"So I did," answered Miss Hardy. "She did very well for a year and a half, and then she came to an untimely end. You need not look distressed, Lucilla; it was nothing very tragical. The last long vacation she went out to Denver with Mary Nichols—you remember her—partly as companion, partly to take care of the children. That was the last of her. A well-to-do farmer saw her, fell in love with her, and married her. I felt a little uneasy, but Mary writes me she has done very well and is very happy. Since then I have had a succession of incapables, and I want somebody I can keep." Isa glanced at her mother. Mrs. Ferrand made her a little sign which she well understood as a signal that she was to say nothing. In compliment to her aunt, and also because the school-room piano had altogether broken down, Isa was allowed to intermit her practising for one evening, but she could not on any account be allowed to sit up a moment later than usual. But when Miss Hardy went up to bed, Isa peeped out and called her: "Oh, auntie, please come in. I want to talk to you." "Get into bed, then, you imprudent child," said Miss Hardy. "Why are you up in this cold room?" "It is cold," said Isa, shivering—"too cold for you to sit here, I am afraid. But I do want to talk to you about Rhoda. I do want you to take her so much." "Who is Rhoda?" asked Miss Hardy, wrapping herself in a shawl, for it was one of Mr. Ferrand's maxims that nobody should sleep in a warm room, no matter what the weather might be. "Tell me about her." "She is a girl who used to live here—oh, such a good girl! She used to help me about my sums and my music, and all, but pa sent her away because he caught her playing upon the piano, but she is living at 'The Home' now, but she wants a place, and she is so anxious to get an education. She studies at home all the time, every chance she can get. Just think, Aunt Harriet—really studies algebra because she likes it; and she can sing beautifully, and read music, and all. Please ask ma about her. She can tell you the story better than I can. And she knows how to work, and she said herself that she was more help to her than any girl she ever had," said Isa, mixing up her pronouns in a way that would have horrified her father. "And she wants an education more than anything else in the world, and that made pa send her away—at least that wasn't all, for Rhoda herself said she did wrong, but she told pa she was sorry." "I can't say I get any very lucid ideas from your story, Isa," said Miss Hardy. "I never can tell anything straight, especially when I am in a hurry," said poor Isa. "But you ask ma. She can tell you all about Rhoda, for she liked her. And I am sure she would suit you, for I love her dearly." "A very good reason. Well, my love, it is time you were asleep, so we won't talk any more to-night. How you are shivering!"