When the girls and their escorts had gone home that evening, the two sisters lingered to talk a little over the question that had so interested their scholars. It was a new thing for them to have any common interest, and Eunice hailed it as a good omen that her sister should consult with her about anything. Etta had not yet confided to her elder sister her new hopes, purposes, and feelings. She was an independent girl, who had always thought and acted for herself, and there had never been anything like sisterly familiarity between the eldest and youngest of the Mountjoys. The distance between them was too great, and perhaps the elder, in filling the position of a mother to her little sister, had at first assumed a little too much of the authority of one. She had grown wiser now, and did not attempt to force the young girl's confidence; but she could not but be conscious of a change. There was an increased gentleness of manner and sweetness of tone, a thoughtful consideration of others, and deference to her own wishes which she had never seen before. Her continuing to attend the Wednesday meetings, and her serious attention when there, were good signs; so was Etta's voluntary attendance at the Sunday evening service, a thing that had never happened before, and Eunice began to hope that the solemn, earnest realities of life would yet become precious to her light-hearted, wayward sister. This evening they talked over the novel grievance, and the temptations to which the mill-girls were exposed, and Etta proposed a plan for their benefit, which, when matured and digested, besides being supported by Mr. Mountjoy's purse and his son's executive ability, eventuated in the conversion of an unused loft in the mill into a library and reading-room for the girls and such of their brothers and friends as knew how to appreciate its benefits by behaving like gentlemen. The books were chosen with great care, and were the best of their kind to be had--popular science, history, and biography, with a large, a very large, proportion of such fiction as had a tendency to elevate and instruct, while it interested, its readers. The books were not to be taken from the building, except upon rare occasions and under peculiar circumstances; but the reading-room, which was nicely carpeted, well warmed, and furnished with long tables and comfortable chairs, was open during the noon intermission and for two hours every evening, and good behavior was the only condition demanded for enjoying both its social and literary privileges. The library soon became a very popular institution, and the sale and consumption of sensational literature decreased proportionally. Before separating for the night, Etta said: "Did you notice the girl who asked the question about novels?" "Katie Robertson? Yes; I have had my eye on her for a long time. She seems the most promising subject of your class."