One afternoon, when school was dismissed, Lily said to me, “You and I will go home by the other street. I have something to tell you, and the way will be longer. Besides, I want to be away from these rough boys and girls.” So we crossed the road, and entered a path which led us by a long way home. When we had reached the bridge, which crossed a deep, rapidly running brook, we sat down on the bench, placed in the shade of an old tree, which from “time immemorial” has stood there, with the most of its tangled roots buried in the water; then Lily spoke again, for the first time since we went out from the school-house. “Do you know they are going to send me to the other school—they think I can learn more there, and have teachers in the higher branches, and in the languages. Oh, dear!” “But why that ‘oh, dear!’ Lily? I only wish I were ready to go there too, but I am such an ignoramus, and you know every thing!” “Not quite every thing. I _should_ be glad to go—and there are a great many reasons why. I have the greatest desire to learn, and I’m sure if I have a little more education, I can make my way easily in the world; but—but—in short, they are rich people who are going to send me, and they will expect miracles from me, you may depend upon it—_I_ know. Because I am poor, and can write pretty well, and paint, and sketch likenesses, they have taken an interest in me; but I tell you before hand, and you will see before long I speak rightly; I shall have to work like a slave to keep up with their expectations. Isn’t it enough to make any body say, ‘oh, dear?’” “No—I don’t think so, Lily. You _can’t help_ equaling their expectations, and they have such nice teachers at the other school, and no great rude boys go there.” “That makes no difference at all. One can learn as well in one place as another. If it were not that mother felt so glad when the ladies made her the offer to send me there, I’d never go. You don’t know any thing about what it means to be dependent; you can’t think what a heavy load seems resting on me, ever since so many people have seemed to take an interest in me. I really begin to doubt my own powers. It seems to me as though I ought not to be forced like a plant in a hot-bed. I almost wish I never had any particular gifts.” “And you say this, Lily Reeve, when all the girls in town are envying you! Now just be firm, for I’m sure if you only make up your mind you _will_ do a thing, you _can_ do it!” “Do you believe it?” she asked, so suddenly, that I was startled and began in some trepidation to bethink my words. “Certainly,” I answered at last; “I heard our minister say the other day your verses were excellent; and you know your pictures sold well at the fair. How can you doubt yourself so?”