Title: Nelly : or, The best inheritance.
Author: Guernsey, Lucy Ellen
Language: English
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Transcriber's note: Unusual and inconsistent spelling is as printed.

[Illustration: Nelly.—Frontispiece. 
 Crummie stood quite still munching the bits of bread Nelly gave her.]



                             NELLY;


                    The Best Inheritance.



            BY THE AUTHOR OF "IRISH AMY," ETC. ETC.
                    [LUCY ELLEN GUERNSEY]



                         PHILADELPHIA:
                 AMERICAN SUNDAY-SCHOOL UNION,
                   NO. 1122 CHESTNUT STREET.

                    NEW YORK: 599 BROADWAY.



  Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1867, by the
                   AMERICAN SUNDAY-SCHOOL UNION,
in the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the United States for
              the Eastern District of Pennsylvania.



CONTENTS.

  CHAPTER I.

  CHAPTER II.

  CHAPTER III.

  CHAPTER IV.

  CHAPTER V.

  CHAPTER VI.

  CHAPTER VII.

  CHAPTER VIII.

  CHAPTER IX.

  CHAPTER X.

  CHAPTER XI.

  CHAPTER XII.



                             NOTE.

This little story is written to illustrate the value of honesty and
faithfulness in small and great matters. Nelly's earnings may possibly
be considered rather large for a girl of her age; but a lady of much
experience, to whom I referred the matter, assures me that they are not
exaggerated, and that a perfectly trustworthy clerk is worth almost any
price to his or her employers. A woman mostly confined to the bed and
sofa earned, in three years, nearly seven hundred dollars by doing the
finer and more elaborate kinds of tatting.



                             NELLY;


                    THE BEST INHERITANCE.

CHAPTER I.

"WHAT'S the use?" said Nelly, with a sort of hopeless bitterness in her
tone. "There's no use in my ever trying to be anybody!"

Nelly Ryan was leaning against the rickety gate of her grandmother's
more rickety cottage, watching a procession of girls about her own
age, who were passing on the other side of the street on their way
to church. There were about thirty of them, all very nicely dressed,
walking two-and-two, and talking quietly to each other. They were the
pupils of an old-established boarding-school in the place where Nelly
lived; and, as Nelly looked at their dainty, fresh spring dresses and
bonnets, their neat boots and gloves, and white collars, and then at
her own ragged, faded delaine, her toes peeping out of a pair of old
shoes much too large for her, and the tangled, rusty elf-locks of her
hair, she felt the contrast very deeply and bitterly. She was a pretty
little girl, about thirteen years old, with curly black hair, gray
eyes, and a slender but strong and lithe figure. Not one of all the
girls she envied could match her in good looks; but her slender hands
were grimed and encrusted with dirt, and her face not much better
off; her hair looked as if it had hardly known a comb, and her frock
was covered with grease and dirt and torn into various stirrups and
three-cornered rents. She might have been called a hopeless-looking
child enough; and yet there was something in her face that promised
better things. She stood looking after the school-girls till they
turned a corner, and then, leaning her head against the gate, she cried
bitterly but quietly, all the while saying to herself—

"It's too bad! It's too bad! I can't never be anybody or have any
thing! It's too bad!"

"What is the matter, little one?" asked a pleasant voice. Nelly
glanced up hastily, wiping away her tears with her dirty hands, so
that she looked more forlorn than ever. A young lady stood by the
gate, regarding her with an expression of interest and sympathy which
Nelly felt at once to be genuine. She was nicely and tastefully though
not gayly dressed, and in her hand she held a couple of books, and a
little nosegay of early spring flowers,—sweet blue and white violets,
primroses, periwinkles, and such like,—with a few geranium and ivy
leaves.

As Nelly looked up, she repeated her question, adding, "Are you sick?"

"No," stammered Nelly, shyly, hanging down her head.

"What is the matter?" asked the young lady. "I am sure you must be in
some trouble, to cry so bitterly."

But Nelly would not tell the cause of her grief, and very likely could
not have done so if she had tried.

"Do you go to Sunday-school?" asked the lady.

"No," answered Nelly.

"That is a pity! Why don't you go? I think you would like it very much."

"I haven't got any thing to wear," said Nelly; and, as if gaining
confidence, she added, "I went once to the mission school up here, but
the girls were all dressed so fine that I felt ashamed. They stared at
me; and one of them called me a little rag-bag. I don't never mean to
go there no more. What's the use?"

"She was a very impolite little girl," said Miss Powell (for that was
the young lady's name). "I would not have minded her."

"You would if you was me," said Nelly.

Miss Powell smiled. "Well, perhaps so. We cannot always judge for other
people. What is your name?"

"Nelly Ryan."

"And do you live here?" asked the young lady, glancing at the house.
Nelly looked at it too, and, somehow, as she followed the direction of
Miss Powell's eye, she seemed to see, as she had never done before,
what a miserable place it was, how black and dirty the floor looked
through the open door, and what quantities of old bones, old shoes and
other rubbish were littered about the door-yard. The bitter feeling
came up in her heart again, as she answered,—

"Yes; I live here with my grandmother. It is a mean old place, but I
can't help it. It's the best we've got, anyhow."

"Well, Nelly, I cannot stop any longer now, but I shall perhaps see you
again some day, and we will have a talk about these things." She opened
the book which she carried, as she spoke, and took out a beautiful
little picture printed in colours and representing a string of girls,
something like those Nelly had just seen, passing two-by-two into a
church-door. There was a hymn under the picture, and a coloured border
all round it.

"Would you like this little card?" she asked.

Nelly's eyes brightened. She thought she had hardly ever seen any thing
so pretty.

"You may keep it,—and these flowers too, if you like," said Miss
Powell. "They will stay fresh and sweet a long time if you give them
clean water every day."

Nelly took the flowers and the card without speaking. Miss Powell
bade her good-morning and walked on; but presently she heard some one
running behind her, and turned around. There was Nelly, almost out of
breath.

"I—I only wanted to say, Thank you, ma'am," stammered Nelly; and then,
as though almost ashamed of what she had done, she turned and ran back
again.

"That is a child of some character," thought Miss Powell, as she
quickened her steps. "I must try to see her again."

"What a nice young lady!" said Nelly to herself, as she presently
slackened her pace and went along alternately admiring and smelling
her flowers and looking at the picture she still carried in her other
hand. Presently she glanced at the back of the card, which was coloured
a pretty pink, and noticed, to her great mortification, that her dirty
fingers had already left their marks upon the paper. The lump came into
her throat again at the sight.

"There it is!" said she. "What is the use of my ever trying to have any
thing?" And then she stopped suddenly; for the question occurred to her
mind, what was there to hinder her from washing her hands?

Full of a new resolution, Nelly walked straight into the house. It
consisted only of one room, with a sort of shed or lean-to attached,
and held a bed, an old but tolerably whole cooking-stove, two or three
more or less broken chairs, and a rickety table, on which stood the
remains, such as they were, of the morning's meal. Her grandmother sat
on a low stool by the stove, with her elbows on her knees, smoking a
short black pipe. Nelly had been in better rooms a few times in her
life, and she felt, as she came in, how forlorn the place looked. Again
she was tempted to despair; but she had thought of something to do, and
she had a deal of perseverance and energy, though nothing had ever been
done to cultivate those qualities. She first took a broken tumbler from
the shelf, filled it with clean water, in which she put her flowers,
and, placing them on the window-sill, stood looking at them with great
satisfaction.

"See, granny; a'n't they lovely?"

"'Deed and they are," replied the old woman. "Where did you get them,
honey?"

"A lady gave 'em to me. She gave me this picture, too. Can't you read
it, granny? What does it say under there?"

"Sure, child, I've forgot all my learning, and not much there was to
forget."

"Why can't I have some learning, granny? Why can't I go to school?"

"And what would become of the cow if ye went to school all day, and
me hardly able to move? Don't ye worry about that, now. Your father
learned to read and write too, and much good it did him."

Nelly sighed,—a sort of fierce, impatient sigh,—and began busily
seeking in every corner till she found a pin with which to fasten her
card to the wall. Then she searched again till she found an old basin,
which she filled with rain-water and carried out into the shed, where
presently was heard a great splashing and rubbing. By-and-by Nelly
called out, "Granny, where's the soap?"

"And what do you want with the soap, child?" asked the old woman.

"To wash myself."

"What ails the child this morning?" said Mrs. Ryan, in a tone of as
much surprise as if such a use of soap had been utterly unknown to her
experience. "You'll find it on the end of the shelf; if there is any;
but don't you be wasting it. I'll may-be washing to-morrow."

By much searching, Nelly found a small and greasy remnant of soap,
which she used to such good purpose that she presently appeared with
face and hands perfectly white and clean.

Then came another inquiry—"Where's the comb, granny?"

Followed by the counter-question—"What do you want with it?"

"I want to comb my hair."

"You are wonderful nate this morning, seems to me," said Mrs. Ryan.
"What ails you?"

"I like to be decent sometimes," said Nelly. "I felt ashamed this
morning when the lady was speaking to me."

"Sure the lady knows we are poor folks," said Mrs. Ryan, good-naturedly
laying down her pipe to assist Nelly in her search for the comb. It was
finally discovered behind an old band-box on the shelf; but Nelly found
the use of it no easy matter. Her curly hair was matted into a hundred
knots; and the more she wetted it, the more it twisted and curled into
rings, as if it had been alive.

"Granny, I wish you'd cut my hair short, like Kitty Brown's," said
Nelly, finally. "I can't never get the tangles out."

Mrs. Ryan wondered more and more what had suddenly taken possession
of her grand-daughter; but she was fond of the child, and willing
to gratify her where it was not too much trouble; so she hunted up
her scissors and clipped Nelly's black rings close to her head, and
proceeded farther to part them evenly upon the top, so that they curled
round her face in a way that many a modern young lady might have envied.

"Look at yourself in the glass, and see how nice you look," said Mrs.
Ryan, as she finished her operation. "There's not a lady in the land
any prettier, if you were only dressed up."

"And why can't I be dressed up?" asked Nelly. "Why can't I have things
like the Jenkins girls and Kitty Brown?"

"Because we're poor folks, child. Don't I tell you so every day? Just
you wait till the money comes from Ireland I told you of, and then see
the silks and satins I'll buy you, and the gold watches and diamond
rings you'll have!"

"I don't want diamond rings and gold watches; and a pretty figure I'd
make dressed up in silks and satins, and me not knowing how to read,"
said Nelly, pettishly. "I want to be decent now; and I don't believe
the money ever will come from Ireland. I don't believe there is any
money there."

"Then it is a wicked, ungrateful child you are, not to believe your own
granny," said Mrs. Ryan, much displeased by this profession of unbelief
on Nelly's part. "Haven't I told you over and over how my father was
second cousin to the Earl of Glengall, that was descended from the old
Butler that was king in Ireland long ago? And didn't I tell you about
his visiting my lord, and the racehorses he kept, and the servants
he had? And don't it stand to reason, when the old lord died without
children—"

"I don't want to hear about it," interrupted Nelly. "I'm tired of it.
If my great-grandfather was cousin to all the lords in Ireland, it
won't ever do us any good." So saying, Nelly flung out of the house and
resumed her old position of leaning over the gate.

There had been a time when Nelly took great delight in these golden
visions of her grandmother's, and could spend hours in listening to
Mrs. Ryan's tales of the grandeur of her father's family, and in
dreaming over them in her own mind. To the old woman herself they
were meat and drink, clothing and fire-wood. She had arranged all in
her own mind a hundred times,—how a letter was to come from foreign
parts, telling her the news that she had succeeded to the estates of
her father's cousin,—how a grand gentleman, with a splendid carriage
and footmen in livery, such as she had often seen in her childhood,
should drive up to the door and take in herself and Nelly, while all
the neighbours stood staring,—how he would buy them all manner of fine
things, and she should be a countess no less, and Nelly would be called
Lady Eleanor. All this she had gone over in her own mind, and talked
over with Nelly a thousand times, almost always concluding with,—

"And then the folks where ye go now to carry the milk and bring home
the swill will be glad enough to get the nod of your head as you ride
through the streets in your grand carriage before you go home to old
Ireland, my bird."

Kelly used to love these stories dearly, and to believe them every
word; but she had lately been growing tired of them. As she grew older,
the trials of her position pressed upon her. She saw the difference
between herself and other girls of her age whose fathers and mothers
worked for them and sent them to school. She began to have a perception
that it would be wiser for her grandmother and herself to take some
pains with the small piece of ground they could call their own, than
to spend all their time in talking about the grand flower-gardens and
parks of the Earl of Glengall. Mrs. Vandake had no more land than they
had, and she had a deal more work to do; yet Mrs. Vandake, with what
help her husband could give her before and after hours, raised cabbages
and lettuce and peas and beans and tomatoes and grapes, and many a
flower beside. It was easy to talk of the silks and satins she would
wear when she was Lady Eleanor; but meantime the Vandake children went
to church and school nicely dressed, with whole shoes and stockings,
and warm mittens and hoods for cold days, while Nelly's only two frocks
were in rags, and her old shoes kept out neither snow nor water.

Nelly was naturally a bright, thoughtful child, with very strong
feelings and a tendency to brooding and sadness. As she pondered over
these things, and felt more and more the disadvantages of her position
and manner of life, she began to doubt and to dislike her grandmother's
stories, and ended by disbelieving them altogether.

