"There, I have saved him from utter destruction!" she cried triumphantly, leaning out into the darkness. "He has scorched himself, that is all;" then as she walked back to her sister, her head was erect, and there was a beautiful earnest look upon her face. "Nannie, I don't want to find fault with you, but don't you remember how we used to pride ourselves, in the dear old days, in not being like other girls,--the Paines, for example, or even Adelaide Sartoris, who used to gossip so much about young men." Nan opened her eyes widely at this, but made no answer. "We must not be different now, because our life is narrower and more monotonous. I know, talking so much over our work, we have terrible temptations to gossip; but I can't bear to think that we should ever lower our standard, ever degenerate into the feeble girlishness we abhor. We never used to talk about young men, Nan, except Dick; and that did not matter. Of course we liked them in their places, and had plenty of fun, and tormented them a little; but you never made such a speech as that at Glen Cottage." "Oh, dear! oh, dear! What have I done?" exclaimed Nan, much distressed at this rebuke. "I do think you are right, Phil; and it was naughty of me to put such a thing into your head." "You have put no idea into my head," replied Phillis, with crisp obstinacy. "There! I am only moralizing for my own good, as well as yours. Small beginnings make great endings. If we once began to gossip, we might end by flirting; and, Nan, if you knew how I hate that sort of thing!" And Phillis looked grand and scornful. "Yes, dear; and I know you are right," returned Nan, humbly. She was not quite sure what she had done to provoke this outburst of high moral feeling: but she felt that Phillis was dreadfully in earnest. They kissed each other rather solemnly after that, and Phillis was suffered to depart in silence. That night there was no wistful little prayer that Mr. Drummond might be comforted: Phillis had too many petitions to offer up on her own account. She was accusing herself of pride, and Pharisaism, and hypocrisy, in no measured terms. "Not like other girls! I am worse,--worse," she said to herself. And then, among other things, she asked for the gift of content,--for a quiet, satisfied spirit, not craving or embittered,--strength to bear her own and her friends' troubles, and far-looking faith to discern "God's perfectness round our uncompleteness,--round our restlessness His rest." The following evening, as Phillis was sorting out patterns in the work-room, a note was brought to her from the White House. It was in Mrs. Cheyne's handwriting, and, like herself, strangely abrupt.