This was very trying to Nell's sense of womanly dignity; and though by no means an ill-tempered little body, she sometimes found it difficult to possess her soul in patience. "Where now?" asked Clare one morning, addressing her. "To the woods with the children, after wild flowers and mosses," returned the young girl gaily. She was standing in the doorway swinging a broad-brimmed hat by its strings, her beautiful uncovered hair glittering like burnished gold in the sunbeams sifting down upon it through the leaves of the overshadowing trees, as they stirred restlessly to and fro in the pleasant summer breeze. She was in a happy mood, light-hearted and free from care as the birds warbling overhead, and had been humming snatches of song till interrupted by Clare's question. "You have been here nearly a week now," pursued that lady in precisely the tone she would have used to one of her children, "don't you think it is time to begin to make yourself useful? Life was never meant for a perpetual holiday." Nell's cheek crimsoned. "What would you have me do? offer my services as assistant to Silvy the cook, Maria the nurse-maid, or Tig the stable boy?" she asked in a slightly sarcastic tone. "Silvy is an excellent cook, and it might not be at all amiss for you to take some lessons of her," said Clare. "But there are other employments. The children need instruction, and you ought to be able to give it. Then there are spinning and sewing." "I don't know anything about spinning." "I'll teach you, in return for the lessons you give the children in spelling, reading and writing." "Very well, we'll talk of it when I come back from my walk," Nell answered, tying on her hat. She was willing enough to make herself useful, but Clare's manner was irritating. Her annoyance was, however, soon forgotten in the prattle of the children, and the beauty of the woods. They wandered about till weary, then sat down on a log to rest. "Now if I only had a book," remarked Nell. "Why didn't you bring one?" asked Bess. "I don't mean a Sunday book, such as those on the shelves in the sitting-room," was the half scornful reply. "Aunt Nell, there are some other kinds of books up in the garret." "What kinds?" "Oh, I don't know; stories, I believe, but not fit for me to read, mother says." Nell rose eagerly. "Come, let us go back," she said, "I must see those books. But how came they there?" Bess explained as they wended their homeward way, she walking soberly by her aunt's side, the boys racing on before, climbing and jumping over stumps and logs. The major had formerly been in the mercantile business, and in the garret were stowed away boxes of goods--a medley of many odds and ends which had fallen to his share in the division of unsold stock made by himself and partner in the winding up of the joint concern.