"She wished very much to learn," continued Rhoda, accepting the correction, not without some inward amusement, "and I asked Mrs. Bowers if I might try to teach her. I worked with her nearly three months before she learned a single thing. If she learned to know a word in one place, she did not know it in another; and when she had spelled bat and cat and hat, she had no more idea how to spell rat than if she had never seen a letter. But she would not give up, and I was ashamed to be less persevering than a little child, and at last she seemed to start right off and read without any trouble. It all came to her at once, and after that, I never saw any child improve so fast." "That is a very interesting case," said Mr. Ferrand. "With your permission, I shall make use of it in my work on education. Have you ever tried to teach anything but reading?" "Only when I was helping Miss Isa—Miss Ferrand, I mean," said Rhoda, blushing. "I have tried to help her in her music." Mr. Ferrand's face darkened a little. "I know it was very wrong," said Rhoda, humbly. "It was deceitful, and deceit can never be right; but Miss Ferrand does work so hard it seemed almost cruel not to help her when she asked me." "Well, well, I am glad you are sensible of your error. We will talk of this matter again. Meantime, you can go about your duties as usual, for this week, at any rate. I should wish you to take down and dust all the vases and other ornaments in the upper hall. I observed several small cobwebs there yesterday when I had occasion to look behind them." "Thank you, sir," said Rhoda, both gratified and surprised at the result of the interview. She longed to intercede for Isa, but something told her that it would not be best. So she made her curtsey and withdrew, resolved to leave not the shadow of a cobweb anywhere within her jurisdiction. Mr. Ferrand closed the library door, and sat down to meditate upon an idea which had crossed his mind, and which a week ago he would have rejected as utterly wild and impracticable. This young person had certainly a good and clear intellect, however she came by it. She was really talented, and it was evident that she had no common share of perseverance to pursue a course of study at home; yet here was a servant who, with all her work to do and without neglecting the duties of her position, had made very creditable progress in mathematics and music. True, she had been much to blame, but she seemed fully sensible of her error, and we are all human and liable to err, thought Mr. Ferrand, not even excepting himself from this general principle. Doctor Morton had said very decidedly that Isabella must be taken out of school, and that she ought to have a companion of her own age. "Get some girl of her own age to stay with her," was his inelegant expression, Mr. Ferrand remembered.