"I don't believe there was ever any such earl," said she, as she went
out to the gate. "I don't believe my grandfather was first cousin to
anybody."

Nelly certainly stated the case strongly. She was hardly fair to her
grandmother's romance, however, which, strange as it may seem, had a
small foundation in fact. Mrs. Ryan's father was the youngest son of
a younger son of one of the Earls of Glengall, who, in a drunken fit,
had married the daughter of one of his lordship's tenants. There was
no particular disparity of fortune between the parties, for neither of
them had a penny beforehand; but the Butlers stood greatly upon their
gentility as relations of my lord's, and were so terribly shocked at
the match that they refused to have any thing to do with either Alick
or his wife. To be sure, after Alick broke his neck off the bridge
coming home from a fair one dark night, they sent some assistance to
his widow and her baby girl; but they were poor enough themselves, and
had hard work to keep soul and body together, and at last went away to
Canada altogether.

Gracey Butler grew up like the other barefooted girls in the cottages
round about; but her mother never let her forget that she was third
cousin to an earl, and if every one had his rights, as she was fond of
saying, the park where Gracey went nutting, and the great house which
she saw from the outside, would all be hers some day. But every one did
not have his rights; or, as is more probable, there were no rights to
have. Gracey grew up and married Tim Ryan, and came away to America,
and reared up a son who fell into bad courses and got into State's
prison, where he died. Nelly's mother took to drink and died also,
leaving this one little girl to her grandmother's care. Mrs. Ryan owned
her house, such as it was, and she also owned a pig and one cow, which
pastured upon the commons, watched by Nelly, in the summer, and lived
in winter on the slops which Nelly gathered from house to house.

The one thing about which Mrs. Ryan was neat was her milk; and as she
was also perfectly honest, gave good measure and never sold water,
she had as many customers as she could supply. Nelly carried round
the milk and fed the cow and gathered the slops, and the old woman
cooked and washed after her fashion, and milked, and measured the milk,
and smoked her pipe, and now and then took a drink (but not often),
and entertained herself and Nelly in the manner we have described;
and while Nelly was a little child she was perhaps as happy as most
children. Her grandmother never ill-treated her; she had enough to
eat, such as it was, and she loved to hear about all the grandeur she
was heir to. But she was growing a great girl. She began to think,
to reason, and to compare; and she grew more and more unhappy and
dissatisfied every day.



CHAPTER II.

NELLY watched at the gate for a long time, hoping to see again the
kind young lady who had given her the flowers; but in this she was
disappointed. It was, in fact, not Miss Powell's usual road to church.
She had come that way to visit a sick person, and she went home by the
other and shorter way. Nelly saw the young ladies who had excited her
envy in the morning. They came upon her side of the street this time,
and she had a nearer view of them.

"How nice they look!" she thought. "And they can go to school and learn
to read and write, and, I dare say, to paint pictures, and play music
on the piano; while I can't learn any thing or be anybody. It is too
bad! I do think granny might let me go to school. And yet, if I did,
who would there be to take care of the cow? and if she wasn't taken
care of, what should we have to live on? I don't see any way out of it.
Oh, dear! I wonder what I was ever made for?"

What would Nelly have said if she had known that some of those very
school-girls she envied looked upon themselves as greatly abused by
being made to go to school, and that they exercised far more ingenuity
and pains in shirking their lessons—in trying not to learn—than
would have been needed to acquire them? Nelly Ryan, leaning over her
grandmother's gate, with no one to teach her even to read, thought she
would be perfectly happy if she could only go to boarding-school, and
walk to church on Sunday morning with a nice dress and clean collar.
Nelly Lambert, who had been taught and cared for all her life,—whose
father spent hundreds of dollars every year upon her education,—had
been fretting that very morning at being obliged to dress and go to
church, and thought if she had no lessons to learn, and nothing to do
but to amuse herself all day long, SHE would be perfectly happy. Both
were, no doubt, mistaken, since perfect happiness is hardly to be found
in this world; but I think Nelly Lambert's mistake was the greater of
the two.

Presently Kitty Brown came along home from Sunday-school, with her
Bible and library-book in her hand. Kitty "lived out" with one of the
families whom Nelly supplied with milk; but her mother was a neighbour
of Mrs. Ryan's, and her mistress was in the habit of allowing her to go
home after Sunday-school on Sundays and stay till near teatime.

Kitty had always had a liking for Nelly, and the girls would perhaps
have become intimate, if Mrs. Brown had allowed it; but though she was
always kind to Mrs. Ryan and her grand-daughter, she did not think
Nelly a very suitable companion for Kitty. The girls always spoke when
they met, however, and generally had a few minutes of gossip when Nelly
carried round the milk. Kitty knew all about Lord Glengall and the
former grandeur of the Butlers, and, as she had a lively imagination,
and was very fond of stories, she had constructed more than one pretty
romance relating to Nelly's future prospects. She used to like very
much to talk over these romances with Nelly herself; but Nelly had of
late become rather shy of them.

"Why, Nelly, how nice you look!" said Kitty, stopping to speak to her
friend; "but what made you cut off all your hair?"

"It tangled so I could not comb it out," replied Nelly. "I wish it was
straight like yours, and then I could keep it decent."

"Why, Nelly Ryan! I would give any thing in the world to have my hair
curl as yours does; but it looks real pretty as it is, and it will have
plenty of time to grow again before you are a young lady, you know."

"I guess it will," said Nelly. "It will have time to grow and grow
white before that time comes."

"Oh, you don't know! For all you can tell, the news of your fortune may
come to-morrow."

"Don't, Kitty!" said Nelly, impatiently. "I am sick of all that stuff,
and I don't believe in it, either. I want to be decent now, and to have
something, and not be always thinking about what will never happen. I
don't feel as if I ever wanted to hear of those things again. I think
about them and hear granny's stories till they all seem real to me, and
then I just wake up, and every thing is as poor and mean as ever, and
looks ten times worse than it did before. I am sick of it all, and I am
sick of this world," said Nelly, passionately. "I should like to die
and go somewhere else."

Kitty stood aghast at this outbreak from Nelly. She had never seen
her in such a mood before, and she did not understand it. She did not
reflect that the day-dreams which served her for amusement now and then
were all her friend had to live upon. One may like some oranges once
in a while, when one has had enough of solid food; but a man who had
nothing else to eat would soon starve to death upon it.

"I don't think you ought to say that, Nelly," Kitty answered, at last.
"If you should die and go to heaven, it would be very nice; but if you
didn't, you know—"

"I don't see how I am ever to get to heaven, either," said Nelly. "I
can't read the Bible or any thing, and there is no one to teach me.
Well, I know one thing. I wish there had never been any such person as
I am."

Kitty was at a stand. She did not know how to meet Nelly's mood at all.
She saw that the poor girl was very unhappy, and she would have given a
great deal to comfort her if she had only known how. She had a sort of
indistinct idea that when people were in trouble the Bible ought some
way to do them good, and she tried to think of a text; but she could
remember none which seemed suitable to Nelly's present case. She had
learned a great many Bible verses in her life, but it had never before
occurred to her to use any of them. The only thing she could think of
to console Nelly she did. She put her arm round her neck and kissed
her. The honest expression of sympathy always does good. Nelly's heart
felt a little lightened of its load as she returned Kitty's embrace.

"You are real good, anyway," said she. "Oh, Kitty," she added,
suddenly, "will you do something for me? A lady gave me a card this
morning with a picture and verses on it. Will you read it for me?"

"Of course I will," said Kitty, heartily. "Where is it?"

Nelly ran into the house and brought out her card.

"Come and sit on our steps," said Kitty. "It is shady there, and mother
will know where I am."

"Well," said Nelly; and she called to her grandmother, "Granny, I am
going with Kitty a little while."

"All right, dear; but don't be long, for I'll soon have the dinner
ready."

Mrs. Brown met her daughter at the door with a hearty kiss. The house
was not very much larger than Mrs. Ryan's; but what a contrast it
presented! Every thing was in perfect order, and as clean as hands
could make it. There were flowers all about,—in the little garden, on
the table under the glass, on the high old-fashioned bureau, on the
window-sill. Every thing was sweet and cool and fresh, from the white
curtains to the clean, white door-step; and yet Mrs. Brown was not so
much richer than Mrs. Ryan.

"I am going to sit down here and read to Nelly a few minutes, please,
mother," said Kitty. "A lady has given her a pretty card with a hymn on
it."

Mrs. Brown made no objection, and the two girls sat down side by side
in the shade. The hymn was that familiar one beginning—

    "Around the throne of God in heaven."

Nelly listened attentively as Kitty read it through.

"There is a real pretty tune to that," said Kitty. "Shall I sing it for
you?"

"Please," said Nelly.

Kitty had a sweet little voice, and sung very nicely. When she had
finished, Nelly still sat looking at the sky.

"It would be good if all that was real and true," said she, at last.

"Why, Nelly!" exclaimed Kitty, scandalized. "It is real and true. It is
all in the Bible."

"I know folks say so," replied Nelly; "but it don't seem real. It seems
to me just like my granny's stories. Don't it to you?"

"I never think much about it," said Kitty, honestly. "Somehow I have
such good times now. But Nelly, it is surely so. I will read about it
in the Bible, if you want me to. Shall I?"

Nelly assented. Kitty knew very well where in the Bible to find what
she wanted. She liked to read in the book of Revelation, just as she
loved Mrs. Ryan's stories, because it fed her imagination. She turned
over the leaves and read the last two or three chapters. Nelly listened
eagerly; and as she listened she formed images in her mind, clear and
distinct, of the river of the water of life, clear as crystal—of the
tree of life growing on its banks—of the golden streets, and all the
rest. She drew a long breath when Kitty had finished.

"A'n't that perfectly lovely? But I don't suppose I can ever get
there, though," she added, in her old, despairing tone. "They wouldn't
have me there."

"Oh, yes," returned Kitty, confidently. "You can go just as well as any
one else. Mother," she called, "can't Nelly go to heaven?"

"Of course she can, if she is a good girl," answered Mrs. Brown, from
within. "Why not?"

"There!" said Kitty, triumphantly. "Didn't I tell you so? There was
a beggar once, all covered with sores, and he had nothing to eat but
crumbs from a rich man's table; and when he died, the angels came and
carried him to heaven."

"I suppose he was very good."

"Yes, I suppose so," said Kitty, rather doubtfully. "He must have been,
of course."

"There is granny calling," said Nelly. "Thank you very much, Kitty."

"After all, I don't see how it is going to do me much good; only very
good people go there," said poor Nelly, as she walked homeward. "I am
sure I am not very good; and I don't see how I ever can be, living as I
do. But it seems kind of pleasant to think there is such a place, after
all."

The next day, as Nelly was standing by, the gate, watching her cow,
which was pasturing on the common opposite, Mrs. Vandake came to her
door and called her.

"Nelly, can you do an errand for me?"

"I guess so," replied Nelly, "if granny will mind the cow."

"I want you to go down town directly and put this letter in the
post-office," continued Mrs. Vandake. "I am afraid to wait till Mr.
Vandake comes home, lest I should be late for the mail; and I should
not like to miss the chance of sending it. You can run right down to
the general office, can't you? Ask your granny."

Mrs. Ryan made no objection, and Nelly was soon equipped in her
granny's best shawl and her own ragged straw hat. Mrs. Vandake handed
her the letter, and promised her a cake when she came back.

"What a pretty child!" said a lady who was visiting Mrs. Vandake. "But
can you trust her? Won't she hide the letter, or throw it away to save
herself trouble?"

"Oh, no," replied Mrs. Vandake. "She has often done errands for me, and
always faithfully. With all their dirt and shiftlessness, both she and
the old woman are strictly honest."

Nelly overheard this conversation as she stopped behind a lilac-bush to
pull up her stocking; and it did her good. "There is one thing decent
about us, anyway," said she.

She did her errand faithfully and quickly; but the letter once in
the office, she thought there could be no harm in indulging in a
little of her favourite amusement; and she began to loiter along the
street, looking in at the shop-windows. The book and print store was
her favourite stopping-place, but there was a great crowd of people
around the door and window, looking at some new pictures; so she could
not get near, and she went on to her second favourite place. This
was a fancy-store,—a corner shop with a very large window, in which
were elegantly arranged all sorts of pretty things,—embroidery, and
patterns, and head-dresses, and wonderful buttons, and other things
of which Nelly could not even guess the use. To-day the bottom of the
window was one mass of beads,—marvellous beads, of all sorts, shapes
and sizes,—green and blue, red and yellow, black and white: some as
large as birds' eggs, others no bigger than mustard-seeds; some like
silver and gold, some like dew-drops, some like sugar-candy. As the sun
shone on the beads, they really formed a splendid mass of colour, which
an older and more cultivated eye than Nelly's might have rested on with
pleasure. The gauze curtain which hung at the back of the window was
completely covered with worsted patterns,—flowers, birds, animals, and
curious arabesques like nothing in particular.

