.

When she had finished, Abby Bell said, drawing a long breath—

"I never heard any thing like that. It seems as if it took me right up into the sky. Do you know any more such hymns, Miss Champlin?"

"They are not hymns—they are chants, Abby," said Pauline, proud to display her superior knowledge. "Sister says they always sing them in her church, and some day she is going to take me there."

"I wish there was a church here," said Sarah Bell. "In B—, where we lived when I was a little bit of a girl, there was a church and a Sunday School, and Abby went all the time."

"Miss Champlin," asked Abby, "why can't 'you' have a Sunday School—just for us children, you know? There would be Pauline, and Sarah, and I, and I know Lizzie and Kitty Smith would like to come, and Mary Crampton and her little brother. It would be so nice."

"Oh, do, do!" exclaimed Pauline. "It would be just as nice as it could be. Do, sister, won't you?"

Edah smiled.

"But what should we do for books?" she asked.

"Oh, we could do without just at first, and perhaps we could get some after a while," said Sarah. "We could learn lessons in the Testament, at any rate, and you could explain them to us, and we could sing. It would be delightful."

"Do you think your mother would be willing?" asked Edah.

"I know my mother would, and I am sure Lizzie Smith's mother would like it," said Abby. "May I ask her, Miss Champlin?"

"You may," said Edah, after a moment's consideration; "and if they are willing, you may come here next Sunday, at two o'clock."

There was a little whispering among the children, and then Abby said, with some hesitation—

"Miss Champlin, may we ask the little Fisher children? They are poor, you know, and their father is a bad man, but their mother is a good woman, and they are nice little things. They live on the hill, back of our house."

"Certainly," said Edah; "ask them by all means. I wish, Abby, that you would come round on Saturday afternoon and tell me how many there are likely to be, that I may make arrangements accordingly."

Abby promised to do so, and the children went home full of their plan, and impatient to put it into execution.

The next day Edah had an opportunity to send to Raeburn, and she wrote a note to Mr. Willson, mentioning her project, and asking some directions as to beginning. She was agreeably surprised on the return of her messenger to receive about thirty books, new and old, suitable for a Sunday School library. Mr. Willson gave her his advice as to the course best to pursue, warning her against attempting too much, and giving the plan his cordial approbation.

"Did you see any one else at Raeburn?" asked Edah of Mr. Bell, who had executed her commission.

"I saw Miss Laurence at the parsonage, and some one else was there that I'd as soon have expected to see a'most anywhere else, and that was long John Van Dake. They say he is getting to be a real steady fellow. But I say, Miss Champlin, what's this about the Sunday School? The children are so full of it they don't know whether they are on their heels or their heads, hardly."

Edah smiled, and explained the project to Mr. Bell, who approved of it entirely.

"I like the notion very well," he said. "I'm not sure but I should like to come myself, though I suppose you wouldn't take me. The young ones shall come, if 'she' is willing, and I know she will be."

Mr. and Mrs. Bell had a habit of speaking of one another as "he" and "she," as if there were no other he and she in the world.

Towards evening of the same day came over Jube, with the usual basket, and a note from Annie:

"I am sorry to tell you, my dear Edah," she wrote, "that the matter is decided, and we are really going away for the whole winter. If it were not for my mother's health, and for the sake of poor Lulu, who, we hope, will be benefited by the sea voyage, I should not know how to feel reconciled to it. Mrs. Millar will stay in the house and keep things in order, and father says he shall leave the key of the library with you, so the old place will not be quite deserted; and, moreover, Dick will be up several times in the course of the winter, if he stays in New York. My superfine brother Addison is going to Europe, where, I presume, he will acquire a new stock of airs and graces wherewith to astonish the natives and more thoroughly to disguise his native geed sense and kindness of heart. I send you some packages of tracts, of which Dick has supplied me with a perfect magazine, and which you may find useful. We are counting on one more visit from you before we go."

On Saturday afternoon came over Abby Bell, her eyes sparkling with delight.

