man can work," I thought, in my simplicity; the day, at best, is but a short and uncertain one; for every soul sent on earth there is a work allotted; what less than madness is it for the strong man to lie down in his strength and sleep away this day of grace? Seeing that the undone work does not fade with the fading daylight, but an evergrowing and thickening shadow, will horribly increase the blackness of that night; will be a treasure of wrath against that time of wrath, and the perdition of such men as have chosen to be ungodly. Such naïve and unpracticable ideas as these, would, no doubt, have brought an avalanche of ridicule on my head, had I been unwise enough to impart any of them to my new friends; but a protective instinct kept me from such a blunder; and as I hourly saw with clearer eyes the dissimilarity between them and me, so I hourly grew more reserved and silent. "Don't she ever say anything?" I could not help overhearing Phil ask, as I left the breakfast-room. I longed to hear Josephine's reply; but an inconvenient sentiment of honor prevented my stopping to listen for it. I could not, however, avoid being auditor to the lazy laugh that it elicited from Phil, and the blood mounted to my temples at the sound. "I wonder if they think me stupid or sulky," I said to myself. "I wonder if they ever thought how it must feel to be a stranger in the midst of people who know and understand each other. I wonder if I ever shall be one of them." There was another, however, of the household that I felt pretty sure was as much a stranger and an alien as I was, though she had spent nearly six years in it, and I turned my steps naturally to the nursery. Poor little Essie had, as I expected, fretted and cried herself into a sick headache, and was sitting sulkily in a remote corner of the room, her doll untouched beside her, and her hands in her lap. Félicie, sitting by the window with a sardonic smile on her lips, employed herself about ripping up an evening dress of Josephine's. I called to Essie to come into my room; she pouted and averted her head. I made a coaxing promise of "something pretty," when Félicie interposed "that she was in disgrace, and perhaps mademoiselle had better not speak to her, as her mamma had sent her up for a punishment." "Her mamma did not mean that she should be made unhappy for all the morning, however," I said, advancing boldly. "As mademoiselle pleases," answered Félicie, with a very wicked look, and a very sweet voice.