"Monique had had one other child besides Martin; a daughter, who had married and gone over the hills with her husband into France; but her marriage had proved unfortunate. She had resided at Vienne, in the south of France, and there she had left one child, Meeta, a girl of about the age of Ella. "When Martin heard of the death of his sister, and the forlorn state of the orphan, he set himself to go to Vienne; it was winter-time, and he rode to the place on a little mountain pony which he had; but he walked back nearly the whole way, having set Meeta, with her bundle, on the horse. "Everyone at home was pleased with Meeta when she arrived, though Monique secretly wondered how she could be so merry when her parents were hardly cold in their graves. Meeta was not, however, cold-hearted, but she was thoughtless, and she enjoyed the change of scene, and was pleased with her newly-known relations and their manner of life. "Little plump baby-like Margot was scarcely less formed in her mind than Meeta, though Meeta was as old as Ella: and of the two, Margot, as will be seen by-and-by, was more to be depended on than Meeta. Margot, when duly admonished on any point, could be prudent, but Meeta could not; yet Meeta was so merry, so obliging, and so good-humoured, that everyone in the cottage soon learned to love her; though some of them, and especially Monique, saw very clearly that there was much to be done to improve her and render her a steady character. "She was quick, active, and ready to put her hand to assist in anything; but she had no perseverance; she got tired of every job before it was half done, and she could do nothing without talking about it. As to religious principles and religious feelings, her grandmother could not find out that she had any. She was so giddy that she could give no account of what she had been taught, though Monique gathered from her that her poor mother had said much to her upon religious subjects during her last short illness. The snow was still thick upon the hills when Martin Stolberg brought Meeta to Hartsberg; so that the young people were quite well acquainted with each other before the gentle breezes of spring began to loosen the bands of the frost, and dissolve the icicles which hung from the rocks on the sides of the waterfall. "During that time poor Martin Stolberg was much tried by several heavy losses amongst his live stock: a fine cow and several sheep died, and when the poor man had replaced these, he said, with a sigh to his mother, that he must deny himself and his children everything which possibly could be spared, till better days came round again. "His mother answered, with her usual quiet cheerfulness: "'So be it, my son, and I doubt not but that all is right, for if everything went smooth in this world we should be apt to forget that we are strangers and pilgrims here, and that this is not our home.'