Nelly stood a long time gazing at all these wonders, and then she
passed through an open space into the shop behind. Here were more
wonders and beauties still; but for once Nelly had no eye for them;
for there, behind the counter, as if she were waiting to attend on the
customers, stood the very young lady who had given Nelly the flowers!
Here was a discovery! Nelly forgot all about the beads and patterns,
all about the piece of cake waiting for her in Mrs. Vandake's pantry,
and stood as if rooted to the spot, peeping through the vacant place in
the window. Miss Powell was doing some work which looked very curious
to Nelly. She had a little black thing in her hand, wound with white
thread, which she poked through and through her fingers with marvellous
quickness. A very pretty piece of something like lace hung down from
her left hand. It did not seem to be hard work, for the lady looked
about her, and sometimes talked with another young lady who sat on a
stool winding worsted.

Nelly, as I said, stood as if she grew there, watching Miss Powell as
she worked, unmindful of the people who now and then pushed against
her. At last she was startled by a stiff piece of paper which came
flying down from an upper window in the same building directly into
her face. She caught it in her hand and looked at it. It was a worsted
pattern like those in the window,—a pretty bunch of red and white
roses. For one moment, Nelly felt tempted to keep it. She loved pretty
things, and she had very few of them; but Nelly was, with all her
faults, an honest child, and had never stolen the worth of a six-pence.
In another minute she had reflected with a great rush of joy that here
was a good excuse for going into the shop and speaking to the lady. She
opened the door and entered shyly. Miss Powell was just then waiting
on a customer, and Nelly stood in silence by the counter, looking at
the pretty things in the show-case. Presently the young lady who was
winding worsted turned and spoke to Nelly:—

"Do you want any thing, little girl?"

"I want to speak to that lady," said Nelly, pointing to Miss Powell,
who had finished attending upon her customer and had gone to the back
part of the store.

"Miss Powell," called the other young lady, "here is a child waiting to
speak to you."

"Did you want me, my little girl?" asked Miss Powell, kindly. She did
not for the moment remember Nelly, but she always spoke pleasantly to
every one. She did not have, as I have sometimes seen, one sort of
manner for rich customers and another for poor ones.

"Please, I found this," said Nelly, producing the pattern, which she
had all the time carefully held under her shawl. "I thought it might
belong in here, because it is like those in the window."

"That was very good in you," said Miss Powell. "I see you are an
honest girl. I presume the pattern does belong here; though I do not
understand how it came in the street."

"I think it blew out of the window," said Nelly, her heart beginning to
sink as she saw that Miss Powell did not recognize her.

Just then another lady came part-way down the staircase at the back of
the shop.

"Have you seen any thing of my pattern, Miss Powell?" she asked. "I
left it with my work on the window, and when I came back it was gone. I
am afraid it has fallen into the street; and, if so, my work is ruined."

"Is this it?" asked Miss Powell, holding up the pattern Nelly had found.

"The very thing!" exclaimed Mrs. Kirkland, joyfully. "Where did it come
from?"

"This little girl found it and brought it in."

"You are a very good, honest child," said Mrs. Kirkland to Nelly; "and
I am very much obliged to you. See here," she continued, taking a
pretty little doll from a shelf near by, "would you like this for your
own?"

Nelly hung down her head.

"Perhaps you see some other thing you would rather have?" said Mrs.
Kirkland, good-naturedly. "Don't be afraid."

"Please," said Nelly, taking courage at the kindness of the lady's look
and tone, and pointing to Miss Powell's work, while her heart beat fast
and her colour rose, "please, I should like one of those things, if I
could learn how to do that work."

"Well, I declare, what an odd little thing you are!" said Mrs.
Kirkland. "What is your name?"

"Nelly Ryan," answered Nelly; and, growing still bolder, she added,
speaking to Miss Powell, "I saw you yesterday by granny's gate; and you
gave me some flowers and a card."

"So I did!" said Miss Powell. "I thought I had seen those gray eyes
before; but you have cut your hair off, haven't you?"

"It got so tangled, and I couldn't comb it out straight," said Nelly.

"Well, but Nelly, do you really think you could learn to make tatting?"
asked Miss Powell.

"I could try," answered Nelly. "It looks kind of easy!"

"It is easy after you once know how," said Miss Powell; "but it is not
easy to learn."

"Do try to teach her," said Mrs. Kirkland. "Some people take it up very
quickly."

Nelly looked on with great interest as Miss Powell took a shuttle,
wound some thread on it, and began the work. Now, tatting, though very
easy to do, is one of the hardest things in the world to teach and to
learn. Nelly tried faithfully and watched closely; but after more than
an hour she seemed no nearer than at first, and she began to be utterly
discouraged.

"I can't do it!" said she, throwing the shuttle at last into Miss
Powell's lap, while the tears rose to her eyes. "I can't see into it
anyhow. I might have known I couldn't," she added. "What's the use of
my ever trying to do any thing or to be anybody?"

"Oh, you must not be discouraged," said Miss Powell, touched by the
tone of utter despondent hopelessness in which these last words
were spoken. "You have not been nearly as long at it as I was when
I first tried to learn. I was older than you are, too,—a great girl
of fifteen,—but I tried the whole afternoon, and finally gave up in
despair, and had a hearty cry after it."

"But you did learn?" said Nelly, much interested.

"Yes; and I will tell you how. After I went to bed, I began to reflect
upon the matter, and made up my mind that I could do what other
people could, and that I would not be beaten by a piece of thread. So
I lighted my candle, found my shuttle, and worked at it till three
o'clock in the morning. I made a quarter of a yard before I stopped. So
you see I had a much harder time than you have had yet. Come; take it
up and try once more."

"I can't," said Nelly; "granny will want me."

"Well, then, take the shuttle home with you and try there," said Mrs.
Kirkland. "If you learn to do it right, I will give you a ball of
thread to make some for yourself. You can come in the next time you
come down town, and show Miss Powell or me what you have done."

"What an odd child!" she added, after Nelly had gone. "I should think
there was the making of a woman in her. Do you know any thing about
her, Miss Powell?"

"Only that she lives in a little tumble-down cottage on the upper part
of College Street, opposite the common. I found her crying yesterday,
and comforted her as well as I could. I wonder if she will succeed with
her tatting?"

"I rather think she will," said Mrs. Kirkland.



CHAPTER III.

NELLY hurried homewards, with her mind curiously agitated. She could
not tell whether she were more pleased at finding and renewing her
acquaintance with Miss Powell, or mortified at her want of success in
learning the work her friends had so kindly tried to teach her.

"But I won't give up!" said Nelly, passionately, to herself. "I'll
never give up till I learn, if I work at it all the rest of my life.
It looks so easy when she does it! Anyhow, I am glad I have got the
shuttle; and it was real good of that lady to give it to me. Wouldn't
it be nice, though, to have such a shop as that, all full of pretty
things, and nice ladies coming to buy them? But I don't see how I am
ever to be good for any thing unless I can manage to go to school. Oh,
dear! I wish I could see my way out somehow!"

Many people besides Nelly have wished the same thing when in
difficulties. Those are happy who, when they cannot, as the saying is,
see an inch before them, are able to trust the love and care of their
heavenly Father and to wait with patience for him to make their path
plain. But this was a lesson Nelly had not yet learned.

When she reached home, the welcome she received was not calculated to
soothe her troubled spirit. It is but doing Granny Ryan justice to
say that she was usually very good-natured. But she had been watching
the cow ever since Nelly went away, and had fallen asleep upon her
post, and the faithless animal, taking a base advantage of her owner's
drowsiness, had wandered off to parts unknown. It was a serious
misfortune; for there was great danger that the cow would be taken up
and put into the pound, in which case it would cost Mrs. Ryan a long
walk and a dollar to get her out. It is, therefore, no great wonder
that granny's temper was somewhat disturbed.

"Ye little sorrow!" she exclaimed, wrathfully, as soon as Nelly
appeared. "Where have ye been all this time, and me breaking my heart
entirely with watching the baste of a cow, that has run away after
all, and got took up by the police, very likely, and you hanging about
the street, following your own pleasure, and leaving your poor old
granny to kill herself entirely doing your work? What do you mane, you
ungrateful little crater?"

"How did she run away, and you watching her all the time?" said Nelly,
mischievously, for she was not at all alarmed at the explosion, knowing
by experience that her grandmother's wrath was seldom enduring. "You
must have gone to sleep, granny."

"Sorra a bit," replied the old woman, "but just dozing a wink with my
eyes wide open. But you may just go and look for her, my fine young
lady, for not a foot more can I stir to-day. So be off with ye, and
waste no more time."

"I want something to eat first," said Nelly.

"Indeed and ye'll not get it, then, till I go to the grocery. How was I
to get any thing, and me watching the cow all the time? Answer me that,
my Lady Eleanor!"

Nelly sighed impatiently. She had intended, as soon as she got her
dinner, to set to work at her tatting once more; and her mind had all
the way home been full of visions of wheels and clover-leaf patterns
and yokes, such as Miss Powell had showed her in the shop. And now she
must let it all go, and run about half the afternoon looking for the
wilful cow. There was no help for it, however; and, swallowing her
vexation as well as she could, she set out in search of the missing
animal. She knew her haunts tolerably well, and pursued her usual plan
of visiting them one after another in regular succession; but no cow
was to be found. Tired and discouraged at last, Nelly sat down on a
stone by the way-side and burst into tears.

"It is always the way!" she thought. "Every thing goes against me. Just
as sure as I try to do any thing, it all goes wrong. Oh, dear! I am so
tired! and I don't know what in the world to do, or where to look next."

Nelly put her hand into her pocket for the rag which represented her
handkerchief, and her fingers encountered the shuttle Mrs. Kirkland had
given her. She took it out and looked at it.

"I have got to rest a little, anyhow, and I might as well be working,"
said she. Again she tried, but with, at first, no better success. She
could make one scollop, but the next would not draw up.

"I will do it," said Nelly, "I don't care if it takes me a month!"

She laid down her shuttle and looked up, clasping her hands behind
her head, and turning her face upward to rest the aching place in
the back of her neck. As she did so, her eyes encountered a pair of
large, mild orbs, surmounted by a pair of crumpled horns, looking
down directly into her face. There was the missing cow! She had, no
doubt, tired of her ramble, and was proceeding soberly homewards, when
she was surprised by the sight of her little mistress sitting by the
side of the road. Crummie and Nelly were on the most intimate terms
of affection and confidence. Nelly never beat or abused her, never
overdrove her or forgot to give her water; and Crummie loved Nelly as
if she had been her own calf. Indeed, the people on the street where
they lived were often amused to see the cow stop and low after the
little girl if Nelly lingered behind for a moment to chat with the
other children; and when Nelly was younger, it used to be a question
whether it was Crummie that took care of Nelly, or Nelly that took care
of Crummie.

"You dear, naughty old thing!" exclaimed Nelly, jumping up, throwing
her arms round the cow's neck and giving her a good hug. "How dared you
serve poor granny such a trick while I was gone, and keep me all this
time running after you? A'n't you ashamed of yourself, madam? Tell me
that!"

Perhaps Crummie's feelings were too deep for utterance. At any rate,
she made no reply, good or bad, to Nelly's question; but bending down
her head as soon as she was released, she began to crop the grass which
grew luxuriantly by the road-side.

"Indeed and that is a very good notion of yours, my lady!" said Nelly.
"The grass is far better than on the common, and I may as well watch
you here as anywhere else." So saying, Nelly settled herself on the
stone and again took up her shuttle, while Crummie went on feeding
placidly beside her. She did not notice that a gentleman passing
stopped to look at her, and then, taking out a square book from his
pocket, began sketching with a pencil. She worked away for some time,
growing more and more intent; and at last, dropping her work in her
lap, she broke into a joyful exclamation:—

"I've got it! I've done it! I've got it right! I've made three scollops
right! I've got it at last! Oh, a'n't I glad, though!"

"What have you got, my little girl?" asked a kind voice.

Nelly looked round, blushing at the thought that she had been
overheard. The gentleman with the sketch-book stood looking down at her
with a kindly, amused smile.

"What is it you, have been working at so hard all this time that I have
been looking at you?" asked the gentleman.

"I have been trying to make tatting," replied Nelly; "and I couldn't
make it go for ever so long."

"You have been very persevering," remarked the gentleman. "I am afraid
my Nelly would have thrown away the work in a pet long before she had
worked such a while as you have."

"My name is Nelly, too," said Nelly,— rather shyly adding, "I suppose
your Nelly goes to school?"

"Yes; she is at Mrs. Birch's boarding-school."

"I suppose she likes it very much?" said Nelly, rather wondering at her
own boldness in talking to the strange gentleman.

The gentleman sighed a little. "Why, no; I am afraid not. She is not
very fond of her books, and would rather play than read the most
entertaining story that ever was written."

"Well," said Nelly, with a sigh, "I believe if I could only go to
boarding-school like the young ladies who go past our house every
Sunday, I should be perfectly happy."

"Don't you go to school?" asked Mr. Lambert (for that was the
gentleman's name).

"No," replied Nelly, rather sullenly, for she felt ashamed to have the
gentleman know that she did not go to school; and then, feeling rather
ashamed of her ill-manners, she added, "My granny can't spare me to go
to school, because I have to mind the cow."

"Does your granny teach you at home, then?"

"No, sir. She says she has forgotten all her learning. But I must be
driving my cow home," added Nelly, rising hastily, for she was afraid
the gentleman would ask her, next, if she knew how to read. "Granny
will wonder what has become of me."

"But you might go to Sunday-school," said Mr. Lambert, walking on with
Nelly. "Your grandmother could spare you long enough for that, surely?"

"I have nothing to wear," said Nelly.

