Swiftly the years glided on, and Dora became less and less a child. As soon as she was able to go to school, she was placed under the care of the best teachers in the city, and from that time every dollar earned by Stilling, beyond what the simple wants of nature demanded, was spent upon his daughter, that she might be thought accomplished in every thing, and thus made a fit companion for the best in the land. He wished her to be, in one word, a _lady_—and, in the engraver’s mind, a lady was something more than the term conveys in its usual acceptation. But as Dora grew up lovely and accomplished as her parent’s heart could desire, she exhibited a simplicity of taste, and a love for useful employments, that her father did not in the least approve. Fond old man! Half insane, under the delusion himself had conjured up from among his early fancies, he felt, whenever Dora’s hands were engaged in work, that she was degrading herself, and ever sought to keep her above the necessity of entering into any domestic occupation. Dora, as her mind grew clearer, saw the weakness and folly of all this. She saw that her father was old, and growing feebler and less able to work every day, and that his income was steadily decreasing; and she felt that, before a very long time, upon her would fall the burden of his as well as her own support. One day she came to him and said— “Dear father, you are getting old, and your strength is failing. Let me go and learn a trade, and then I can work for you.” The old man caught for breath two or three times, like one suddenly deprived of air. “A trade, did you say, child!” He spoke in a low whisper. “Yes, father, a trade. Let me learn some trade, so that I can help you. I am young, and you are old. You have worked for me since I was child; now let me work for you.” “No, no, Dora! You shall not learn a trade,” replied Stilling firmly. Then he added, in a chiding voice, “How could you think of such a thing! You must look higher, my child. You are as good as any lady in the land, and may take the place of the best.” Here his voice grew animated. “Don’t you remember the story of the light-haired maiden whom the king’s son saw, and loved better than all the proud court ladies, because she was beautiful and good; and how he came in a splendid chariot, and carried her away and made her his bride? True, there are no kings here”—the old man faintly sighed—“but there are many rich and great people. No—no—Dora, you shall not learn a trade.” Dora understood well what her father meant by these allusions, for he had often talked so before, and sometimes more plainly; and she knew that it would be of no use to argue against him. So she said no more about learning a trade. But she engaged more diligently in every useful thing that came to her hand, and sought, by every means in her power, to add to her father’s comfort.