Rhoda saw this, and it gave her a good deal of trouble. Mr. Ferrand had said that Isa was not to associate with a servant, and had told Isa so, yet Isa did not scruple to come to Rhoda's room for help about her algebra, and to talk to Rhoda on every occasion. One night, as Rhoda was getting ready for bed, Isa came round to her room in great glee. "Marion Campbell is coming back, and oh, ain't I glad?" said she, in a joyous whisper. "Who is Marion Campbell?" asked Rhoda. "She is the Scotch cook who used to live here two years ago. She went away because her sister was sick; and now her sister is dead, she is coming back. Why, you don't look as if you were glad one bit." "I can't say I am," said Rhoda. "But why not? She is real good-natured and you won't have half so much work to do as you have now." "I don't mind the work—it is not hard at all," said Rhoda; "and I like to have my room to myself. It is none too large for one." "Oh, but Marion won't sleep in your room. She has the one on the other side. Don't you know it's part of pa's system that every one should have a room to themselves?" "'Every one having a room to themselves' is a very good system, but it isn't very good grammar," said Rhoda, smiling. "Who cares?" returned Isa. "But I want you to like Marion; she is very 'Scotchy,' but she is awful good-natured. There! I wonder what pa would say to such a sentence as that? I know," she added, laughing: "he would say, 'Isabella, will you give me the definition of awful?'" "Miss Isa, you ought not to make fun of your father," said Rhoda, reprovingly; "and you ought not to be here. You know he does not like it." "He isn't home," answered Isa. "Now, Rhoda, do show me how to do these sums. I know you understand them, and I don't the least in the world. Come, now, be good. I know I shall fail, and I have failed twice this week already. I believe I am growing a perfect idiot," said she, despairingly. "I don't seem to understand anything, especially in the morning, my head is so dizzy and confused." "That's because you don't eat any breakfast or supper," said Rhoda. "Well, I can't eat porridge—I fairly loathe it; and if I do eat it, it makes me sick, so I might as well feel badly for one thing as for another. Come, do help me, Rhoda, please." Rhoda suffered herself to be persuaded. She knew it was not right to help Isa in deceiving and disobeying her father, but she felt very sorry for the poor oppressed girl, and she had not strength to resist her pleadings. Perhaps such strength was hardly to be expected of a girl of sixteen. Rhoda had been well drilled in common arithmetic, and she had a natural gift for mathematics, as she had for music. She soon made Isa's perplexities plain. "You are the best girl that ever lived," said Isa, kissing her. "I am sure you were born for a teacher. But there goes half-past nine, and I must be in bed before pa comes home. I shall have to hurry." "Don't forget your prayers, Miss Isa," said Rhoda.