the most comfortable corner in the house. Sheila began to hate women who used lip-salve, and silently recorded a vow that never, never, never would she wear anybody’s hair but her own. “Do you suffer from headaches?” said Mrs. Lavender, abruptly. “Sometimes,” said Sheila. “How often? What is an average? Two a week?” “Oh, sometimes I have not a headache for three or four months at a time.” “No toothache?” “No.” “What did your mother die of?” “It was a fever,” said Sheila, in a low voice, “and she caught it while she was helping a family that was very bad with the fever.” “Does your father ever suffer from rheumatism?” “No,” said Sheila. “My papa is the strongest man in the Lewis--I am sure of that.” “But the strongest of us, you know,” said Mrs. Lavender, looking hardly at the girl--“the strongest of us will die and go into the general order of the universe; and it is a good thing for you that, as you say, you are not afraid. Why should you be afraid? Listen to this passage.” She opened the red book, and guided herself to a certain page by one of a series of colored ribbons: “‘He who fears death either fears the loss of sensation or a different kind of sensation. But if thou shalt have no sensation, neither wilt thou feel any harm; and if thou shalt acquire another kind of sensation, thou will be a different kind of living being, and thou wilt not cease to live.’ Do you perceive the wisdom of that?” “Yes,” said Sheila, and her own voice seemed hollow and strange to her in this big and dimly-lit chamber. Mrs. Lavender turned over a few more pages and proceeded to read again; and as she did so, in a slow, unsympathetic, monotonous voice, a spell came over the girl, the weight at her heart grew more and more intolerable, and the room seemed to grow darker: “‘Short, then, is the time which every man lives, and small the nook of the earth where he lives; and short, too, the longest posthumous fame, and even this only continued by a succession of poor human beings, who will very soon die, and who know not even themselves, much less him who died long ago.’ You cannot do better than ask your husband to buy you a copy of this book and give it special study. It will comfort you in affliction, and reconcile you to whatever may happen to you. Listen: ‘Soon will the earth cover us all! then the earth, too, will change, and the things also which result from change will continue to change forever, and these again forever. For if a man reflects on the changes and transformations which follow one another like wave after wave, and with their rapidity, he will despise everything which is perishable.’ Do you understand that?”