"We are coming, Miss Champlin—all of us. Sarah and I, and Kitty and Lizzie Smith, and Mary Crampton, and Polly Fisher; and Jane and Selina Bostwick will come too, if you will let them. They are quite big girls, you know, and Selina can sing beautifully."

"We shall have quite a school," said Edah. "I must be sure and have seats enough provided. I think we will meet in the kitchen, and then we shall not disturb mother, and you must be very careful to come punctually."

Edah was both surprised and ashamed at the reluctance she felt to mentioning her plan to the family, but she felt that it was necessary to do so. Mrs. Champlin wondered that she should put herself to so much trouble, and thought she would soon be tired of it, but she was in a good humor, and made no substantial objection. Susan thought it would be very disagreeable to have the children running in and out all day Sunday.

"But they will not be running in and out," said Edah; "they will only come in at the side-gate, and go quietly into the kitchen, and as quietly go away again."

"What good will it do them?" asked Susan. "Do you suppose it will be any better for them than if they read their Bibles at home?"

"Perhaps not, if they read them," replied Edah, "and yet I think it may give them rather more interest in the matter, and they will have their little books and tracts too."

"From which they will derive great benefit, no doubt; Sunday School books are usually so very entertaining and instructive! However, if you like to amuse yourself in that way, I don't know why you should not, only I don't think those Fisher children will be very nice playmates for Pauline."

"They will not be playmates for her at all," said Edah. "I do not propose to have any play in school, and after school they will go home."

"Now, Sue," said Pauline, "you are only talking so, just to be contrary, you know."

"There," returned Susan, "that is a good beginning. If you teach them all as good manners as Pauline has acquired, you will be a benefactor to the community. For my part, I think—"

Susan stopped short, and Edah, seeing that she was a good deal out of humor, thought it best to drop the conversation for the present. She took an opportunity when she was putting Pauline to bed to tell her how very improperly she had spoken.

"You do a great deal of harm," said she "and make me a great deal of trouble, when you talk so, and you know you would not like to have any one speak so to you."

"I don't think!" said Pauline, hanging her head.

"But you must think! 'Don't think' is youngest brother to 'Don't care,' and does quite as much mischief. You must think, and you must ask God to teach you to curb your tongue."

Pauline promised to try and do better. She was really improving very much in every respect, but the habits of her little lifetime were not to be conquered all at once, and every little slip she made was noted and commented on by Susan, because she knew very well that it annoyed Edah. It is a strange pleasure certainly which some people take in seeing others do wrong, especially those who are trying with all their might to do right. This was not always the case with Susan; but certain it is, that there were times when it was her greatest delight to see Edah's color rise and her eyes flash, and to see her utter some hasty retort or angry sarcasm, and it really seemed as if she lent all the energies of her mind to bring it about.

On Sunday afternoon at two o'clock, the children made their appearance, for the most part shy and silent enough. They were all nicely dressed, with the exception of Polly Fisher, who was, however, clean and neat. She was a mild-looking little morsel of a child, with large gray eyes, and "lint-white hair," and Edah thought there was something very prepossessing in her almost infantine countenance: she was surprised to learn that Polly was twelve years old. Selina and Jane Bostwick were dark, pale girls of thirteen and fifteen, with good manners, but very silent and shy. Mary Crampton and the little Smiths were nice little children about nine or ten, and Pauline was the youngest child present.

Ruby-Anne came in just as the children were taking their places.

"Law sakes! What a nice little school!" she exclaimed. "I suppose you will take me too, won't you?"

Edah would rather have preferred not having any grown-up spectators at first, but she did not see how to avoid it in this case, and Ruby took her place with the rest. After a few words spoken to the children, Edah requested all present to kneel and join her in the Lord's Prayer, and when this was concluded, she read a collect or two from her Prayer-Book. Mr. Willson had sent her among other things, half a dozen hymn-books, and when the prayers were finished, she selected a hymn, which was sung to a familiar tune. Jane and Selina had sweet, though uncultivated voices, and Ruby-Anne joined with the rest.

