"Do you think it isn't right?" said George Walsh. Ellen hesitated; she saw they were all waiting to hear what she would say. She coloured, and looked down at her little Bible which was still in her hand. It encouraged her. "I don't want to say anything rude," she began; "I don't think it is quite right to play such plays, or any plays." She was attacked with impatient cries of "Why not? Why not?" "Because," said Ellen, trembling with the effort she made, "I think Sunday was meant to be spent in growing better and learning good things; and I don't think such plays would help one at all to do that; and I have a kind of _feeling_ that I ought not to do it." "Well, I hope you'll act according to your _feelings_ then," said William; "I am sure nobody has any objection. You had better go somewhere else though, for we are going on; we have been learning to be good long enough for one day. Come! I have thought of somebody." Ellen could not help feeling hurt and sorry at the half sneer she saw in the look and manner of the others as well as in William's words. She wished for no better than to go away, but as she did so her bosom swelled and the tears started and her breath came quicker. She found Alice lying down and asleep, Miss Sophia beside her; so she stole out again and went down to the library. Finding nobody, she took possession of the sofa and tried to read again; reading somehow did not go well, and she fell to musing on what had just passed. She thought of the unkindness of the children; how sure she was it was wrong to spend any part of Sunday in such games; what Alice would think of it, and John, and her mother; and how the Sundays long ago used to be spent, when that dear mother was with her; and then she wondered how _she_ was passing this very one--while Ellen was sitting here in the library alone, what _she_ was doing in that far-away land; and she thought if there only _were_ such things as oracles that could tell truly, how much she would like to ask about her. "Ellen!" said the voice of John from the window. She started up; she had thought she was alone; but there he was lying in the window seat. "What are you doing?" "Nothing," said Ellen. "Come here. What are you thinking about? I didn't know you were there till I heard two or three very long sighs. What is the matter with my little sister?" He took her hand and drew her fondly up to him. "What were you thinking about?" "I was thinking about different things; nothing is the matter," said Ellen. "Then what are those tears in your eyes for?" "I don't know," said she, laughing; "there weren't any till I came here. I was thinking just now about mamma." He said no more, still, however, keeping her beside him. "I should think," said Ellen presently, after a few minutes' musing look out of the window, "it would be very pleasant if there were such things as oracles--don't you, Mr. John?" "No." "But wouldn't you like to know something about what's going to happen?"