"That is sad, certainly. Well, Nelly, you and I have had a nice talk
together. Will you tell me your name and where you live?"

Nelly gave the information, and the gentleman set it down in his
pocket-book. Then he drew from his pocket two small pieces of money.

"See here, Nelly," said he, as he laid them in her hand, one by one.
"This ten-cent piece you may spend as you please; but this other larger
piece is an Irish coin, made a great many years ago. That is for a
keepsake to remember me by. Keep it, and let me see that you have it
safe the next time I meet you."

"I'll never spend it, the longest day I live," said Nelly, earnestly.
"I'll tie a string in it and wear it round my neck."

"There's a good girl! And what will you do with the other? But never
mind," he added, kindly, seeing Nelly hesitate. "It is yours, to do
what you like with. I dare say you will make a good use of it."

Nelly had already decided what use she would make of her ten cents, but
she did not like to tell Mr. Lambert. She had made up her mind that she
would buy a first-book and try to learn to read. She walked soberly
along, driving the cow before her, till she reached her own door.

Mrs. Ryan's anger, always very short-lived, had altogether vanished;
and she received Nelly with her usual warm welcome as she saw the cow
safe and sound.

"And where did ye find the crater, dear? Sure ye've been away a long
time, and you having nothing to eat all the day."

"She was 'way out beyond the colleges, granny. I sat down to rest, and,
the first I knew, there she was standing right over me. And oh, granny,
a grand gentleman gave me these!" pulling out the silver pieces, which
she had carried, for safety, in her mouth. "He says this one was made
in Ireland, oh, ever so many years ago; and I am to keep it for a
keepsake. But this one is mine to spend. May I have it to spend as I
like, granny?"

"Sure, dear, if the gentleman gave it to you. But what sort of a
gentleman was it?"

Nelly described him as well as she could, the old woman nodding and
making a clucking noise with her tongue. Her imagination was already
seeing in the stranger one of the Butlers of Glengall, come to find out
all about herself and her grand-child and to carry them back to all the
splendours of Kilmane Park.

"Do you know who it was, granny?" asked Nelly, observing all these
signs of intelligence.

"Ta-ta! Never you mind, dear; but eat your supper and get your work.
I'll carry your milk for you the night. I know what I know, and I guess
what I guess. Yellow hair and blue eyes! Yes, yes,—the very moral of
them!" murmured the old woman, as she sought her pails and measures.
"Just what my father was!"

"Pshaw!" said Nelly; "you are just thinking of some of those rubbishing
old Butlers. I wish there had never been any such people in the world;
and I don't half believe there ever were."

It was, perhaps, as well for Nelly's peace that Granny Ryan was making
too much noise with her tin pails to hear this irreverent speech. Nelly
would certainly have had the milk to carry round herself; and so have
lost the chance of sitting down on the door-step and working at her
tatting. She hastily finished her supper, and, without once thinking
of washing her hands, she sat down on the door-step with her work.
What was her vexation to find that she had lost the stitch again!
Nelly could have cried over her own stupidity, and was almost tempted
to give the matter up in despair; but she reflected that, as she had
done it once, there must be a way of doing it again. She remembered
Miss Powell's story of her own experience, and, like her, determined
not to be beaten by a bit of thread. She tried it faithfully, this way
and that; and, after a whole hour of steady application, she had the
satisfaction of seeing her scollops draw up into circles, more or less
regular and firm.

Here was a great triumph! She had actually learned something,—and
by herself, too! It was a triumph, greater than Nelly herself knew.
She had not only persevered and conquered a difficulty, but she had
conquered herself at the same time. She felt very much encouraged, as
she had reason to do; and, as she contemplated her work, she thought,
"If I can learn to make tatting, why can't I learn to read?" She had
already determined that the first day she went down town she would buy
a lesson-book with her ten cents. But here arose a difficulty: she did
not know what book to inquire for.

"Well, Nelly, you did not come after your piece of cake," said Mrs.
Vandake, stopping at the gate as she was passing along. "Did you put
the letter into the office?"

"Yes, ma'am," answered Nelly; "but I had to go after the cow the minute
I came home. Please, Mrs. Vandake," she added, "do you know what books
children have when they first learn to read?"

"Why, yes; there are several books. There is the First Reader, and the
Primary Spelling-Book, and a good many others. Do you want one, Nelly?"

"Yes, ma'am; but I don't know which is the right one."

"Are you going to school, then?" asked Mrs. Vandake.

"No, ma'am; I am going to try and learn myself."

"I am afraid that will be hard work, Nelly; but there will be no harm
in your trying. Come over to my house to-morrow, and I will give you
one of Tony's old books that he has done using."

"Thank you!" said Nelly, her heart beating with pleasure. "I know it
will be hard work, but I mean to try."

"And what are you doing there? Making tatting?"

"Yes, ma'am; I am trying; but I don't make it look very nice yet. The
scollops won't come alike."

"You must count your stitches," said Mrs. Vandake. "Make five stitches
and join, and then two and a loop, and then five again. If you are
careful to do so, they will come alike every time."

Nelly followed the advice, and found great pleasure in observing how
neat and regular the scollops looked. She worked away till it was too
dark to see any longer, and then went to bed with a happier heart than
she had known for some time.

The first thing Nelly thought of in the morning was the book Mrs.
Vandake had promised her. She had learned the alphabet and some
words of two and three letters, and she thought she could perhaps
make out others from what she knew already. She resolved to go over
to Mrs. Vandake's the first thing after breakfast. But here a great
disappointment awaited her.

"Oh, Nelly!" said Mrs. Vandake, who was busy making cakes in the
kitchen, and was just in the act of drawing some most tempting
ginger-cakes from the oven, "I declare, it is too bad! You have come
for your book, I suppose; and I forgot all about it. I don't see how I
can look for it now," she added, seeing how disappointed Nelly looked.
"I put all Tony's books away somewhere, I know, for I thought they
might be useful to some other child; but I cannot now remember where
they are. Here are some cakes for you, and I will try and have the book
ready when you come again."

Nelly went away but half consoled for her disappointment by the hot
ginger-nuts with which Mrs. Vandake filled her pocket.

"Well, I don't know what I might do," said she; "but it seems to me
that if I made any one a promise I would try to keep it."

Mrs. Vandake had fully intended to keep her promise to Nelly about the
books. She always did intend to keep her promises when she made them;
but something was very apt to happen which put them out of her head
till the time came for their fulfilment. The something which happened
to-day was the arrival of visitors from the country.

When Nelly brought the milk that evening, she looked wistfully at Mrs.
Vandake as she turned it out, and lingered a few minutes afterwards.

"Well, what are you waiting for?" said Mrs. Vandake, coming back into
the kitchen and seeing Nelly still standing in the door.

"About my book, please," said Nelly.

"Oh, your book!" returned Mrs. Vandake, rather sharply. "Don't tease
about it, child. I told you I would get it for you as soon as I could;
and you should not ask me over and over again so. Beggars mustn't be
choosers."

Mrs. Vandake would have deeply regretted her words had she known how
Nelly was wounded by them, for she was as good-natured as she was
careless. But she was rather annoyed at being reminded of her forgotten
promise, and, as she was apt to do, she said the first thing which came
into her head, without stopping to think of its effect on her hearer.

Nelly looked at her for a moment, and then turned and went away without
a word.

"Well, I declare, what a glance!" said a young lady who came into the
room just as Nelly left it. "She looked at you as if she would like to
eat you on the spot."

"Well, she had some excuse,—poor little thing!" said Mrs. Vandake, who
did not feel altogether comfortable. "She wants to learn to read, and I
promised to find her an old spelling-book; and this is the second time
I have forgotten it. I will hunt it up to-morrow the very first thing I
do."

"Poor thing!" said another lady in the parlour to her companion; "if
she never learns to read till Almira remembers to find her a book, she
will die in ignorance."

Poor Nelly walked homewards with her empty pails, her lips quivering,
and her eyes constantly filling with indignant tears, in spite of her
best endeavours to wink them away.

"I'll never take a book from her,—not if I never have one!" she
thought. "She did promise twice over to give me a spelling-book, and of
her own accord. I never asked her. And then to call me a beggar! I'll
tell granny; see if I don't! I never begged of her, and I never will.
But I won't give it up. I will have a book some way or other."

This resolution brought Nelly to the house where Kitty Brown lived.
Kitty was at work in the garden, helping her mistress to plant out a
border of blue violets.

"Oh, here is Nelly—punctual Nelly—with her milk," said Mrs. Powers,
looking up. "Go in with Nelly, Kitty, and put it away."

"What does 'punctual' mean, Kitty?" asked Nelly, as she stood waiting
for her pail.

"Why, it means doing a thing at the right time and when you say you
will," answered Kitty. "Mrs. Powers calls you punctual because she says
you always come when you promise. You don't say you will, and then
disappoint her. I heard her say, the other day, that it was a good
thing about you."

"Well, I mean to be," said Nelly. "I know it provokes me when
people promise to do things for me, and then forget. It makes me
just hopping." And she went on to tell her friend all about the
spelling-book, concluding with,—

"Now, wasn't it mean, Kitty, to call me a beggar, when I never asked
her for the book?"

"I don't believe she meant to call you a beggar, Nelly," said Kitty.
"It is just a saying people have; that is all."

"She needn't have said it to me, anyhow," said Nelly, not altogether
pleased with what she thought a want of sympathy on Kitty's part.

"No; it wasn't polite. But Nelly, I wouldn't lay it up, if I were
you. She is a real good-natured woman, after all. Don't you know
how she used to give us flowers last summer? But what do you want a
spelling-book for, Nelly?"

"I want to try and learn to read," said Nelly. "I thought if I had a
book perhaps I could get some one to help me now and then."

"Why, yes; you could bring your book round here when you came with the
milk, and I could tell you the words, you know, and then you could be
studying them over between-times. But Nelly, how much money have you
got?"

"Only ten cents. Won't that be enough?"

"It would buy a primer; but I don't think it will buy a primary
spelling-book, which would be the best for you," said Kitty, dubiously.
"But I know what you can do, Nelly. When you go to get your book, ask
for a second-hand one. They have them, I know, for people are always
changing; and I dare say you could get a nice book for your ten cents."

"I wish I had the name written down," said Nelly.

"I will ask Mrs. Powers to write it for you," said. Kitty. She found
a pencil and a piece of paper, which she carried out to Mrs. Powers
in the garden, and presently returned. "Here it is," said she, "all
written out plain:—'Sanders's Primary Spelling-Book, second-hand copy.'
Don't Mrs. Powers write a pretty hand?"

"It looks real pretty and plain," said Nelly. "Well, good-night, Kitty,
and thank you very much."

"And Nelly," said Kitty, detaining her friend a moment, "if I was
you, I wouldn't mind Mrs. Vandake. Forgive and forget, you know. And
besides, Nelly," she added, seeing a dubious expression in Nelly's
face, "the Bible says we ought to forgive people who offend us, or else
God won't forgive us; and then what should we do? Because, you know, we
all do wrong things."

"Is that really in the Bible?" asked Nelly. "Then it must be true, of
course. How nice it must be to read it! I have thought about what you
read about heaven ever since. Will you read me more some day?"

"Yes, indeed," replied Kitty. "I will read all you want next Sunday."
And, with a warm kiss, the little friends parted.

"Mother needn't be afraid of Nelly's hurting me," thought Kitty, as she
returned to her planting. "She is a great deal better than I am."



CHAPTER IV.

THE next day, Nelly went down to Mrs. Kirkland's shop, and, not without
some trepidation, asked for Miss Powell, who was not to be seen.

"She is busy up-stairs," said the young lady behind the counter. "Can't
I get what you want, as well as Miss Powell?"

"No, ma'am," replied Nelly. "She told me to ask for her if she was not
in the shop."

"It is some one of her ragged regiment of Sunday-scholars," said a lady
who was buying lace at the counter where Nelly stood. "She is always
bringing just such objects into the school. I get downright vexed at
her, sometimes."

"I suppose the Sunday-school was made for just such children to begin
with," said the shop-girl.

"They might go to the mission school, then," replied the strange lady.
"It does not seem as though that elegant school-room could be meant for
such ragamuffins."

"You can go up-stairs, my little girl, and see Miss Powell," said
the shop-girl, glancing at Nelly, and seeing, from her rising colour
and eyes filled with tears, that she had heard and understood the
conversation. "You will find her sitting by the window, at work; and
please carry her this red braid and ask her if there is any more like
it. Will you?"

"Yes, ma'am," replied Nelly, brightening up, and feeling comforted, as
Miss Kirkland intended she should, by being intrusted with this little
commission. "Shall I come and tell you what she says?"

"If you please," said Miss Kirkland; and Nelly skipped up the long
stairs, feeling much relieved. She found Miss Powell sitting on a low
seat by the window, working at a beautiful piece of embroidery. She had
a large box by her side, filled with ends of worsted of every shade and
colour, from which she now and then pulled out a thread. She was deeply
engaged in counting stitches in her pattern; and Nelly, who often
seemed to show an instinctive sense of good manners, stood by her in
silence, waiting to be noticed.

"Ah, Nelly! Is this you?" said Miss Powell, looking up at last. "I was
wondering what had become of you. How does your tatting get on?"

"I have learned to do it," said Nelly. "I thought I never should; but I
did. But please, the lady down-stairs wants to know is there any more
of this braid."

