praiseworthy. Bessy prepared everything for dinner before she left home that Saturday morning. She made a potato-pie all ready for putting in the oven; she was very particular in telling Mary what was to be cleaned, and how it was all to be cleaned; and then she kissed the children, and ran off to Mrs. Scott’s. Mary was rather afraid of the responsibility thrust upon her; but still she was pleased that Bessy could trust her to do so much. She took Jenny to the ever-useful neighbour, as she and Bill went to school; but she was rather frightened when Mrs. Jones began to grumble about these frequent visits of the child. “I was ready enough to take care of the wench when thy mother was ill; there was reason for that. And the child is a nice child enough, when she is not cross; but still there are some folks, it seems, who, if you give them an inch, will take an ell. Where’s Bessy, that she can’t mind her own sister?” “Gone out charing,” said Mary, clasping the little hand in hers tighter, for she was afraid of Mrs. Jones’s anger. “I could go out charing every day in the week if I’d the face to trouble other folks with my children,” said Mrs. Jones, in a surly tone. “Shall I take her back, ma’am?” said Mary, timidly, though she knew this would involve her staying away from school, and being blamed by the dear teacher. But Mrs. Jones growled worse than she bit, this time at least. “No,” said she, “you may leave her with me. I suppose she’s had her breakfast?” “Yes; and I’ll fetch her away as soon as ever I can after twelve.” If Mary had been one to consider the hardships of her little lot, she might have felt this morning’s occurrence as one;—that she, who dreaded giving trouble to anybody, and was painfully averse from asking any little favour for herself, should be the very one on whom it fell to presume upon another person’s kindness. But Mary never did think of any hardships; they seemed the natural events of life, and as if it was fitting and proper that she, who managed things badly, and was such a dunce, should be blamed. Still she was rather flurried by Mrs. Jones’s scolding; and almost wished that she had taken Jenny home again. Her lessons were not well said, owing to the distraction of her mind. When she went for Jenny she found that Mrs. Jones, repenting of her sharp words, had given the little girl bread and treacle, and made her very comfortable; so much so that Jenny was not all at once ready to leave her little playmates, and when once she had set out on the road, she was in no humour to make haste. Mary thought of the potato-pie and her brothers, and could almost have cried, as Jenny, heedless of her sister’s entreaties, would linger at the picture-shops. “I shall be obliged to go and leave you, Jenny! I must get dinner ready.” “I don’t care,” said Jenny. “I don’t want any dinner, and I can come home quite well by myself.”