"Children," said Edah, when the hymn was finished, "why have we come together here this afternoon?"

There were several answers. "To have a Sunday school," said one. "To learn about God."—"To study the Bible," said others.

"Those are all very good answers," said Edah. "We have come to have a Sunday School, to study the Bible, and I hope to learn something about God and our duty. I think the best way to begin will be to read over some verses, as of course you have not learned any lesson to-day, to talk them over, and then you can learn them for next Sunday. We will begin with the second chapter of St. Matthew's Gospel, and take seven verses for our first lesson; but first, can any one tell me what is the meaning of the word Gospel?"

"I believe it means good tidings," said Selina, modestly, after a pause.

"That is quite right. When the angel came to the shepherds on the plains of Bethlehem, he said, 'I bring you glad tidings of great joy, which shall be to all people.' But why is the Gospel good news?"

"Because it tells us how to be saved," said Pauline.

"Yes, because it tells us of a Saviour. It tells us how good God was in sending His only Son into the world, to die for us that we might be saved if we believe in Him and obey Him and love Him. We wish to understand that good news, and to know all about it. Suppose your father were in some distant place—in Europe, for instance—and he should write you a letter, telling you that you might come and see him there, and giving you directions how you must come, and promising you money for the journey—you would be very anxious to understand the letter properly, would you not?"

"'I' should," said Mary Crampton.

"Well, this is what Christ does in the Gospel. He tells us that if we will, we may meet Him in heaven; He tells us how to come, and promises us His Holy Spirit to help us on the way. But suppose any child should get such a letter from her father, and should just put it away on the shelf, and think no more about it—suppose, too, that unless she did attend to the letter and go to meet her father, she would certainly starve to death in a little while, or be carried away and made a slave of. Would you not think her a very strange child?"

"I don't believe any child would be so foolish as that," said Mary Crampton.

"You think not, Mary. Yet this is just what people do who neglect the Bible—who put it away on the shelf; and take no pains to understand it."

"But people are not starved to death because they don't understand the Bible," said Pauline.

"Not in this world perhaps, but in another world, my dear; have you forgotten that? Our lives do not end when we stop living here and our bodies are buried in the ground, do they? What becomes of our souls then?"

"They go to heaven," answered little Jemmie Fisher.

"All of them?" asked Edah. "Do the souls of all sorts of people go to heaven, Jemmie?"

"Only Christians go to heaven," said Selina Bostwick.

"And what becomes of the others?"

"They are lost," said Selina solemnly, after a pause.

"Yes," said Edah, "unless we learn the way to heaven in this world and set out in that way, we shall never find it, and the sooner we set out, the more sure we are of reaching the end of our journey. It is to learn about that way that we come here this afternoon. But it will do us no good to learn the road, unless we set out in it; we must remember that: a great many people know the way, who I fear never take one step forward therein. Now we will read over the lesson for next Sunday, and see if we understand it."

The lesson was accordingly read—a verse by each child in turn; and Edah gave such explanations as she thought necessary. She did not like to keep them too long at first; so she made her remarks as brief as possible. All the children, except Jemmie Fisher, could read pretty fluently, and he made out tolerably, by dint of spelling, and being told the hard words by his sister. Edah gave them a short recess, telling them not to go away from the door or make any noise, and she was glad to find that they obeyed her. After they had taken their seats again, she said—

"Children, there are some words which I wish you to learn to repeat altogether. They are called the Apostles' Creed, and they tell what all Christians believe. I will say it all for you, and then we will repeat it sentence by sentence till we learn it. The meaning of the word Creed is belief."

She repeated it slowly and seriously; then taking the first clause, she said it with them three or four times, till they seemed to know it perfectly.

"I used to know that when I was a little girl," said Ruby-Anne. "I guess I'll say it too; it will kind of help them along."