"Tell her there is a whole box on the upper shelf, with the tape. Can
you remember that?"

"Yes, ma'am."

Nelly sped down with her errand, and, presently returning, produced her
work for inspection.

Miss Powell smiled as she looked at it. "So you really did persevere,
and learn! I am very glad. Do you know why? It is because that shows
you have some resolution and some self-command. A good many little
girls would have thrown it away in despair."

Again the ready tears came into Nelly's large eyes; but this time they
were tears of joy and honest exultation.

"I was real glad, too," said she. "I liked to do it; and besides," she
added, hanging down her head, "I thought if I could learn one thing I
could another."

"Well?" said Miss Powell, as Nelly hesitated.

"I thought may-be I could learn to read; and I do want to learn so
much."

"Why don't you go to school?—Oh, I remember, you told me;—because of
minding the cow. Have you any one to help you about learning?"

"Kitty Brown said she would help me every night when I brought the
milk," said Nelly. "I know the letters and some little words; and the
lady Kitty lives with wrote down on this paper the name of the book I
was to get," added she, producing the note Kitty had given her.

"'Second-hand copy,'" read Miss Powell. "Why don't you get a nice new
book, Nelly?"

"Kitty said I had not money enough to buy a new one. A gentleman gave
me ten cents, and granny said I might spend it as I liked. She is real
good, granny is," added Nelly. "It isn't her fault that I don't go to
school."

Miss Powell took up the tatting and examined it again. The last
half-yard was done very well. The scollops were of the same size, firm
and even; but it was embrowned to the colour of earth from Nelly's
unwashed fingers.

"You have done this last part very nicely," said she. "I could hardly
have done it better myself. But Nelly, you must learn to keep your work
clean and white, or it will be worth nothing. See here; look at mine. I
have had it about a long time, and yet it is not the least soiled. Do
you wash your hands every time you take it up?"

"No, ma'am," replied Nelly, blushing. "I don't know as I ever thought
of it. It isn't very easy for me to wash my hands clean. I get them so
dirty with my work,—gathering swill and feeding the cow. But I will try
what I can do."

"That is right. I dare say your work is dirty; but if you always wash
your hands directly after it, and whenever they get soiled, you will
find it much easier to keep them clean. See here, Mrs. Kirkland," said
she, as Mrs. Kirkland came in from another room, "how well Nelly has
succeeded with her tatting. She has really done nicely."

Mrs. Kirkland examined the work and commended it; and then, going to a
show-case, she took out a spool of thread.

"See here, Nelly," said she; "if you will make all this spool of thread
into tatting as nice as that last half-yard, and keep it clean and
white, I will give you seventy-five cents for the work. But remember,
it must be kept clean, and all the scollops must be of precisely the
same size, or else I cannot take it."

"I will try my best," said Nelly, fairly trembling with delight. "I
guess I can do it."

"Very well; you may try. It is not every little girl like you that I
would trust with a spool of thread; but I don't think you will deceive
me."

"You can ask the neighbours about us," said Nelly, with an honest pride
that Mrs. Kirkland was pleased to see. "Granny sells milk to ever so
many of them,—to Mrs. Powers, and Mrs. Vandake, and Mrs. Blair, and
Mrs. Ward."

"Yes; I remember Mrs. Ward told me once last summer what nice rich milk
she got," said Miss Powell. "Mrs. Kirkland, will you let me speak to
you a moment?"

Mrs. Kirkland heard what Miss Powell had to say, and then turned to
Nelly.

"Nelly, if I pay you ten cents beforehand, will you be sure that I
shall not lose by it? Then you can buy a nice new spelling-book,
instead of an old one; but you will only have sixty-five cents, instead
of seventy-five, when you bring home your work."

"I should like it," said Nelly; "only I might be sick, or something,
and then I couldn't pay you."

Mrs. Kirkland smiled. "I will run the risk of that. Here is your money,
then; and I hope you will make your book very profitable."

"If you like to wait a little while, Nelly, I will go to the book-store
with you," said Miss Powell. "I am going that way in about half an
hour. You can sit down here by me and begin your work, if your hands
are clean. Let me look at them."

Nelly had washed her face and hands with unusual care before leaving
home, and she presented them with considerable confidence; but Miss
Powell pointed out several places on the sides of the fingers which
were certainly far from clean.

"I can't help it," said Nelly. "I rubbed and rubbed, but it wouldn't
come off."

"Well, never mind. We will perhaps find a way to remedy it. Wind your
shuttle full of thread, in the first place."

Nelly filled her shuttle, and was soon happily at work. Miss Powell
showed her the best way of holding the shuttle, and how to pass the
thread through her fingers without letting go her hold, by which she
was enabled to work much more rapidly. Presently the lady she had seen
below in the shop came up-stairs. She first stared and then laughed, as
she saw Nelly on the stool by Miss Powell's side. Nelly, on her part,
gave her a glance which was any thing but friendly, and then turned her
stool entirely round, so as to bring her face to the window.

"Well, I declare! What airs!" said the lady, laughing. "One would think
she was, an earl's daughter in disguise, at the very least."

Nelly smiled proudly as she remembered the Butlers of Glengall, and
thought perhaps the lady was nearer the truth than she supposed.

"But do you dare trust such a child in the midst of all these pretty
things?" said the stranger, in a lower tone, but still loud enough for
Nelly to hear. "I should think she would steal all she could lay her
hands on."

"We cannot always tell by the outside who steals and who does not,"
answered Mrs. Kirkland, dryly. "We catch people stealing, sometimes,
who are much better dressed than poor Nelly."

Nelly could see the lady's face in a mirror which hung near, and she
was astonished to see her colour till her face was as scarlet as the
worsted she held in her hand. She said no more, but occupied herself in
picking out shades of worsted from the pile before her.

"Miss Powell," said Nelly, presently, "what makes folks think that
people cannot be honest because they are not dressed nice?"

"I will tell you what I think about it, Nelly; but I don't know that
I can make you understand. In this country, almost every one who is
industrious and saving can afford to dress neatly. If they cannot buy
new things very often, they can at least wash and mend what they have.
So, when a person sees another in rags, he is apt to think that person
must be idle or shiftless; and idle people are very apt to be dishonest
people. Now do you understand?"

Nelly nodded. "I think it is a great deal in knowing how," said she.
"Kitty Brown's mother never lets her have the least bit of a hole in
her things, even if she hasn't any of the same kind to mend with; and
Kitty is the same. She keeps her clothes nice,—oh, ever so long! But
somehow, I can't keep my things nice. My frock gets a hole in it,
and, when I ask granny to mend it, she says, 'Yes, dear, but there's
time enough;' and, the first thing I know, it catches on a nail, or
something else, and away it goes. I think it is the best way to mend
them the first minute."

"No doubt it is; but Nelly, you must learn to mend your own clothes.
You are old enough."

"I wish I did know how," said Nelly.

"Well, we will take the matter into consideration. And, now, what do
you think about going to Sunday-school?"

"I shouldn't like to go just now," said Nelly. "I haven't any nice
frock to wear; and that lady said I was a ragamuffin. She said you were
always bringing such objects into the school. What is an object?"

"It is nothing very bad, Nelly," said Miss Powell, laughing, but
looking, as Nelly thought, a little vexed. "An object really means any
thing that you can see, or take hold of, or think about. This work of
mine is an object, and that pretty doll there, and that red basket. So,
you see, it was not a very ugly name."

"It sounded ugly as she said it," persisted Nelly.

"Perhaps so. But Nelly, if you had a proper dress would you like to
come to Sunday-school?"

Nelly hesitated.

"Say just what you think," said Miss Powell.

"I should like to learn to read a little, first," said Nelly. "I
couldn't learn lessons unless I could read; and I should be ashamed,
such a big girl as me, to go with the little ones. I should feel so
awkward I shouldn't know what to do."

A good many people would have considered this false shame on Nelly's
part, and would have endeavoured to reason or laugh her out of it, in
order to bring her at once into Sunday-school. Miss Powell thought
differently. She believed Nelly's shame at her own ignorance would
be the best spur in driving her to learn. She saw, too, that Nelly's
feelings were very strong, and easily excited, and she was afraid that
the laughter she might be exposed to from the other children in the
infant-room would be likely enough to disgust her and drive her away
altogether.

"Well, Nelly, perhaps you are right," said she. "I rather think you
are. In fact, when you do come, I want to have you either in my class
or Miss Kirkland's; and you could not well be in either unless you knew
how to read."

"Does Miss Kirkland have a class,—that lady that gave me the thread and
shuttle?"

"That is Mrs. Kirkland. She has a class of little boys. The young lady
with fair hair down in the shop is Miss Kirkland,—the one who gave you
the braid to bring up to me."

"I like her," said Nelly. "She spoke real kind when the other lady
looked at me so scornful. But I had rather be in your class than any
one's. Oh, I will try real hard to learn," said she, earnestly, and
then added, hopefully, but rather doubtfully, "Do you think I could
ever earn money enough to buy a frock?"

"Oh, yes; if you are industrious, and learn to work quickly and neatly.
Come; we will go now and buy your new book."

How happy Nelly felt when the new, clean spelling-book, with its nice
print and pretty pictures, was put into her hands,—all her own, the
first she had ever owned, except a few toy-books her granny had given
her! Miss Powell asked the clerk for a sheet of wrapping-paper, and
covered the book neatly for Nelly, who could hardly believe in her own
happiness.

"We will stop here a minute," said Miss Powell, pausing at a
druggist's, where Nelly had often lingered to admire the pretty bottles
in the window.

"What can I give you to-day, Miss Powell?" asked the clerk behind the
counter.

"A piece of pumice-stone, and the cheapest nail-brush and tooth-brush
you have which are good for any thing," answered Miss Powell; "and
please charge them to my charity-fund."

Nelly had no idea that these things were meant for her, till Miss
Powell put them into her hand and showed her how to use them. "Now,
Nelly, you will have no excuse for not keeping your work clean and
your breath sweet. Remember, one of the first things necessary towards
'being somebody,' as you say, is personal neatness and cleanliness.
Don't you perceive that if your hair had been smoothly brushed and
your dress clean and whole, your clothes might have been ever so cheap
and poor, but that lady would never have thought of calling you a
ragamuffin?"

"I thought about that, myself," said Nelly.

"And I must tell you another thing, Nelly. Mrs. Kirkland will not want
to have you come about the store or work for her unless you take pains
to look nice. You can easily mend the frock you have on, and ask your
grandmother to wash and iron it, and mend that rent in your hat; and
then you will look quite respectable."

"I don't know very much about mending," said Nelly, doubtfully.

"But you can do your best, and you can learn to do better," said Miss
Powell. "Believe me, Nelly, it is much more important to learn to put
in a patch nicely than it is to make the prettiest tatting that ever
was seen; and it is not half so hard. And there is one more thing I
want to say, Nelly. I shall not give you these things out and out, but
upon the condition that out of every dollar you earn, you shall put by
two cents, to be given to some person who is worse off than you are."

"Well, I will," said Nelly, much interested. "It is nice to have
something to give away. I guess," she added, after some consideration,
"I guess I had better mend my frock before I begin my tatting; because
when I once begin I shall not want to stop."

"That is a very good plan. Well, good-by, my dear child. And Nelly,
just one last word more. You must not forget to ask God's blessing on
your work. Ask him to help you, and above all to make you a good girl."

These last words furnished Nelly with food for thought all the way
home. She had for some days been trying very hard to be a good girl,
but she did not succeed very well. She was conscious that she had been
naughty that very morning in speaking disrespectfully and unkindly to
her grandmother; and it came upon her heart like a weight when she
remembered that she had seen tears in the old woman's eyes. She had
been sorry directly, but she had been too proud and in too much of a
hurry to say so, and she ran away without even saying good-by. She had
meant never to be naughty again, after she had heard those beautiful
chapters about heaven; but her resolutions had not seemed to do her
much good. But if God would help her for the asking, it seemed to make
her way much plainer.

"I will ask him just as soon as I go to bed," she thought; and then it
occurred to her to inquire why she should not ask now. It would be a
good many hours to bedtime, and she might do many naughty things before
then. Nelly was not quite sure that it was right for her to speak to
God without kneeling down and shutting her eyes, as she did when she
said the prayer Kitty Brown taught her; but she resolved at last to
risk it. Her prayer was very short. "Please make me a good girl. I want
to be good and go to heaven; but I don't seem to know how. Please help
me to be good and do my work nicely and be kind to granny. Please help
me to learn to read quick, so I can go to Sunday-school. Amen."

Nelly went on with a lighter heart after her prayer, and found her
granny busy over the dinner, and apparently taking more than usual
pains with her cookery.

"How nice the dinner smells!" said Nelly. "What are you boiling,
granny?"

"Sure, Mrs. Powers gave me a piece of bacon, and I have cut some greens
on the common. So you'll have bacon and greens for your dinner,"
returned Mrs. Ryan; "and that's more than you desarve, being so cross
to your own granny, that brought ye up."

Nelly had been, thinking, all the way home, that she would tell granny
she was sorry for her hasty words; but this reproach touched her ever
ready pride, and she was about to make a hasty reply,—when something
said to her, "And are you going to do wrong the very first minute after
you have asked God to help you be good?" Nelly swallowed something like
a hard lump which rose in her throat, and answered,—

"Well, granny, I am sorry I was so naughty, and I won't be so any more.
You are a dear, good granny, and I love you ever so much!"

