What cannot be cured, however, must be endured. The tears were dried, in course of time, and the needlebook, with its yellow pictures and pink edges, was very neatly finished. Ellen had been busy, too, on her own account. Alice had got a piece of fine linen for her from Miss Sophia; the collar for Mr. Van Brunt had been cut out, and Ellen with great pleasure had made it. The stitching, the strings, and the very buttonhole, after infinite pains, were all finished by Thursday night. She had also made a needlecase for Alice, not of so much pretension as the other one; this was green morocco, lined with crimson satin; no leaves, but ribbon stitched in to hold papers of needles, and a place for a bodkin. Ellen worked very hard at this; it was made with the extremest care, and made beautifully. Ellen Chauncey admired it very much, and anew lamented the uncouth variety of colours in her own. It was a grave question whether pink or yellow ribbon should be used for the latter; Ellen Montgomery recommended pink, she herself inclined to yellow, and, tired of doubting, at last resolved to split the difference, and put one string of each colour. Ellen thought that did not mend matters, but wisely kept her thoughts to herself. Besides the needlecase for Alice, she had snatched the time, whenever she could get away from Ellen Chauncey, to work at something for her. She had begged Alice's advice and help; and between them, out of Ellen's scraps of morocco and silk, they had manufactured a little bag of all the colours of the rainbow, and very pretty and tasteful withal. Ellen thought it a _chef-d'oeuvre_, and was unbounded in her admiration. It lay folded up in white paper in a locked drawer, ready for New Year's day. In addition to all these pieces of business, John had begun to give her drawing lessons, according to his promise. These became Ellen's delight. She would willingly have spent much more time upon them than he would allow her. It was the most loved employment of the day. Her teacher's skill was not greater than the perfect gentleness and kindness with which he taught. Ellen thought of Mr. Howard's speech about gunpowder— she could not understand it. "What is your conclusion on the whole?" asked John, one day, as he stood beside her mending a pencil. "Why," said Ellen, laughing and blushing, "how _could_ you guess what I was thinking about, Mr. John?" "Not very difficult, when you are eyeing me so hard." "I was thinking," said Ellen, — "I don't know whether it is right in me to tell it — because somebody said you —" "Well?" "Were like gunpowder." "Very kind of somebody! And so you have been in doubt of an explosion?" "No — I don't know — I wondered what he meant." "Never believe what you hear said of people, Ellen; judge for yourself. Look here — that house has suffered from a severe gale of wind, I should think — all the uprights are slanting off to the right — can't you set it up straight?"