"But you will not stoop to walk round the town with them, Hazel? And surely you are never going to put that ridiculous bunch of cowslips in your dress?" "Mother, dear," said Hazel quietly, "I am the mistress of the girls' school, and it is my duty to walk with them. I am going to wear the bunch of spring flowers, for they were brought for me by the girls, who will all wear a bunch like it. Here is a bouquet, though, that Mr Burge has sent for the mistress out of his greenhouse. I suppose I must carry that in my hand." "Oh, my poor girl! my poor girl!" "Now, mother, dear mother, do not be so foolish," said Hazel. "Why should I be ashamed to walk with my girls? Are we not living an honourable and independent life, and is it not ten thousand times better than eating the bread of charity?" "Ah me! ah me!" sighed Mrs Thorne. "Now, dear, you will dress and come up to the treaty and I will see that you are comfortable." "I come? No, no, no!" "Yes, dear, Mr Burge begs that you will. Come, girls." This was called up the stairs to her little sisters, who came running down, dressed in white with blue sashes for the first time since their father's death. "What does this mean?" exclaimed Mrs Thorne. "They are coming with me, dear, each carrying a great bouquet." "Never! I forbid it!" cried the poor woman. "It was Mr Burge's particular request," said Hazel gently; "and, mother dear, you will nearly break their hearts if you forbid them now." "There, there, there," sobbed Mrs Thorne; "it's time I died and was taken out of your way. I'm only a nuisance and a burden to you." "Mother!" Only that one word, but the way in which it was uttered, and the graceful form that went down upon its knees before her to draw the head she kept rocking to and fro down upon her breast proved sufficient to calm the weak woman. Her sobs grew less frequent, and she at last began to wipe her eyes, after kissing Hazel again and again. "I suppose we must accept our fate, my dear," she said at last. "I'm sure I do mine. And now mind this. Cissy--Mabel!" "Yes, mamma! Oh, sister Hazel, isn't it time to go?" "I say you will mind this. Cissy--Mabel, you are to--But must they walk in procession with those terrible children, Hazel?" "Why not, dear? They will be with me, and what can be more innocent and pleasant than this treat to the poor girls? There, there, I know, for my sake, you will come up and lend your countenance to their sports." "Well, well," sighed Mrs Thorne. "I'll try. But mind me, Hazel," she exclaimed sharply, "I'm not coming up with that dreadful woman, Mrs Chute. I am coming by myself." "Yes, dear, I would," said Hazel. "And mind this. Cissy and Mabel, though you are going to walk behind the school children and carry flowers, you are not to forget that you are young ladies. Mind that." "No, mamma!" in duet.