"Sure, if you are sorry, there is no more to be said," said the
kind-hearted old woman. "We mustn't expect gray heads on young
shoulders. What have you got there?"

Nelly displayed all her treasures, her new book, her toilet-articles
(the like of which granny had never beheld before), and, finally, her
shuttle and thread, describing with great animation the nice lady and
the pretty shop, and explaining all her grand prospects. The old woman
listened attentively, and looked at Nelly's work with great interest.

"Sure, dear, I could have showed you that," said she. "I learned it
when I was a girl; but we called it knitting, then. I used to know a
many pretty patterns."

"Oh, granny, can't you remember some of them?" cried Nelly.

"May-be so, if I tried; but now here is your dinner, dear, and after
that we will see."

"But I said I would mend my frock first. Miss Powell said I must look
neat and nice when I came to the store; and I don't want to be called a
ragamuffin again."

"And who was it called you a ragamuffin, dear?"

"A lady who was buying something in the shop; and, granny, you know
I am ragged," said Nelly, surveying her frock. "There is no use in
denying it."

"And what business had they to cast it up to you, and you the
grand-daughter of Lord Glengall?" said Mrs. Ryan, who was apt now and
then to forget the exact degree of her relationship to his lordship.
"It is fine times, indeed, for them tradesfolk to be looking down
upon you! Not that I'm saying a word against them ladies in the shop
that taught ye the work," she added, hastily. "Of course, things is
different here and in the old country. But nobody shall call you a
ragamuffin again, dear!" And the old woman went on muttering and
murmuring in Irish, as she was apt to do when excited. Nelly did not
often pay much attention to these soliloquies, and, having finished her
dinner and washed up the few dishes, she set herself seriously about
mending her frock, while Mrs. Ryan, still murmuring to herself, made
herself ready to go out.

"Where are you going, granny?" asked Nelly.

"Never you mind, dear. You will see when I come home. Just you sit upon
the door-step and have an eye to the cow while I am away."

Nelly accordingly took her sewing to the door-step, where she worked
away sedulously, now and then lifting her eyes to glance at the cow,
and giving a peculiar cry which Crummie well understood as a hint that
she must not stray too far.

"There!" said Nelly, at last, holding up her work, and looking at
it. "That a'n't so bad, after all. I wonder if I can't wash it?" But
glancing at the stove and perceiving that the fire was out, Nelly gave
up the last idea, and, after a sedulous use of her new nail-brush
and pumice-stone, she took her tatting and sat down to work at it,
delighted to find how much faster she could work than before. She had
made almost a quarter of a yard, when a shadow coming before her caused
her to look up, and she uttered a joyful exclamation as she saw Mr.
Lambert with a little carpet-bag in his hand.

"Well, Nelly, and so you are at work at your tatting still?" he said,
kindly. "You are a persevering little girl."

"I don't like to give up when once I begin," said Nelly.

"That is right. No, I can't come in now. I have brought you a little
present, Nelly—a frock and some other things of my daughter's,—which I
think you will find useful. See: do you think you can wear this?"

Nelly's face grew crimson with delight at the sight of the pretty plaid
frock hardly worn at all, she thought, the nice gray sack, and red
striped stockings,—she had always wanted some red stockings,—and the
good, substantial, though partly worn-out boots.

"And now, Nelly, I want you to do me a favour," said Mr. Lambert. "I
want you to take your work and sit down just as you were when I first
saw you by the side of the road,—there! that is just it. Now sit still
a few minutes." Mr. Lambert took his book and pencil, and drew rapidly
for about twenty minutes.

"There, that will do," said he. "Now tell me, which is your cow?"

"I will call her, if you want to see her," said Nelly, much puzzled
with these strange proceedings. "She always comes when I call her."

Nelly called Crummie, accordingly, who came obediently and stood quite
still, munching the bits of bread Nelly gave her; while Mr. Lambert
again drew in his book for a little while.

"I think I have it now," said he, at last, shutting up his book and
putting it in his pocket, without offering to show Nelly the drawing
he had made. "Many thanks, Nelly. I hope you will go regularly to
Sunday-school and learn all you can. Will you?"

"Yes, sir."

Mr. Lambert walked away, and Nelly stood watching him for some minutes
before it flashed across her mind that she had promised to go to
Sunday-school.

"But I did not say when I would go," said she to herself. "I do mean to
go as soon as I learn to read a little."

Nelly did not feel quite satisfied with this evasion, but she dismissed
the thought for the present, and began trying on her new clothes. They
were all too large; but Nelly did not mind that. It was a good fault,
she said; and great was the satisfaction with which she looked at
herself in the foot-square of mirror which was all she possessed.

"Now, if I only had a nice hat; but may-be I'll get that too. I guess
I could buy one for twelve shillings or a dollar, and I can soon earn
that. Won't granny be pleased? And here she comes now. Why, granny,
have you been buying out all the stores this afternoon?"

Mrs. Ryan had her arms full of parcels, which she flung down on the bed
with,—

"There, my Lady Eleanor! just see there what. I've brought you;" and
then, observing Nelly's new clothes, "And pray where did you get all
these fine things?"

Nelly related the events of the afternoon, and was disappointed and
a good deal puzzled to see that her grandmother did not seem at all
pleased.

"Sure, he might have brought them before, if he'd been coming at all!
Much good they are now, to be sure!"

"Why, granny, what is the matter?" asked Nelly. "Don't you think it was
kind of the gentleman? I thought you would be glad to see me look so
nice."

"And so you do look nice, dear; and I am glad, only—But never mind. We
won't borrow trouble. Why don't you open your parcel and see what I
have got for you?"

Nelly uttered exclamations of delight over the contents of the bundles.
There were two nice new frocks, a gayly-striped petticoat,—even a
hoop-skirt. Another parcel held a pretty straw hat, trimmed with beads
and blue ribbons, a nice white handkerchief, and a pair of thread
gloves.

"Why, granny, all these for me!" exclaimed Nelly. "It never rains but
it pours. Just think of me with three new frocks at once, and a hat,
and all!"

"Mind you take care of them, for they cost a deal of money," said Mrs.
Ryan. "Ay, a deal of money," she repeated, nodding her head. "But I
won't have you called a ragamuffin again by these upstarts, that never
saw a rale lady or lord in their lives."

"Oh, the name didn't hurt me any," said Nelly, who could now afford to
laugh at her morning's trouble. "Words break no bones, you know you
say, granny."

"Ay, dear; but they break worse, sometimes. They break hearts; and
hearts can't be mended as easy as bones. Remember that, dear," said the
old woman, significantly. "And now put all the fine things away, and
get the supper ready; for I'm tired and weary."

Nelly obeyed, wondering more and more at her grandmother's unusual
mood. She tried to divert her from it by asking her questions about
Ireland and Kilmane Park. But, for once, the artifice failed of its
effect. Granny gave short though not unkind answers, and continued to
talk to herself in Irish, till at last Nelly grew scared.

"Don't you feel well, granny? Shall I go for the doctor?"

"No, dear," said Mrs. Ryan, rousing herself with an effort. "There's
nothing much the matter, but a trouble of my own that ye can't help.
And it's glad and pleased I am to see you so neat and handy, and to
know that the child of my heart has found friends to help her when—But
never mind that. Was it the park you was asking about?"

"Yes, granny; about the fountains you told me of, and the lake where
the young lord was drowned."

Mrs. Ryan plunged at once into the legend of the lake; and when Nelly
went out with her milk, she left her granny almost as cheerful as ever.

She went first, as usual, to Mrs. Vandake's.

"What book have you there?" asked Mrs. Vandake.

"My spelling-book, ma'am. I bought it myself," said Nelly, with
justifiable pride.

"But you need not have done that, child. Don't you know I promised you
one? I found it for you only this afternoon."

"I didn't like to wait, and you didn't like it, either, when I told you
of it," said Nelly.

"But you might have known. However, I don't blame you. I did put you
off, I know. Well, never mind; you won't want the spelling-book, but
you may have the Reader all the same."

Nelly thanked her, thinking that there was no end of presents that
day. After she had finished all her other errands, she went to Mrs.
Powers's; and it was with no small satisfaction to pupil and teacher
that she took her first reading-lesson of Kitty Brown.



CHAPTER V.

FOR some time Nelly's reading-lessons went on very prosperously.
Kitty, though not a very experienced, was a very zealous teacher,
and Nelly was extremely anxious to learn. Mrs. Powers herself took a
great interest in these lessons, and gave Kitty many hints as to the
best way of proceeding, besides now and then hearing a lesson herself;
and Nelly, whenever she went down to the shop with her work, carried
her spelling and reading book with her, to display her progress to
Miss Powell. She had learned to make tatting with great rapidity and
precision; and Granny Ryan, reviving the knowledge she had acquired in
her childhood, showed Nelly how to make several different patterns,—the
shamrock, or clover-leaf, the daisy, and so forth.

Nelly was now always clean and neat, with well-washed hands and face
and nicely-brushed hair; and Mrs. Kirkland, finding her both handy and
trustworthy, used to employ her in little matters about the store.
Sometimes she dusted show-cases, and baskets which were hanging up;
sometimes she sorted out worsted from a large box of coloured odds and
ends, which ordinarily resembled the box of coloured silks presented by
the fairy Disorder in Miss Taylor's Original Poems. Nelly was not in
the least aware that she was under close observation at these times;
but such was the case. Mrs. Kirkland and Miss Powell had a benevolent
design for her, and they were at the same time educating her for the
place and trying her fitness for it. Nelly was now earning a good deal
of money; and, as she had no occasion to spend it in a new dress, she
allowed it to accumulate in Mrs. Kirkland's hands.

Nelly had made up her mind, after some consideration, that her promise
to Mr. Lambert obliged her to go to Sunday-school at once, without
waiting till she should learn to read. How much her new hat and frock
had to do with this decision, I cannot say; but certain it is that she
presented herself at the school the very next Sunday, and was placed,
at Miss Powell's special desire, in her own class,—Miss Powell herself
undertaking to see that she had her lessons.

Fortunately for both Nelly and her teacher, the whole of the
intermediate department of the large school learned the same lesson,
five verses in the Gospel of St. Matthew every Sunday, to be recited
word for word. Nelly was soon able, with Kitty's assistance, to spell
out the lessons for herself, and Miss Powell showed her how to learn
them easily and perfectly, by committing one verse to memory every
day and repeating it many times over, reviewing the verses which went
before. Kitty, who had been learning verses and hearing the Bible read
ever since she could remember, was astonished at the interest Nelly
took in these lessons. Kitty never thought of learning more than her
allotted five verses; but Nelly always wanted to read on to the end of
the story, however long it might be. Especially was she interested in
any thing about heaven. It was a subject on which she was never tired
of thinking and talking.

For Nelly, though her condition had considerably improved since we
first saw her at her grandmother's gate, was not very happy. She was
a child of strong and deep feelings; she had—however she came by it—a
natural taste for every thing neat and pretty and graceful, and there
was very little in her own home to gratify these tastes. She would have
been glad to clean up the house and to put the garden in some kind of
order; but granny was very jealous of any interference within doors;
and as for the garden, where was the use in trying to plant any thing,
so long as Crummie was allowed to run at her own sweet will about the
place? In vain Nelly represented to her grandmother the convenience of
having lettuce and peas of their own raising, and the advantages which
would be derived from planting out the raspberry-shoots Mrs. Powers had
offered to give her. Mrs. Ryan thought the peas would want sticks; and
where were they to come from? and the cow—poor craythur—would break her
heart entirely if she had to be tied up at night.

"Do you think you know more than your granny that brought you up? And
where would you have been now, if I hadn't taken care of you? And now
you set yourself up to teach me! Sure you're growing proud, and ashamed
of old granny, that has worked and slaved for you all your life,
because you've got some grand friends all at once."

And then the old woman would break out into a passionate lament over
her hard fate and her child's ingratitude; and Nelly, vexed and
grieved, would give up the subject for that time, or she would lose her
own temper, and scold back again,—which was much worse; for it made
granny ten times more unreasonable, besides leaving a sore pain in
Nelly's own conscience, which lasted long after granny had regained her
good humour.

It was a certain case that granny was becoming more and more irritable
all the time. Perhaps she was only jealous of Nelly's new friends;
perhaps there was some other cause; but the old woman grew very hard to
get on with. Then Nelly disliked her work more and more. She did not so
much mind watching Crummie on the common, or driving her farther out
in the country, where the grass by the road-sides was fresh and green,
and where she could sit on a fence or a stone and work on her tatting.
But she hated putting on her old frock and going about gathering swill;
and she was always afraid that some of the ladies she saw in Mrs.
Kirkland's shop would recognize her. This did actually happen one day,
to Nelly's intense mortification. A lady who lived on the Avenue, and
to whose house Nelly often went for swill, saw and spoke to her.

"Why, Nelly, is this you? What are you doing here?"

Nelly coloured, and muttered something in answer; and when Miss Powell
came back she found her crying. It was some time before she could get
at the cause of grief; but at last out it all came, and a great deal
more,—ending with Nelly's old complaint, "There is no use in my ever
trying to be anybody."

"Nelly," said Miss Powell, gravely, "I am afraid you have a great deal
of false pride."

"I don't know what you mean, Miss Powell," said Nelly.

