Miss McPherson finished her article—I am able to inform the reader that it was a critique upon a volume of tales published by one Mr. Irving, then a young author of some promise—and laid down her paper. "Well, Calista," said she. Calista could not be obstinate under the kind, penetrating look of those dear motherly gray eyes. She said at once: "Miss McPherson, I own that I was rude to Miss Meeks this morning. I did repeat her words, and I suppose I mimicked her. I am sorry. But if I am to say all I think—" "Say on, bairn," said Miss McPherson, using a tender Scotch word, which she seldom did use. "Let me hear all that is in your mind." "Well, Miss McPherson, I do think that Miss Meeks was unjust to me, as she most always is. She never stopped to hear what I had to say, but jumped to the conclusion that Antoinette was right and I was wrong. And that is the way she always does. I never can do anything right in her eyes, however much I try, and I do try to please her a great many times. I should not have minded so much this morning if I had not been troubled about other things. But, oh, Miss McPherson, I have such hard times at home, and then when I come to school thinking to have some rest and comfort, to be taken up so, I could not bear it." And Calista burst into passionate tears. "Hush, hush, my dear lassie! Don't cry so!" said Miss McPherson, gathering the bowed head and shaking form to her bosom as if Calista had been a little child she was comforting. "I know you do have hard times, and I know Miss Meeks is not always very wise; but, Calista, she has hard times too, and is likely to have harder. You, at least, have youth and health; poor Miss Meeks has neither." "Isn't she well?" asked Calista, interested and diverted for the moment. "I notice she turns very pale sometimes. She did this morning. I thought it was because she was angry." "I don't think so. She has times of great pain, and they are the harder to bear because she is so determined to keep them to herself. The very suppression makes her irritable. Can you understand that?" "Yes, indeed!" answered Calista. "But what is the matter with her?" "I do not know, though I may guess," answered Miss McPherson; "but, Calista, you must not breathe a word of this to any one. She cannot endure to have the subject mentioned." "I am sure I will not," said Calista. "I am very sorry for her. Has she no friends?" "Not one that I know of except a half-demented body of a sister who has just sense enough not to be put into an asylum, but not enough to earn her own bread or find for herself in any way. Miss Meeks maintains her almost entirely." "Poor thing!" said Calista. "I suppose that is the reason she makes her dresses over and over, and wears her bonnets forever. If the girls knew that, they would not laugh at her stingy ways, as they call them."