"Do, if you please," said Edah, and accordingly Ruby-Anne's voice chimed in with those of the little ones. In the course of half an hour the older ones had it perfectly, and then Edah dismissed them, after singing another hymn, and giving them their library books. They all went home, feeling very nicely, and Edah herself was greatly encouraged by this favorable beginning. She thought it very likely that she would have more trouble as she went on, but she did not mean to be discouraged. She was especially pleased at being able to keep the attention of the children fixed, and at finding them all so well-behaved, and looked forward with much pleasure to meeting them again.

The next Sunday all the children made their appearance, with the addition of two or three new faces, and Edah was gratified to find that they had not only learned the words of their lesson, but also that they remembered and comprehended her explanations. She pursued the same course as before, and with the same success, and there seemed now a fair prospect of the school's flourishing, and being useful not only to the children, but to herself. She was surprised to find, when she sat down to think over the verses of the lesson, how very indistinct her own ideas were on the subject, and how much of study and meditation were necessary in order to put them into an available shape.

She was careful not to fatigue her pupils by too many explanations; but instead of their being in a hurry to get away, she found them rather unwilling to go, and very desirous to hear "some more."

This week was destined to be one of trial to Edah. In the first place, the Laurences set out on their journey. Edah had expected to miss them very much, but she was not prepared to find such a blank in her daily life as their departure created. It made her feel desolate not to be expecting to see Annie, or to hear from her, or to ride over to Spring Bank herself. She felt that there was no one left to her.

She had, it is true, formed some acquaintances in the village, particularly with Mrs. Bell, the mother of Abby and Sarah, and with Miss Gilmore, a useful, painstaking maiden lady, Selina Bostwick's aunt, who was much interested in her plans for the Sunday School, and promised to help her whenever she needed assistance; but still they were not very cultivated people, and knew nothing of many of the things which interested her. Mrs. Bell, in particular, thought it very strange that any one should take so much pains to learn a foreign language, when there were so many books in English yet unread, and she could hardly believe that any one whose mind was so much taken up with books and such things could have any attention left for household duties. She was obliged, however, to confess, when Edah laughingly brought in for her inspection a shirt which she had just finished for Sam, that she could not have made it better herself.

Captain Laurence, who was a good deal of a book-collector, had, as he said, made her free of his library, and she was at liberty at any time to carry home whatever volumes she wanted—a precious privilege in a country where books were by no means as plenty as blackberries. Edah took up a course of history with Sam, who had become very fond of reading aloud, and she hoped to make it profitable to both of them. Moreover, she had herself become very much interested in some of our most excellent old English divines, and she was especially delighted with the Scripture Meditations of glorious Bishop Hall, which she studied until she knew them by heart. Still, all these advantages could not make up for the loss of the society of her friends, and she missed them more and more every day.

A few days after their final departure, she was out in the yard, when her attention was attracted by an old negro who was lingering near the gate, and she went out to speak to him. The old man seemed to have some difficulty in getting out what he had to say, and hesitated, till Edah said, good-naturedly—

"What is it, Uncle Jake? I am sure there is something on your mind yet."

"Well, missy, that's a fact. You see I didn't like to trouble missy, if I could get along without, but it's mighty hard times, and this old feller don't make out very well."

"But I don't understand you yet, Jake? Do you want me to help you in any way?"

"No, missy; I don't ask nothing of nobody, only to be paid. You see, missy, I used to work for Mr. Champlin, time and again, hauling boards and driving, and so on, and sometimes he paid me, and then again he didn't; but I didn't get nothing for most a year before Mr. Champlin went away—that's a fact. So I got Mr. Bell to draw off the 'count, 'cause I always kept a 'count, and here it is. You see, missy, I knew there was a good deal going out, and I didn't like to disturb the family; but I'm mighty poor this fall—that's a fact."

Edah took the account. It seemed all fair enough, and the amount was fifteen dollars. She knew that Mr. Bell would have had nothing to do with it unless it were all right, and she felt sorry not to have known of it before.

"You must be paid at once, Jake, of course. I wish you had called before, though I am much obliged to you for your consideration. Walk into the kitchen and sit down, and I will get you the money."