"Is there any thing wrong in gathering swill or feeding the cow?" asked
Miss Powell.

"No, ma'am; it is to help granny."

"Then it is right, instead of wrong."

"Yes, ma'am. But if I could only help her in some other way."

"If you could work in the shop, as I do, for instance, you would not be
ashamed of that, you think?"

"No, ma'am; I should be very silly to be ashamed of that. I should be
proud of it."

Miss Powell smiled.

"And yet, Nelly, a great many of the ladies you see here would almost
as soon gather swill, as you do, as work in the shop. There is a lady—I
tell you this in confidence, and you must not repeat it—who makes
tatting for us, and does beautiful embroidery. We pay her a great deal
of money every year, yet she is always in a fright lest some of her
genteel acquaintances should find out that she works for a shop; and, I
am sorry to say, she has told a good many wrong stories about it. What
do you think of that?"

"She is very silly," said Nelly. "I should think she would be proud of
earning money."

"On the contrary, she thinks it a degradation. She feels herself
lowered by it; and, if any of her fine acquaintances should meet her
here and see her receiving pay for her work, she would cry as bitterly
as you did just now, and with just about as much reason."

Welly blushed scarlet. "But, after all, Miss Powell, it is not nice
work," said she. "It is nasty, disagreeable work, and gets my hands and
clothes all dirt."

"That is a very good reason why you should dislike it, and why you
should want to do something better as soon as possible, but no reason
why you should be ashamed of it, so long as it is necessary. If you
were depending on other people for support while you could help
yourself, or if you were pursuing any dishonest course to obtain money,
you would have good reason to be ashamed of that; but you need never
blush to have people know that you do any kind of honest and necessary
work."

"I am ashamed of our house, sometimes," said Nelly. "It looks so
shackling and dirty, and every thing lies all about; while all the
places around are neat and pretty, and painted up so nice. I do try,
sometimes, to put things in order; but granny is put out when I do, and
says I feel above her."

"You see, granny has her pride too, Nelly. But I would not worry her
about it. She is growing an old woman, and, I dare say, does not feel
very well."

"Granny is very different from what she used to be," said Nelly,
after she had worked a while in silence. "It worries me a great deal,
sometimes."

"How different?" asked Miss Powell.

"She used always to be so good-natured," said Nelly; "nothing ever
seemed to put her out, hardly. And now every thing makes her cross.
Some days she frets from morning till night, and I can't do any thing
to please her."

"Poor granny!" said Miss Powell. "You must try to be very patient and
gentle with her, Nelly. Don't contradict her or try to argue with her.
Just let her have her own way."

"I do try," said Nelly; "but sometimes she provokes me, and I answer
back, and scold; and then I am always sorry."

"Yes; it is not a good plan. You must learn to have patience, Nelly;
and when you find it hard you must ask God to help you."

So Nelly did, and she tried very hard to keep the peace with granny.
But she was not happy. She had little comfort at home; and when she
thought about going to heaven, as she did whenever things went wrong,
she began to find herself oppressed with a new trouble. She did not
see how she was ever going to get there. Mrs. Brown had told her that
she must be good in order to go to heaven; and Nelly knew very well
that she was not good. She began to see new faults in herself every
day,—faults that she had never before thought of as faults. She tried
very hard to conquer them; but she did not always succeed, and they
were constantly coming up again when she thought them vanquished. She
always meant to talk the subject over with Miss Powell; but she could
not do so without confessing how naughty she was, and her pride (always
one of the strong points of her character) forbade her doing that. So
she went on with more or less of a load on her mind all the time,—doing
her best to conquer herself;—always defeated, soon or late,—and, with
the perseverance which she showed in every thing, always trying again.

It was now the middle of November. Nelly had learned to read pretty
well,—and also to write a little, by means of Kitty Brown's old
copy-books, which her careful mother had preserved. She had not only
learned to make tatting, in which she excelled, but also to sew more or
less neatly, and to do several different crochet stitches. She seemed
to have a natural talent for using her hands; and all she undertook
she accomplished with a deft quickness that constantly surprised Miss
Powell. Book-learning came a good deal harder; and Nelly was sometimes
inclined to give up in despair over her words of three syllables and
her first attempts at understanding figures. Nevertheless, she kept
on, determined not to be overcome, and encouraged by Miss Powell's
assurance that she would find it easier by-and-by. She had made a great
deal of tatting, and had kept a rude account of the number of spools of
thread she had worked up; and she was already calculating what sort of
a warm shawl she should buy for winter,—when something occurred which
upset all her fine plans.

One day she came home from the shop in excellent spirits. She had
learned some new work,—how to embroider with worsted,—and Miss Kirkland
had lent her a simple pattern, with the shades to work it, and a square
of canvas. She had asked the price of some pretty woollen shawls, and
calculated that she could afford to buy one and still have money to
spare for a present for granny. Moreover, Mr. Garland, the pastor of
the church Nelly attended, had recognized and shaken hands with her,
and had called her Miss Nelly. Nobody need laugh at Nelly. She had a
right to be pleased. It was a mark of respect, and showed her that she
looked like a lady.

Nelly had another cause of rejoicing that, day. She had at last opened
her mind to Miss Powell and told her all her troubles, and she had
learned that she was not expected to work her way to heaven,—that a
way had been provided, not for saints, but for sinners,—that Jesus had
died that she might live, and because He lived she should live also.
Nelly had not understood clearly all Miss Powell told her; she had
laid up a great deal for thought and future inquiry; but she felt that
God was her friend, that he was not a taskmaster, exacting from her so
much for so much, but that he was more desirous to have her in heaven
than she was to go there; that all her debt was paid and overpaid, and
her service was now a labour of love and thankfulness to Him who had
bought her with so great a price. Nelly felt as though she could never
commit another wilful sin. All the lingering flowers in the gardens she
passed, all the gay leaves strewing the side-walks under the maples,
every thing, from the clouds over her head to the beautiful soft wools
she held in her hand, had a new beauty in her eyes. As she approached
the gate, and remembered how utterly miserable she had been the first
day she saw Miss Powell, she could hardly believe she was the same
person.

As Nelly drew nearer, she was rather surprised to see the gate hanging
open, and Crummie with her head almost in at the door, lowing in vain
for her mid-day pail of water. Her grandmother was nowhere to be seen.
Much startled, Nelly hurried forward, and entered the house. The fire
was out, and granny sat on her stool by the side of the cold stove, her
pipe on the floor, her head between her hands, and rocking back and
forth, now and then giving vent to her feelings in a low wail,—that
terrible Irish keene, more harrowing to the nerves than almost any
other sound I have ever heard.

It was a long time before Nelly could get at the truth, through
her grandmother's passionate words and lamentations, her bitter
denunciation of the hard-hearted man who would turn Nelly upon the
street and herself into the poor-house, and her recollections of the
ancient grandeur and wealth of the Butlers, who would never have
demaned themselves to speak to the like of him; but at last all came
out.

She learned that Mr. Grayson, of whom her grandmother had bought the
place long before, had been to see her that morning. She learned, to
her utter amazement and consternation, that the place had never been
paid for, that it did not belong to them, and that they were likely at
any time to be turned out into the street.



CHAPTER VI.

IT is small wonder that Nelly forgot every thing,—even her new-found
hope,—and sat down for a few minutes in dumb despair. But she was not
one to give up long at a time, and the training of the past summer had
developed her natural qualities of determination and perseverance.
Presently she began to question her grandmother and to try to get at
particulars. But the old woman would do nothing but cry and lament and
wail, till Nelly's overstrained nerves began to give way under the
excitement. She found her voice and hands beginning to tremble and her
heart to throb violently; and she felt instinctively that it would
never do to give way. She turned and went out.

"Nelly, Nelly!" called the old woman. "Don't be after going away, dear!
Don't desert your poor old granny!"

"I am not going away, granny dear," said Nelly, gently. "I will come
back in a few minutes."

As she opened the door, she found poor Crummie waiting for her drink,
and expressing as much astonishment as a cow was capable of, at the
unwonted neglect.

"Poor Crummie!" said Nelly; "you shall not suffer, at any rate, as long
as I have any thing to give you."

She went to the pump and brought a pailful of water for the cow. The
familiar action did something of itself towards calming her agitation,
as duties performed, however simple, almost always do.

She stood by the cow while she drank, and then went into the little
shed and shut the door after her. When she came out, she had been
crying, and her face was pale; but she was calm and composed as if she
had received new strength.

"Come, granny," said she, cheerfully, as she re-entered the house; "we
must have something to eat, at any rate, even if we are turned out this
very night. I am going to kindle up a fire and make you a nice, strong
cup of tea, and some toast. You will feel better when you have eaten
something."

At first granny resolutely refused to touch any food; but Nelly's
coaxing at last prevailed. She drank one cup, and then another, and
then found out that she was hungry, and ended with making a good meal.

Nelly could not eat,—the food seemed to choke her; but the tea was
refreshing and comforting.

As granny's bodily wants were supplied, her spirits rose in proportion;
and by the time she had finished her sixth cup she was ready to cast
off all her anxiety and believe that something would turn up to make
all right.

"And what if we do have to leave the old shanty? It's only for a while;
and it's not much we shall miss it when we get back to Kilmane, where
they wouldn't have it for a dog-kennel."

Nelly found it hard to repress the impatient words which rose to her
lips at this speech. But she controlled herself, and answered quietly—

"Well, never mind that now, granny. I want to hear just what Mr.
Grayson said."

"Sure I told you what he said. What does it signify? and what could you
do, if you knew,—a child like you? Don't be setting yourself above your
betters, Nelly Ryan!"

Nelly had no intention of setting herself up. But she knew that, child
as she was, she would have to do all that was to be done; and she
persisted till, partly by coaxing, partly by a little mild compulsion,
she succeeded in extracting the whole story. The place had been about
one-third paid for at first; and, since then, Mrs. Ryan had kept along
by paying her interest, and a few dollars in addition, once or twice a
year. But this last year she had not even paid her interest; and Mr.
Grayson, getting out of patience, declared that he would wait upon her
no longer.

"How did it happen that you did not pay the interest this year, granny?"

"Sure I had other uses for the money; and what was ten or fifteen
dollars to him, that's rolling in riches?"

"But if it was his, granny, he ought to have had it. People want what
is their own, if they are rich, I suppose."

"And, if he was a rale gentleman, he'd never think of disthressing a
poor widow for a few dollars. But there's no such gentlemen here as
there is at home in old Ireland."

"I am sure, granny, they do things as bad in Ireland. Didn't you tell
me, only yesterday, how Sir Patrick Byrne used to live in Paris and let
his factor squeeze the people for their rent, and take their bits of
pigs and pull down the shanty over their heads? But never mind that,"
she added, hastily. "No doubt there's good and bad both there and here.
You did not tell me how it was that you didn't pay the money this year."

"And didn't I lay it all out for you, ungrateful child that you are,
for the very clothes that you go to church in, as fine as a paycock,
and me not a dacent rag to my back nor a roof over my head? Answer me
that, miss! And you coming and telling me how the ladies called you a
ragamuffin! A pretty thing, indeed, for you to throw it in my face, and
me turning meself out of house and home for your sake!"

"I didn't mean to throw it in your face, granny. I am sure you meant
to be very kind; and the things were just what I wanted. We won't mind
about that. What did Mr. Grayson say about our going out of the house?"

But no more was to be got out of granny, except wails and reproaches.

"Well, never mind," said Nelly, after a little consideration. "How much
money have you got in the house, granny?"

Granny did not know. It was all in the broken mug on the shelf.

Nelly counted it over, and found there were almost five dollars. She
then examined into the state of the provisions.

"There is flour enough for two weeks yet, besides the meal and the
potatoes, and the great piece of pork Mrs. Ward gave us when she shut
up her house. There is tea enough for you, and you don't want sugar. I
want to take this money, granny, to put with what I have at the shop.
May-be he will let us off, after all, if we pay all we can."

At first, the old woman was utterly opposed to this plan. It was only
throwing it away to pay it to that old miser; and what should they do
if they gave away all their money, forbye the cow, that must have her
food?

Nelly was by no means sure that the cow would not have to go too; but
she wisely forbore to say any thing about that at present. She reminded
granny that the milk-money would be coming in on Saturday, and would
be more than enough to supply all that was wanted, and then dressed
herself to go out again, asking her granny to have an eye to Crummie.

Granny murmured something about Nelly's thinking she knew more than
anybody; but she made no more active opposition; and Nelly set out on
her expedition,—without much courage, it must be confessed, but with a
determination to do her best.

Her first visit was to Miss Powell. The shop was full of people, and
Nelly had to restrain her impatience while Miss Powell sorted worsted,
matched beads, helped people to make up their minds whether they wanted
to work camp-chairs or brackets, and to decide between Persian patterns
and flower patterns, cross-stitch or Penelope stitch, chalk beads or
crystal,—and all the thousand and one things which belong to a retail
fancy-store towards holiday time.

At last, Miss Kirkland caught sight of Nelly's distressed face, and,
going to her relief, whispered to Miss Powell,—

"Do see what that child wants. She looks the picture of distress and
impatience."

Miss Powell slipped out and drew Nelly into a corner of the ante-room.

"Now, Nelly, tell me what is the trouble; for I am sure there is
something serious the matter. But be quick; for you see how busy I am."

