"Now for my scholars," tried to put her animal into a trot. The carriage was what is called a beach wagon, a stylish looking turn-out with a black span, handsomely harnessed, driven at present by a dashingly dressed youth, apparently just entering his twenties. He fixed a searching gaze upon the young girl from the time he approached near enough to see her, walking his horses for the purpose, and then turning to his companion, said, loud enough for Helen to hear: "It's the heiress from Woodbine Cottage. I thought Dixon was bragging when he described her, but he hasn't told half." "I wonder who he can be," was Helen's thought. "I think he is exceedingly impertinent." But all unpleasant recollections were soon lost in the pleasure of her calls, some of which I shall describe. A short distance from the factory stood a row of buildings, which, with their neatly painted fronts, and the green shades drawn partly down, presented quite an attractive appearance. Leaving her horse standing at the head of the narrow street, our young heroine went to the nearest door. To her disappointment, there were only two children at home, the mother and oldest son being at work in the factory. Helen sat down for a minute to talk with the children, and before she left, so much interested them in her now Sunday School, that they promised to beg their mother to allow them to go. From this place she visited many families. Wherever she found either father or mother at home, they acknowledged the need of some school where their children could be taught. Some even requested permission to attend the school themselves saying: "We shall grow to be heathen if we are left without any instruction." "But where," she asked, "shall I find a room large enough?" And this she found would be her main difficulty. A fleeting thought passed through her mind, that she would like to get funds from her guardian and build a small chapel where the school could be well accommodated, and where Frederic could occasionally preach. But while she was wondering what would be the cost, she came to another street, wider than the first with houses scattered here and there at quite a distance from the factory. A little girl was running along the beaten path at the side of the road. And Helen, interested in her bright face, asked her if she would like to ride. So far the young missionary had met with nothing but kindness and encouragement. But her faith was destined to meet a trial. After the child got out of the buggy, she knocked at a door and had a very pleasant interview with an old lady who told her that she had no children to send, but she should advise her son and daughter-in-law to let their little folks go. When Helen, greatly pleased at her interest, imparted her fear of not being able to procure a room, she answered heartily: "You're welcome to this until you can get a better."