The work was sweet so long as Abel went on prospering and progressing; and the proud mother, rejoicing in his advancement, never betrayed to any one how soon this boy for whom she had toiled forgot all about his home. By-and-by, however, it became necessary to think how Lily, her only daughter, was to set out in life. Lily had grown to be seventeen amid the silence of the hills. She had the education of her class, could read well enough, and write decently, though without any clear principles as to spelling, and she was no doubt in her turn a help to her mother, who was still strong and vigorous bodily, and in the prime of her days. Lily had plenty to do at home, and might have gone on there, never venturing upon the world, if she had chosen. But in that humble class it is recognised that a lass as well as a lad may naturally desire to see something of the world and to try her wing and her fortune even out of the cosiest nest. It never occurred to Elizabeth Murray to question this law of nature; indeed, had Lily chosen to remain under the shelter of her mother's shadow for ever, it is probable that the mother would have held it her duty to send her forth to try her own powers and strength. The only question was, what was Lily to do? To go to service was the first thing they thought of, and indeed tried; and the beautiful girl, looking like a half-savage princess, full of natural dignity, but untrained to conventional "manners," sometimes rude in youthful ignorance, if always sweet in natural temper, marched down from her native hills where all was wild and solitary and free, into the restraint of a little genteel home in a little gossiping village, and there made, as was very natural, a disastrous failure in her first place. Lily did not understand the many restraints nor the unceasing scoldings; and the minute and constant supervision to which she was subjected drove her wild with indignation and resentment. What was she, the daughter of a woman who sold butter and eggs in the market, to "speak back" to a lady--and to be as fond of her own way as if she had been a lady too? Elizabeth was sent for, and there were storms and passions; but the upshot was that Lily, after having been smoothed down and calmed on Saturday by her mother's representations and remonstrances, overcome by home-sickness and love of freedom, and general disgust with the world which was so contrary, ran away secretly on Sunday evening, and got home at midnight, to the great scandal of the gossips in the village she had left, who were very eager to find out who had been with her. But no one had been with her. Lily had not learned enough by that time either of herself or others to be vain. She was as yet more annoyed and angered by the stare of wondering admirers than pleased by their admiration. All life was still before her, a vague sweet chaos, undiscerned and undivined.