"DEAREST CLARISSA,--Do not think me cold or ungrateful,"--so she writes,--"but, were I to go to you and feel again the warmth and tenderness of a home, it might unfit me for the life of trouble and work that must lie before me. 'Summer is when we love and are beloved,' and, of course, such summer is over for me. I know my task will be no light or easy one; but I have made up my mind to it, and indeed am thankful for it, as any change from this must of necessity be pleasant. And, besides, I may not be a governess forever. I have yet another plan in my head,--something papa and I agreed upon, before he left me,--that may put an end to my difficulties sooner than I think. I will tell you of it some time, when we meet." "Poor darling," says Clarissa, "what a wretched little letter!" She sighs, and folds it up, and wonders vaguely what this other plan of Georgie's can be. Then she writes to her again, and describes Mrs. Redmond as well as is possible. "Accept her offer by return of post," she advises, earnestly. "Even if, after a trial, you do not like her, still this will be an opening for you; and I am glad in the thought that I shall always have you near me,--at least until that mysterious plan of yours meets the light. Mrs. Redmond is not, of course, everything of the most desirable, but she is passable, and very kind at heart. She is tall and angular, and talks all day long--and all night, I am sure, if one would listen--about her ailments and the servants' delinquencies. She is never without a cold in her head, and a half-darned stocking! She calls the children's pinafores 'pinbefores,'--which is quite correct, but very unpleasant; and she always calls terrible 'turrible;' but beyond these small failings she is quite bearable." And so on. When Miss Broughton receives this letter in her distant home, she is again solemistress of a sickroom. Her aunt--the hard taskmaster assigned to her by fate--lies on her bed stricken to the earth by fever. To come to Pullingham now will be impossible. "Will Mrs. Redmond wait for a month, or perhaps two?" She entreats Clarissa to do what she can for her; and Clarissa does it; and the worried wife of the vicar, softened by Miss Peyton's earnest explanations, consents to expound Pinnock and "Little Arthur" to the small Redmonds until such time as Miss Broughton's aunt shall be convalescent. "The inaudible and noiseless foot of Time" creeps on apace, and Christmas at last reaches Pullingham. Such a Christmas, too!--a glorious sunny Christmas morning, full of light and life, snow-crowned on every side. The glinting sunbeams lie upon the frozen hills, kissing them with tender rapture, as though eager to impart some heat and comfort to their chilly hearts. "Now trees their leafy hats do bare To reverence Winter's silver hair."