Once, once only, after tea she was invited to sing. Who supposed that she could touch a piano note. She accepted the invitation, as all well-bred girls do, who know that they can sing, and Walter offered his arm to lead her to the piano. Walter was the brother, the only "son and heir of our family." He had just returned from a lady-killing Niagara tour, and met Athalia for the first time at the tea table. It was the last time, the sisters said, that he should meet her there. She went home that evening; she had finished her job and received her poor pay. That was one of Mrs. Morgan's virtues; she paid the stipulated price to those who worked for her. What daggers, scorpions' stings, and poisoned darts, poor Athalia and Walter would have felt, while he stood over her at the piano, if they could have felt the glances of scornful, angry eyes. How he was taken to task afterwards for paying attention to "a sewing girl," particularly for waiting upon her home. How he justified himself. Just as though there was need of it. But aristocracy had stept down to the level of one who "Plied her needle and thread, In poverty, hunger, and toil;" Who sang with a voice of saddening song, Of the home on her own native soil. Of the spring and the brook where it flow'd, Of the plums and the pears where they grew, Of the meadows and hay lately mow'd. And the roses all dripping with dew. And her heart it went journeying back, While her fingers plied needle and thread, Till the morning came in at a crack, Where it found her still out of her bed. Shall I ever work thus like a slave, With the scorn of the rich and the proud? For they think that a seamstress must crave For the work that is making her shroud. Walter justified, apologised, for he was bound in the iron fetters, "polite custom." "I found," says he, "when I came home, a beautiful, well-dressed, well-behaved girl, to all appearance a young lady, at your tea table." "Well, she shall never come there again. I always told mother that she might know better than to bring her to the table; and the pert minx, if she knew her place, would never try to stick herself into genteel company. So much for having a dress-maker in the house." "Elsie, Elsie, I am ashamed of you." "I think you had better be ashamed of yourself, mother." "I found her," resumed Walter, "at your table, and I took the only vacant seat, by her side. I did not find her pert, but on the contrary, I must say it, better behaved, better spoken, than my sister Elsie, when speaking of or to her mother." "You had better insult me, by your comparison, Sir Walter." "No; I do not intend that. But I was only explaining why I paid attention to the lady." "The lady--lady! That to a sewing girl who goes out to work by day's work. Did you learn that at college or at Saratoga?"