Lilla was turned fourteen, and a sensible girl for her years, quite a companion for any grown woman. Having been so much in the society of an old lady, she had perhaps learnt to think older thoughts than most young people of her age. She was amiable and gentle, too. For in training her, Mrs. Eden had not forgotten that some day she must mix with those who would not have a grandmother's indulgence. So, instead of spoiling her, as it would have been so easy to do, with no one close to lavish her tenderness upon, she had tried her best to lay the foundation of all those qualities most calculated to make of any girl—a happy, useful woman. Lilla had grown up with no companion of her own age. Their economical style of housekeeping had rendered it impossible that she should mix with those really in her own station. And as Mrs. Eden had undertaken her education, intending to procure lessons in French and music for her so soon as she should be far enough advanced, she had formed no school friendships. At the time when our story commences, Easter was just past, and the larches were hanging out their green tassels in pretty contrast against the sombre green of the firs. A keen wind was still blowing, and the distant hills looked dark and well defined in the clear air as the sun sank to his western couch. But leaf-buds were swelling on the hedges, and thrushes were piping merrily on the tree-tops. In the woods, primroses were peeping out from their hiding places under the dead leaves, and anemones were shaking their delicate bells by the watercourses. Spring was advancing rapidly, in spite of winter's attempts to keep his hold, and even an occasional snowfall could not long hinder the young monarch from ascending his rightful throne, so many upon all hands were his subjects. Lilla and her grandmother had just returned from their afternoon's walk. They formed a strong contrast. The young girl, with her lithesome elastic figure, and the old lady, with her silver locks and feeble steps. But they always went out together when Lilla's tasks were done, and it was astonishing the long distances the old lady made round the country lanes beyond their little home. Lilla's hands were full of anemones and trailing ivy, for she loved plants and flowers. Unlike many girls of her age who let the spring pass over them unheeded, its many voices had an undefinable charm for her. She could not have told you why she listened so eagerly for the first thrush's note, or watched the opening buds on tree and plant, but it was not simply that winter disagreeables were retreating before a milder reign. The reason was rooted in the poetic part of her nature which loved the life and beauty all around. Here again you might trace her grandmother's teaching: