"I am disappointed in her," said the old gentleman; "I wouldn't have believed it." "I do not believe it," said Mrs. Chauncey, quietly; "there has been some mistake." It was hard for Ellen now to keep to what she thought right. Disagreeable feelings would rise when she remembered the impoliteness, the half-sneer, the whole taunt, and the real unkindness of several of the young party. She found herself ready to be irritated, inclined to dislike the sight of those, even wishing to visit some sort of punishment upon them. But Christian principle had taken strong hold in little Ellen's heart; she fought her evil tempers manfully. It was not an easy battle to gain. Ellen found that resentment and pride had roots deep enough to keep her pulling up the shoots for a good while. She used to get alone when she could, to read a verse, if no more, of her Bible, and pray; she could forgive William and Margaret more easily then. Solitude and darkness saw many a prayer and tear of hers that week. As she struggled thus to get rid of sin, and to be more like what would please God, she grew humble and happy. Never was such a struggle carried on by faith in Him, without success. And after a time, though a twinge of the old feeling might come, it was very slight; she would bid William and Margaret good morning, and join them in any enterprise of pleasure or business, with a brow as unclouded as the sun. They, however, were too conscious of having behaved unbecomingly towards their little stranger guest to be over fond of her company. For the most part, she and Ellen Chauncey were left to each other. Meanwhile the famous needlebook was in a fair way to be finished. Great dismay had at first been excited in the breast of the intended giver, by the discovery that Gilbert had consulted what seemed to be a very extraordinary fancy, in making the rose a yellow one. Ellen did her best to comfort her. She asked Alice, and found there were such things as yellow roses, and they were very beautiful, too; and, besides, it would match so nicely the yellow butterfly on the other leaf. "I had rather it wouldn't match!" said Ellen Chauncey; — "and it don't match the rose-coloured silk, besides. Are the yellow roses sweet?" "No," said Ellen; "but _this_ couldn't have been a sweet rose at any rate, you know." "Oh, but," said the other, bursting out into a fresh passion of inconsolable tears; "I wanted it should be the _picture_ of a sweet rose! And I think he might have put a purple butterfly — yellow butterflies are so common! I had a great deal rather have had a purple butterfly and a red rose!"