In their new relations towards each other she had seated herself at his feet. Her hands were clasped in her lap, and her eyes were towards the flowers in her breast. Graceful as the leaves of the flowers was this young girl; not more delicate was their colour than the colour in her face. The tender contact of this fresh young life was a new revelation to him, and he held his breath for fear he should awake and find that he was dreaming. "Of my life!" she mused, speaking more to herself than to him. "What can I remember? How young was I as I see myself, in my first remembrance, playing with two other children in a field near the house in which I lived? Two years, or a little more. The house belonged to Mrs. Dimmock, and I did not know then that she was not my mother; but as I grew I learned--I don't know how; it wasn't told me, but the knowledge came--that the little girls I played with were not my sisters, although they were her children. Mrs. Dimmock was not a very kind woman, at least not to me. She would pet and fondle her own children, and I used to cry in secret because of it, and because she did not love me as she did them. My aunt came to see me often, and often brought me toys and sweets. If she had been my mother she could not have been kinder to me, but then of course I should have lived with her. She saw that I fretted because it wasn't the same with me as it was with the other children, and she tried in every way to make up for it; but she couldn't. What I wanted was a mother that I could love with all my heart, and who could love me with all hers--as Mrs. Dimmock loved her children, although she was harsh and unkind to me. My aunt did not know that she did not treat me well; I didn't tell her. When I grew up, I went to a day-school, and learnt other things besides reading and writing; I think it was in that way, trying to make me superior to other girls, that my aunt endeavoured to lessen any sorrow I may have felt. I can play the piano, daddy--you wouldn't have thought that, would you! Mrs. Dimmock was jealous, I could see, because I was learning more than her girls; and the girls, too, didn't like it. I think it was partly maliciousness on my part that made me proud to know more than they did; if they had been kind to me, I shouldn't have cared to triumph over them in that way. Well, everything went on so until I was fourteen years of age, when one day something occurred. I hadn't been expected home so soon; the street-door was open, and as I went into the passage I heard my aunt and Mrs. Dimmock speaking together, and from my aunt's voice I guessed that she was crying. 'I can't help your misfortunes,' Mrs. Dimmock said; 'I've got children of my own, and I must look after them first. I'm keeping the girl now for less than her food costs; she eats more than my two girls put together.' I knew that she meant me by 'the girl,' and I turned hot and cold, for I felt like a charity girl. Mrs.