It seemed strange when I remembered it, but it did not seem so at the time, that I should tell him what I had never told to the dearest of my confidants, had never before put into words; but there was a sympathy in his tone that was irresistible; for the time, my grief seemed his; I did not wonder why his interest was so strong in my recollections; I did not think it strange that tears shone in his eyes when they filled mine, nor that his voice trembled as he told me of his sympathy; he was my friend; he was kinder and better than any one else in the world; that was enough. "Poor little homesick child, you must have been miserable enough, among so many strange faces, with such an aching heart. It was a cruel thing to send you off so far, without a single familiar face to comfort you, and so soon after such a shock." "Aunt Edith thought it was best for me, I suppose. Perhaps it was; that is, if it is best for anything living to be wholly miserable, it was very good for me. And now," I went on, turning to him, beseechingly, "how can you know whether it's best for me to be sent away from here? I shall be dreadfully homesick there, I know; I shall be so strange and forlorn among all those gay people; I know you will be sorry if you don't let me stay. I know you will say, when it is too late, 'she was right after all; I should not have made her go.' You will miss me, I know you will. Think how dreary the long evenings will be, and how lonely!" "Ah! Don't appeal to my selfishness; let that slumber if it can; don't make my duty any harder than it is already. Be a good, self-denying child, as you have always been, and go because I think it is best for you, and because it is your duty to go, and mine to send you. Will you try?" "Yes," I said, sadly, "if there's no help, I will try to make the best of it, and think as little as possible about what might have been, and as much as possible about what I ought to do." "That's my brave little friend again! You haven't been with Mr. Shenstone without profit. He has made you already as philosophical as himself." "If I could be near Mr. Shenstone," I said, with a sigh, "there would be some chance of my learning to control myself and be good. One can hardly help doing right, with his teaching." "It may seem so to you," he answered, "and I acknowledge it is a great assistance; but, alas! good counsel cannot accomplish the warfare. If it could, those who have the benefit of Mr. Shenstone's would be fortunate indeed; but we have to struggle and conquer for ourselves; no one can do it for us." "But you do not mean to say that it isn't the greatest advantage and comfort to have the advice and guidance of such a wise and holy man? You do not mean that you do not think Mr. Shenstone the best and the most devout of men?" Mr. Rutledge smiled at my enthusiasm.