"It isn't Mrs. Ferrand's fault," continued Rhoda—"she is almost the loveliest person I ever saw—but Mr. Ferrand doesn't understand Isa. He wants her to be a scholar, and it is not in her. She works harder than any slave, and, after all, she doesn't succeed. That Mr. Sampson gives her the longest lessons—just think! Six propositions in geometry—and then the minute her lessons are done, she must go at her music, and she has no more ear than—than the tongs," said Rhoda, rather at a loss for a comparison. "But how does she learn her lessons?" "She doesn't; that's the worst of it. The girls at school like her and feel sorry for her, so they do her sums for her and let her copy their exercises. Isa knows that isn't right, and it makes her unhappy; but her father is so displeased and so mortified if she has a bad report that she keeps on doing it. Then she isn't well any of the time." "How is she unwell?" "She has a headache and a backache, and she is so nervous she can't sleep, and she is tired all the time. Besides that, I don't know but it was my fancy, but the last time I saw her I thought she seemed queer. She was so absent, and every now and then such a dull, vacant kind of look would come over her face, and for half a minute she would seem to forget what she was saying." "That is bad," said Miss Hardy. "Dr. Morton told Mr. Ferrand that he ought to take her out of school last spring," continued Rhoda, "but he thought there was no need of it. Mr. Ferrand doesn't approve of amusement. He says change of employment is the best recreation, and that if one is tired riding the best way to rest is to walk." "Mr. Ferrand is a wise man," said Miss Hardy. "I think we will try to have Doctor Douglass happen down while Isa is here. Mr. Ferrand is an old college friend of the doctor's, and thinks highly of him. Did you bring the daily paper?" "Yes, ma'am; here it is," said Rhoda, taking it from her basket. "And here is a letter in it, and for you," said Miss Hardy, handing it to Rhoda. "Oh, from Miss Carpenter. I am so glad," exclaimed Rhoda. "She hardly ever gets time to write." She read her letter, and uttered an exclamation of surprise. "What now? No bad news, I hope?" said Miss Hardy. "No, ma'am—at least I hope not. Miss Carpenter says that an old gentleman has been at 'The Home' inquiring for me, and by her description it must be Mr. Weightman. She says he wanted to know where I was living and what was my real name before I was called Rhoda Bowers. I can't think what he wants of it." "Perhaps he means to leave you a fortune," said Miss Hardy. Rhoda laughed heartily at the idea. "More likely he wants to do me an ill turn," said she. "I shouldn't be a bit surprised if he were to write to you telling you what a bad girl I was." "He may save himself the trouble," said Miss Hardy. "I know bad girls when I see them, and good girls too. But, Rhoda, while I think of it, what is your real name?"