"You did not keep me, daughter, any longer than I chose to be kept. But I think I will go home now, and take the chance of another fine day for the merino." CHAPTER IV How can I live without thee--how forego Thy sweet converse, and love so dearly joined? --MILTON. When dinner was over and the table cleared away, the mother and daughter were left, as they always loved to be, alone. It was late in the afternoon and already somewhat dark, for clouds had gathered over the beautiful sky of the morning, and the wind rising now and then made its voice heard. Mrs. Montgomery was lying on the sofa: as usual, seemingly at ease; and Ellen was sitting on a little bench before the fire, very much at _her_ ease indeed, without any seeming about it. She smiled as she met her mother's eyes. "You have made me very happy to-day, mamma." "I am glad of it, my dear child. I hoped I should. I believe the whole affair has given me as much pleasure, Ellen, as it has you." There was a pause. "Mamma, I will take the greatest possible care of my new treasures." "I know you will. If I had doubted it, Ellen, most assuredly I should not have given them to you, sorry as I should have been to leave you without them. So you see you have not established a character for carefulness in vain." "And, mamma, I hope you have not given them to me in vain either. I will try to use them in the way that I know you wish me to; that will be the best way I can thank you." "Well, I have left you no excuse, Ellen. You know fully what I wish you to do and to be; and when I am away I shall please myself with thinking that my little daughter _is_ following her mother's wishes; I shall believe so, Ellen. You will not let me be disappointed?" "Oh no, mamma," said Ellen, who was now in her mother's arms. "Well, my child," said Mrs. Montgomery in a lighter tone, "my gifts will serve as reminders for you if you are ever tempted to forget my lessons. If you fail to send me letters, or if those you send are not what they ought to be, I think the desk will cry shame upon you. And if you ever go an hour with a hole in your stocking, or a tear in your dress, or a string off your petticoat, I hope the sight of your work-box will make you blush." "Work-box, mamma?" "Yes. Oh, I forgot; you've not seen that." "No, mamma; what do you mean?" "Why, my dear, that was one of the things you most wanted, but I thought it best not to overwhelm you quite this morning; so while you were on an exploring expedition round the store I chose and furnished one for you." "Oh, mamma, mamma!" said Ellen, getting up and clasping her hands; "what shall I do? I don't know what to say; I can't say anything. Mamma, it's too much."