"Missy is very kind. I guess I will sit down, for this old feller gets tired mighty easy, now-a-days."

Edah was startled, on counting over her stock of ready money, to see that it would take half of what she had in hand to pay Jake. It was more than two months to Christmas, when she would receive her next instalment, and what were they to do in the mean time?

"Do you ever work for Mr. Strong, at the Eagle, Jake?" she asked, as she gave the old man his money.

"Yes, missy—sometimes."

"What sort of a man is he?"

"Well, he's a hard man, that's a fact—a regular skinflint, he is. I never see his match for that. Missy had any trouble with him since Captain Laurence paid up the mortgage?"

"Captain Laurence paid up the mortgage! What do you mean, Jake?"

"Don't missy know? Laws sake, I's sorry I said a word."

"But what is it, Jacob? I must know all about it," said Edah.

"Well, missy knows Strong was agoing to take Miss Champlin's things, and the old Captain he heard of it, and he come over and wanted Strong to make over the mortgage to him. Strong swore he wouldn't at first, but he knows which side his bread's buttered, and he dusn't offend the old Captain, you see, so finally he let him have it, and the Captain paid him the money; and if old Strong didn't swear tall, when the old Captain was out of hearing, it's no matter. Real gentleman the old Captain is, missy—none of your new-come-up folks, they ain't. My oldest boy and girl was brung up there. Missy's seen my Jube and Sally at the Captain's, I expect."

"Are Jube and Sally your children, Jake? I did not know that. You must be glad to have them in such good hands."

"Yes, missy, thank the Lord, they's well brought up. Jube is a good boy, and helps his old daddy a sight, he does. I's a deal to be thankful for, that's a fact. Well, I thank you, missy, and bid you good-morning. If you have any little jobs to do, Jake will be glad to do them for you."

"Sam," said Edah that night, "old Jake says that Captain Laurence took that mortgage, and paid Strong the money. Did you know any thing about it?"

"No, indeed!" replied Sam, looking perfectly confounded. "Do you believe it, Edah?"

"Why, Jake says he was there at the time, and that Strong did not want to let him have it, but that he dared not offend him, and so the Captain paid the money."

"How should he know any thing about it?"

"Perhaps Mr. Willson told him. You know he knew all the circumstance; for he was here the same day, and we talked it over with him."

"And the Captain was at Strong's the next day, I know. I remember seeing the young black horses standing there, hitched to the post. That's the reason we have heard no more from Strong. But what do you mean to do about it?"

"It must be paid in some way," said Edah. "I would not pay Strong, if I could help it; but now the debt is to Captain Laurence, and that is quite another thing. It must be paid at some rate."

"It ought to be, certainly; but I declare, Edah, I don't know how. I have only twenty dollars left."

"And I have only twelve, since paying Jake. I shall not have any more till Christmas, and then only fifty dollars. But come in here—" they were standing at the door of Edah's room—"and I will tell you what I have been thinking. Talk low, so as not to wake Polly."

Sam sat down accordingly, and Edah went on: "Do you know whether they have found a teacher for the school yet?"

"I know they have not," replied Sam. "I heard them talking about it at the post-office to-night."

"Do you think they would let me take it?"

"You!" exclaimed Sam, with so much vehemence that Polly started in her sleep. "I guess they would, and be glad of the chance; but you would not think of doing it, would you?"

"Why not?" asked Edah. "Don't you think I am competent to teach a common school?"

"But would you be willing to do it? Just think how it would take up your time, and hew tired you would get. You would have to give up your Spanish and drawing almost entirely; and then to have to teach and manage all sorts of children—boys and girls, rough and smooth, just as they come."

"I have thought of all that," said Edah. "As to the children, I have no fear but that I should manage them, for I am fond of children, and they almost always like me. It would be hard work at first, but I should get used to it, I presume. As to the Spanish and drawing, I should have to give them up, to be sure, but they are not of so much consequence. I shall never feel easy a moment till this debt is paid."

"What in the world are you talking about?" asked Susan, putting her head in at the door.

