"Mother," said Mildred, "I've been thinking it would be nice to lend one of these books to Effie Prescott. I do not know her at all intimately, but Claudina says she is very intelligent and fond of reading, and in such poor health that she is often too miserably weak and ill to do anything but read." "Certainly! she must have the reading of every book in the house, if she wishes, and will not abuse them." "Claudina says she is always very careful of those she lends her, and very glad to get them. She's a lovely Christian, too, and very patient under her trials." "Yes; I have been pleased with the little I have seen of her. I believe I owe Mrs. Prescott a call; so I shall take their house on my way to the squire's and carry a book with me." Mrs. Keith found Mrs. Prescott out, the invalid girl lying back in a large rocking chair, and Damaris Drybread seated, in her accustomed bolt upright fashion, directly opposite. At sight of Mrs. Keith, Effie started up in nervous haste and trepidation, to offer her hand and then a chair. "Never mind, dear child, I will help myself," said the lady, pressing the trembling hand tenderly in hers. "How are you to-day?" "About as usual, thank you; which is neither very sick nor very well," the girl answered with a faint smile, sinking back again, breathing short and hard. "Now don't talk so; you look very well," remarked Miss Drybread in a cold, hard tone. "Just make up your mind that there's nothing much the matter, and you're not going to give up to the hypo, and ten to one it won't be long till you find yourself well enough." Tears sprang to Effie's eyes, for she was both nervous and sensitive to the last degree. "I know I look well," she said. "I'm not thin, and I have a good color; but it's often brightest when I feel the worst. And I've tried to believe my sickness was all imagination, but I can't; it's too real." "No, Effie, you do not look well," said Mrs. Keith; "that brilliant bloom hardly belongs to health, and your eyes are heavy, your countenance is distressed." "Of course she'll wear a distressed countenance as long as she imagines she's sick," observed the schoolma'am severely. "And you, Mrs. Keith, are only making matters worse by talking in that way." "Not so," said the sick girl, "such kind sympathy does me good. Oh, thank you a thousand times!" as Mrs. Keith put "Dunallan" into her hands. "I shall enjoy it so much, and will be very careful of it, and return it soon. I read it years ago and liked it exceedingly, and it will be new to me now. Grace Kennedy is such a sweet writer; what a pity she died so early!" "A novel!" sniffed Damaris. "If you are really sick you oughtn't to read anything but the Bible." "The teachings of this book are so fully in accord with those of the Scriptures, that I can not think it will hurt her," said Mrs. Keith.