In her studies, and in the choice of her reading, she was guided by her pastor; and a better guide, or one more willing to extend a helping hand to the seeker for knowledge she could not have found. With such a teacher, and with such an eager desire for improvement, she could not fail to progress rapidly. On the death of her parents, both of whom she followed to the grave in the course of one year, the kind pastor took her to his own home; but not being willing to be even for a time a burden to him, she immediately opened a small school in a village near them. Now her kind pastor too was dead; and having heard that a teacher was wanted in the village of Hillsdale, she had come there in hopes of getting the situation. Here she was doomed to disappointment, the vacant place having been supplied but a day or two before she reached the village; and now, among entire strangers, heart-sick with disappointment, and with no friend to turn to in her distress, she was taken down with a fever. It was a kind-hearted woman, in whose house she had rented a small room, and she nursed her as if she had been a daughter, without hope of remuneration. As soon as she was sufficiently recovered to think again of work, she began to inquire eagerly for employment; and her landlady having directed her to Mr. Wharton, she had taken that long walk from the village, while yet very feeble, which resulted in the accomplishment of her wishes. There had been a brother, she told Mr. Wharton, an only child besides herself; but, as Mr. Wharton inferred from what she said, he was a wild, unsteady youth, and he had wandered from his home some years before, and gone far west towards the Mississippi. For some time they continued to hear from him, but he had long since ceased to write. She feared that he was dead; but sometimes she had a strong hope, which seemed like a presentiment to her, that she should yet look upon his face on earth; and in this hope, she continued still occasionally to direct letters to the spot from which he had last written. When Mr. Wharton had repeated to his wife the story of Miss Edwards, she said immediately: “Why, is she not just the person for a governess for our younger children? No doubt, too, she might aid Emily in her studies, for the child is too delicate to send away from home.” “Well thought of, my dear wife,” said Mr. Wharton; “and if we could persuade Harriet to let poor little Agnes join us, what a nice little school we might have. It is strange the idea has not occurred to me before, for I have thought, a great many times, what a pity it was that such a woman as Miss Edwards should spend her life in spinning wool.” “When do you expect her again?” asked Mrs. Wharton. “She will probably be here this afternoon.”