"About ways and means," said Edah. "Come in and join the committee, will you? I thought you were asleep."

"So I was, till your talking waked me. And what about ways and means? Ways to spend money, and no means of getting it, is what it signifies in our case usually; but what new call is there for money?"

Edah explained what she had heard.

Susan listened in silence, and then said, in a voice which struggled in vain to be calm—

"Captain Laurence is very kind, but I almost wish he had let it alone. I should not care whether Strong ever got a cent of it or not, but now the case is altered. I don't like the idea of Captain Laurence losing by us. How much is it?"

"About one hundred and thirty dollars."

"We never can pay it in the world," said Susan.

"I am not sure of that," replied Edah. "Sam says that they have not yet engaged a teacher for the district school, and he thinks they would take me, if I applied, and in that way I could earn something. I suppose they would give me, at least, twelve dollars a month."

"Sixteen," said Sam. "I heard them say they would give sixteen, if they got a teacher that suited them."

"Well, sixteen dollars a month would go a good way, if well managed, and then I could save my allowance towards the debt, and in time we could get enough."

Susan tried once or twice to speak, and then, bursting into tears, she said, through her sobs—

"I declare it is a perfect shame—you just support the family now, and when it comes to paying father's whisky debts besides—for they are no better—I think we had better break up, and go to the poorhouse at once."

"You forget, Susy, that I am going to spend the winter here," said Edah, smiling, and trying to speak gaily, though the tears stood in her own eyes, "and I should not like to spend it in the poorhouse at all. And after all, what harm will it do me to teach a few months? A great many girls do it from choice; and besides, Sue, you forget that it will give me a chance to extend my Sunday School—my pet, as you call it."

"I believe that is at the bottom of it, after all," said Susan, trying to laugh in her turn; "but it does seem a perfect shame that you should have to give up all your own tastes and studies for the sake of earning money for us. If I were in your place, I would just go off to New York, and leave the family to its own devices."

"I don't believe you would do any such thing," interrupted Edah.

"I have been trying to think of some way in which I can earn something," continued Susan, "but I don't see how I can. I am pretty good at sewing, and I thought I could get some dresses to make; but I cannot sew lately, it gives me such pain in my side, and makes me cough so."

"You must not think of such a thing," said Edah, earnestly. "You do enough, and more than enough, in waiting upon mother and taking care of Eddy, and you could not be more useful in any other way. Well, then, since the committee approves of my plan, I shall make the proposition to Mr. Bell to-morrow. I am sure of his good word, at any rate. And then I shall be the school-ma'am, and you will all have to be very respectful to me. I shall allow no liberties, I assure you."

"And what will become of your drawing and Spanish, and your history-reading, and all that?" asked Susan.

"The drawing and Spanish will have to wait a while," replied Edah; "the history will go on as usual, as it only occupies the evenings. Perhaps I may contrive a little time for drawing, but if not, I must do without for the present."

"Well," said Susan, "all I can say is, I should like to know how you came by your disposition. You did not get it by inheritance, I am sure of that."

"If you will believe me, Susan," replied Edah, earnestly, "I have got whatever there is of good in me from my religious principles. It is to these, and these alone, that I owe any power of good, or of self-sacrifice. I used to think of nothing but myself, and my own pleasure; and now, though I know I often fail, I also know that my greatest desire is to do the will of God, and to glorify Him."

"I am sure you do it," said Sam.

Susan made no remark, but she kissed her sister good-night with unusual affection.

"One thing more before the committee rises," said Edah. "Don't say any thing about it to mother till it is all settled and decided. She might object, and make it difficult to arrange matters. I do not exactly like to act without consulting her either, but, as she is now, I think it will be best. So we will keep it all quiet till I have seen Mr. Bell and the committee."

"You don't know what a queer dream I had last night," said Pauline, at breakfast. "I dreamed that Sam, and sister, and Susan were all in our room talking about keeping a school for Captain Laurence, and that Sue cried about it. Wasn't it curious? It seems to me just as if they had really been there."