Poor Delle’s voice was not quite firm as she disclosed these projects to the kind-hearted old woman, but she did not cry; there was not a tear in her soft, down-cast eyes—but Mrs. Jones did weep outright when she looked on the excited young girl, and saw the flashes of color which betrayed her emotion, deeply tinging her cheek one moment, and the next leaving it colorless. _She_ did weep, I say, and for some minutes made no answer to Delle’s inquiry; this sympathy which the old woman evinced, emboldened the maiden to speak again, for she felt _she_ had no time to weep then—she must _act_. “Do you think, dear Mrs. Jones, I shall succeed? Will the people be afraid to send their children to me because I am so young? Oh, if you will but speak to a few, just a few people, and tell them how I will try to do justice to their little ones. And tell them, yes, tell them, Mrs. Jones, that I do it to give bread to _my_ children; they have always known me, they need not fear I will neglect theirs.” “Yes, yes,” cried the old woman, hurriedly, starting up and wiping her eyes, “I’ll go this minute; bless your noble heart! they _shall_ send their children to your school. I’ll be bound you’ll do justice to ’em—when shall I tell ’em you’ll open?” “To-day—to-morrow—any day; let them come here, I shall be ready for them, I have no time to wait or to waste.” And in a moment old Mrs. Jones (blessed be her memory!) was gone on her errand of mercy; and then, yes, as a true historian, I _must_ say, Delle’s tears did burst forth, resisted no longer. The children left their broken toys and their play, when they saw their sister weeping, and came softly and stood beside her—every little face that had a moment before been covered with smiles, wore a most touching, solemn expression, when they saw how grieved she was; Jane laid her head on Delle’s knee and wept too, scarcely knowing why; and little Willy crept into her arms, and while he nestled there so lovingly, he brushed away her tears with his tiny hand, saying, “Dear, dear Delle, don’t cry, we all love you so dearly.” But the words and sympathy of the children only brought the tears faster to her eyes, even while they fell like balm on her heart. Was she not _rich_ in the love of those children? What a pleasure would it be to labor for them, and to see them guided by her hand, growing up in goodness and knowledge; and again, in that home, before God she vowed she would be unceasingly faithful to her dead mother’s charge.