followed.

"Phew!" cried Winnie, giving her an energetic shake, and knitting her brow in a childish frown, "that's babyish. You'll strike on every rock and bend before each gale if you talk in such a fashion. Don't be a fool, Nellie; pluck up some spirit, and show Ada Irvine you're above her contempt." Winnie spoke as if possessed with all the wisdom of the ancients, and gave due emphasis to every word. "She and I are always at what Dick calls 'loggerheads,' and I enjoy an occasional passage of arms amazingly; only, sometimes I come off second on the field, and that is not so pleasant. Now," with a pretty coaxing air, "dry your tears; the hour is almost up, and the bell will be ringing shortly. I hate to see people crying, I do indeed, so please stop;" and Winnie eyed the tear-stained countenance of her friend with mingled sympathy and impatience.

"I daresay I am very silly," replied Nellie, wiping her eyes and scrubbing her wet cheeks with startling vehemence; "anyhow I'll stop now. And thank you for taking my part, Winnie; you'll be a friend worth having, I am sure of that."

"Yes," answered the young girl, a strange dreamy smile playing on her lips, and a soft look gleaming in the mischievous eyes, "I shall be true as steel;" and Nellie never forgot the earnest light on the childish face as Winnie made her simple vow.

CHAPTER IV.

A TALK WITH AUNT JUDITH.

It was evening; the daily routine of work was over, and the time come for resting and social enjoyment. The ruby curtains were closely drawn in the cosy parlour at Dingle Cottage; the flames leapt and danced in the polished grate, and the soft lamplight fell with mellowing gleam around. Click, click, went Aunt Debby's needles as she sat by the warm glow, knitting industriously; tick, tick, said the little clock, its pendulum swinging steadily to and fro. The cat purred in sleepy content on the rug; and Aunt Judith's gentle voice fell soothingly on the ear as she read some book aloud from her low seat by Aunt Meg's couch.

Nellie, curled up in the rocking-chair opposite Aunt Debby, rocked herself in lazy comfort, and gazed on her invalid relative with rather a doubtful expression of countenance. Her first impression of Miss Margaret was certainly not favourable; for the girl, though not very keen-sighted, saw how the pale pretty face was marred by lines of peevish discontent, and the brow continually puckered in a fretful frown. She was not old, Nellie decided—not much over thirty, at the very most; but oh, how unlike Aunt Judith! What a contrast there was betwixt that listless, languid form on the sofa, and the quiet figure on the low chair near! Nellie turned with a positive sigh of relief to rest her eyes on Miss Latimer's peaceful countenance and wonder at the marvellous calm that always brooded there.

Every now and then some frivolous demand or complaint would come from the invalid—her pillows required shaking; the fire was too warm; the lamplight not sufficiently shaded; what a noise Aunt Debby's pins were making, and could Aunt Judith not read in a lower tone? Nellie was surprised at Miss Latimer's good-humoured patience, and thoroughly enjoyed Miss Deborah's occasional tart remarks, thrown out in sheer desperation.

"Well, Meg, you would provoke the temper of a saint," she cried, twitching her wool so violently that the thread snapped, and the ball rolled under the table; "there you go grumbling from morning till night, in spite of every endeavour to make you comfortable. Your nurses have a hard time, I assure you, and are to be pitied sincerely."

Miss Margaret's eyes filled, and a flood of tears being imminent, Miss Latimer strove to avert the torrent by saying, "Come, come, Debby; that is strong language to use. You and I great healthy creatures do not know what it is to be confined to a couch day after day, and suffer almost constant pain. I should feel it very hard to be unable to go about and walk in God's beautiful sunshine, and I think one cannot be sufficiently tender and patient towards the sick and helpless."

"Mental pain is harder to bear than physical," quoth practical Miss Deborah, in no way convinced of her harshness by the gentle speech. "If one were to have one's choice, I reckon," with strong Yankeeism, "a headache would be chosen in preference to a heartache," and Aunt Debby nodded her head knowingly.

A white, set look crossed Aunt Judith's face, and a shadow crept into the dark eyes; but they were gone in a moment, and Miss Latimer's lips wore their own sweet smile as she replied, "God grant you may experience little of either, Debby; but if you do, trust me you will find that both bring the richest blessings in their train;" and Aunt Judith's patient face shone with a glad light as she spoke.

"Meg has failed to seize her blessings, then," said Miss Deborah composedly. "No, no, Judith, you are a good woman, but you won't convince me that Margaret is justified in whining and grumbling to the extent she does."

"I need never look for sympathy from you, Debby," broke in the invalid with a low sob; "you are very hard-hearted, but the day will come when all those cruel speeches will rise up and condemn you."

"When?" with provoking gravity.

"When I am no longer here" (low sobs), "and the cold earth hides me for ever from your sight."

"So let it be," retaliated Miss Deborah, coolly proceeding to turn the heel of her stocking, and speaking quite placidly. "I shall remember the amount of exasperation I received when that day comes, and be able to meet the condemnation with becoming fortitude."

"Debby, Debby," said Miss Latimer's voice reprovingly; but the warning came too late. A violent fit of hysterics ensued, and Miss Margaret was borne to her room by the much-enduring sisters, whose services were both required to quell the outburst and settle her comfortably for the night.

Nellie, left alone in the snug parlour, drew her chair closer to the fire, and lifting the cat from its cosy bed on the rug, allowed it to curl up comfortably on her lap. "What a fuss," said the girl, shrugging her shoulders and gazing into the bright, glowing fire. "If I were Aunt Meg, I should be positively ashamed of myself—peevish, cross thing that she is. What a contrast to Aunt Judith;" and here Nellie fell into a fit of musing, which lasted till Miss Deborah came in with the cloth for supper.

"How is Aunt Meg now?" she inquired, watching Aunt Debby bustling about on hospitable thoughts intent. "Is she better?"

"Well, yes," was the reply, given with a little twinkle of the eye; "and a good night's rest will work wonders. You must excuse your aunt this evening, Nellie; she is not always so fretful, and an invalid's life has its hard times."

Miss Deborah spoke earnestly, for although she felt justified in saying a sharp word herself, she could ill brook the idea of any one disparaging or thinking lightly of her invalid sister. Nellie gave a slight nod of assent, which seemed to signify approval of Aunt Debby's words. Nevertheless she retained her own opinion, and mentally condemned poor Miss Margaret as being both weak and silly.

Supper over, Miss Deborah retired to the kitchen, where her reign as queen was undisputed, and Miss Latimer, bidding Nellie bring a small stool and sit down at her feet, began to stroke the soft hair gently, and ask questions as to the day's proceedings.

"Tell me your first impressions, dear child," said the kind voice pleasantly; and the young girl, whose heart still ached at the remembrance of Ada Irvine's stinging words, poured forth the whole story with a force and passion which astonished even herself.

Aunt Judith listened quietly—so quietly, indeed, that Nellie felt half ashamed of her vehemence, and imagined she had been making "much ado about nothing;" but in a few minutes Miss Latimer spoke, and her tones were very tender as she said:—"So my little Nellie has learned that