In a few words, Nelly told her story, ending with, "I thought I would
see how much Mrs. Kirkland owed me; and, if she would pay me, I would
carry the money to Mr. Grayson. Perhaps he would let us stay on and
make up the rest by-and-by. And, at any rate, it would do no harm to
try."

"No harm, certainly; but perhaps a great deal of good," said Miss
Powell. "Is that your plan, or granny's?"

"Mine," replied Nelly. "Granny is rather for letting it go; but I
can't bear to do that. We have paid so much on it already; and then
the neighbours all know us, and we them, and they are very kind. We
mightn't do so well with the milk anywhere else."

"Very true. Well, Nelly, I will ask Mrs. Kirkland to run over your
account. She is very busy; but no doubt she will make time, as the need
is so urgent. Come down to the desk with me."

Mrs. Kirkland was very busy, trying to be on three different floors
and in six different places all at once; but on hearing the story, she
left all, and calculated Nelly's account, while the child stood waiting
between fear and hope.

"Well, Nelly, how much do you think I owe you?"

Nelly guessed about eighteen dollars.

"More than that, Nelly. I owe you twenty-five dollars and a half:
twenty-two fifty for tatting, and the rest for work that you have done
here in the store."

Nelly drew a long breath. "I did not think it was near so much. I did
not think what I did in the store was any thing. I never expected to be
paid for that."

"But I meant to pay you, my dear. You were a great help to me, and you
did your work faithfully and well. I hope you may do a great deal more
yet. Here is your money."

Nelly could hardly believe her eyes or her fingers as she turned over
the three clean bills,—two tens and a five. She had never had a tenth
part as much in her hands before.

"Now go on and see Mr. Grayson," said Miss Powell; "and do not be
frightened if he is a little rough at first. I do not think he is a bad
man; though he is often hard and harsh in his manners. I would go with
you, if I could. But I cannot be spared; and, after all, perhaps you
will do better alone."

You may guess how Nelly's heart beat as she ascended the stairs which
led to Mr. Grayson's office. A sort of mist seemed to swim before her
eyes as she opened the door and entered; and it was half a minute
before she could distinguish objects. When she could, she saw an old
gentleman sitting at a desk, near an open fire, and busily engaged in
writing. He just glanced round, and, seeing a little girl standing at
the door, he said, hastily,—

"No, no. No beggars here. Go away, child; go away."

"If you please, sir, I am not a beggar," said Nelly, with dignity. "I
came upon business."

"Upon business!" returned Mr. Grayson, laying down his pen and turning
round. "And what may be your business, child?"

"I am Mrs. Ryan's grand-daughter, that lives in College Street," said
Nelly.

[Illustration: "And what may be your business, child?"]

But Mr. Grayson interrupted her. "And you have come to beg your
grandmother off, I suppose?—eh? Wasn't I right in saying you were a
beggar?—eh?"

"No, sir," said Nelly, with a flush of colour in her cheek and a flash
of her gray eyes. "I have got some money of my own, that I earned; and
I thought I would ask you if you were willing to take that, and let us
stay a while longer and try to pay the rest."

Mr. Grayson laid down his pen, and pushed his glasses up on his
forehead to look at Nelly. He might have looked through all his
pictures and not have seen any thing prettier or more attractive than
the neat little figure before him.

"Come here, child," said he. "Don't be afraid. Come; I want to talk to
you."

Nelly approached; and Mr. Grayson turned his arm-chair towards the
fire, and drew her close to him.

"What is your name?"

"Nelly Ryan."

"How old are you, Nelly?"

"Going on fourteen, sir."

"And so you have earned some money? How much?"

"Twenty-five dollars, sir; and I have five dollars more."

"Twenty-five dollars!" said Mr. Grayson, surprised. He had expected to
hear of three or four dollars at the most. "Twenty-five dollars!" he
repeated. "Pray, how could such a chit as you earn twenty-five dollars?"

"I work for Mrs. Kirkland, at the fancy-store on the corner," said
Nelly. "I make tatting for her, and sometimes I help her in the store.
I didn't think it was so much myself, till she told me."

"Tatting!" repeated the old gentleman. "I think I have seen my girl
make something she called tatting. That is the work the ladies do when
they hold a pin in their mouth, isn't it?"

Nelly laughed. She could not help taking courage from this little joke
of the old gentleman's.

"Yes, sir; but I put my pin on my waist."

"But twenty-five dollars seems a great deal to earn in such work as
that, my girl. Are you sure you are telling me the truth, now?" Nelly
did not flinch under the penetrating glance the old gentleman fixed
upon her.

"You can ask Mrs. Kirkland herself, sir. I get six shillings a spool,
and I can make two spools a week, and sometimes a little more. Mrs.
Kirkland has tatting collars worth ten dollars apiece; but I cannot
make those yet," she added, modestly. "Miss Powell is going to teach me
when she gets time. She has taught me all I know, except to read."

"Oh, indeed! And who taught you to read?"

"Kitty Brown, that lives at Mrs. Powers's, sir."

"Oh! So Kitty taught you to read? And can you write, Nelly?"

"Yes, sir."

"And who taught you that? Miss Powell?"

"No, sir. I learned out of Kitty's old copy-books. Miss Powell showed
me a little, though; and I take my copy-book to show her when I go to
the shop."

"I see! I see! Why, Nelly, you must be rather a persevering little
girl, I think."

"I don't like to give up any thing when once I begin," said Nelly. "Is
that persevering?"

"That is persevering," replied Mr. Grayson, apparently much amused;
"and an excellent thing it is. And you say you have got—how much money?"

"Twenty-five dollars that I earned, and five dollars of granny's. And
please, sir, granny would have paid in the summer, only she spent the
money to buy clothes for me to wear to Sunday-school, because I cried
because a lady called me a ragamuffin. I didn't know it till to-day."

"Oh, ho!" said Mr. Grayson. "Well, Nelly, see here. I want to think
about this matter a little and to make some inquiries. You may go home
now, and come here again to-morrow afternoon. And Nelly, you had better
not take your money home, but give it to Mrs. Kirkland to keep for you.
Your house is not very secure, and something might happen. Don't you be
troubled, my girl," he added, seeing that Nelly looked disappointed. "I
mean to do exactly what is right by you and your granny; and, anyhow, I
sha'n't turn you into the street. I dare say I was rough with the old
woman this morning. You see, Nelly, people think that because I am rich
it doesn't matter whether I have my dues or not. So they try to cheat
me; and that makes me angry."

"Granny would not cheat you," said Nelly, rather indignantly. "She
never cheated anybody."

"Good for you, Nelly! Always stand up for granny." He put his hand in
his pocket, and took out twenty-five cents. "Suppose I give you this
for your own; what will you do with it?"

"Pay it to you for the house," said Nelly, slyly.

Mr. Grayson laughed. "That would be hardly worth my while, Nelly. But
what would you buy for yourself?"

"Some tobacco for granny. She is old, you know, and she can't do
without her pipe," said Nelly, in a tone of apology. "I wish she would;
for it makes the place smell so. But please, Mr. Grayson, I would
rather you would not give me any money just now,—not when we owe you so
much. It don't seem fair, somehow."

"Well, just as you like," said Mr. Grayson. "But I think granny must
have her tobacco."

He rose as he spoke, and, taking an empty wafer-box, he stuffed it full
of tobacco from a large jar which stood on his table. "There; give that
to granny. She never smoked any like that, I am certain. You see, I am
old too, and I don't know how to do without my tobacco, either. But it
is a bad habit, Nelly,—a nasty habit. Don't you have any thing to do
with it."

"No danger, sir. I can't bear it," said Nelly, thinking, at the same
time, how strange it was that Mr. Grayson should use it himself while
he condemned it in others. She did not know the enslaving force of
habit and appetite.

"Well, good-by, Nelly. Be a good girl, sleep sound, and come here this
time to-morrow afternoon."

"Well, Nelly, what news?" asked Mrs. Kirkland, as Nelly entered the
shop to deposit her money. "I don't quite know how to read your face."

Nelly repeated all that had passed.

"I think you may be easy," said Mrs. Kirkland. "I know Mr. Grayson
pretty well,—indeed, he is my landlord,—and I don't think he means
you any harm. But remember, Nelly, whatever happens, you have always
friends in Miss Powell and in me. I advise you to go home, make your
house as clean and nice as you can, say your prayers, and trust all to
God."



CHAPTER VII.

"WELL, and what did he say to ye?" asked Mrs. Ryan, as Nelly re-entered
the house, where she still sat on her low stool, just as Nelly had left
her; and then, before there was time to answer, "Sure I knew there was
no use in going to him,—only just throwing away your money, and leaving
me without so much as a penny to buy tobacco. But you're getting so
set-up with your Sunday-school and your fine ways, that you think you
know more than your own granny, that brought you up, and has seen real
ladies and gentlemen in Ireland, such as would never demane themselves
with work, as they do here."

"I have brought you some tobacco, granny," said Nelly, as soon as she
could stem the tide of words. "Mr. Grayson sent it to you himself; and
he was very kind, granny,—not cross at all."

"Sure he'd not be cross to you, and you coming to put money in his
pocket," returned granny, slightly mollified by the sight and smell of
her favourite refreshment, "and you looking and speaking as pretty as a
born lady, which you are! What did he tell you, dear?"

"He told me to come again to-morrow afternoon, and he would see what he
could do," replied Nelly. "He would hardly believe I had earned so much
by my work; and I dare say he means to go and ask Mrs. Kirkland herself
about it. But come, granny; do light your pipe and be comfortable, and
I will tell you all about it while I am getting supper ready. I am
afraid we shall be late with the milk."

It was not from any love of the smoke that Nelly urged granny to light
her pipe; but she knew from long experience that granny's good humour
was very much a matter of physical sensation. When she was comfortable,
she was usually amiable; when she was uncomfortable, she was almost
always cross. Mr. Grayson's tobacco was of very superior quality, and
granny's spirits rose with the smoke she puffed out, till she was ready
to believe that Mr. Grayson not only meant to allow them to remain in
the house, but intended to make them a present of it out and out.

Nelly was not so sanguine as that. She did not expect Mr. Grayson to
give them the house, nor did she see any reason why he should do so.
The most she hoped was that he would allow them to remain where they
were and pay for the place by degrees; and she determined in her own
mind that every shilling she could spare from her earnings should go
for that purpose. She finished up her work, and then set out to carry
round her milk, not forgetting to take her book with her that she might
read to Kitty Brown.

Kitty was secretly growing rather tired of these lessons. As long as
she was decidedly Nelly's superior in learning, she was very willing to
teach her, and felt a pleasant sense of patronage in so doing. But now
Nelly read and wrote as well as Kitty, if not better; she had learned
several sorts of work which Kitty did not know, and was always asking
questions which Kitty could not answer, especially about the Bible.
Kitty felt it rather a reproach to herself that Nelly, who had only
been to Sunday-school six months in all her life, and hardly ever heard
of a Bible before that time, should care so much more about it than she
did; and it annoyed her whenever Nelly talked about heaven, as she was
very fond of doing.

All these feelings were, perhaps, no more than natural. Kitty might not
be able to help having them, in the first place; but she could have
helped entertaining and dwelling upon them till she nourished up a
spirit of envy and jealousy towards her friend which made her feel like
saying and doing almost any thing disagreeable and spiteful. Hence,
when Nelly produced her Testament and proposed to read over the next
Sunday's lesson, Kitty answered, pettishly enough, that she hadn't time.

"It won't be but a minute, you know," pleaded Nelly, whose heart was
full of things that she wished to talk over with her friend; "and it is
such an interesting lesson! And oh, Kitty, Miss Powell was talking to
me this morning, down at the store, about heaven; and she says,—"

"You are always talking about what Miss Powell says, as if she was the
only person in the world," interrupted Kitty. "I guess my Sunday-school
teacher knows as much as she does, any day."

"I am sure I never said she didn't," said Nelly, a good deal hurt by
Kitty's tone and manner; "only, you know, we have always been over
the lessons together; and I thought you would like to hear what she
told me. I am sure I did. I don't hardly know what I should have done
to-day, only for that. It seemed—" added Nelly, reverently, "it seemed
just as though God sent it to me on purpose."

"Yes; that's very likely," said Kitty, half to herself, as she wrung
out her cloth with a good deal more energy than was necessary. "Do you
suppose God thinks so much more of you than he does of any one else, as
all that comes to?"

"Of course not," replied Nelly. "That isn't it. But Kitty, the Bible
says, not a sparrow falls to the ground without him, and the very hairs
of our heads are all numbered. That was the very first Bible lesson
I learned. And, besides, Miss Powell says that God does love me—yes,
even me—just as much as if there were no one else in the world; and so
why shouldn't he send me things just when I want them? It seems only
natural to me. If I love people, I always want to help them. Don't you?"

"You! Oh, you are a great saint, no doubt!" said Kitty, scornfully, and
feeling more and more provoked, she could not tell why. "For my part,
I don't set myself up to be better than other folks. I don't pretend
to be a saint. If I can get along and do as well as my neighbours, I
shall be satisfied, for my part. I never knew any good come of people's
setting themselves up as patterns. Look at Mr. Jenkins, how he treats
Abbey."

"Oh, Kitty!" said Nelly. "Didn't I hear you say, the other day, that
Abbey was enough to provoke a saint, and that you would like to see
your mother get hold of her?"

"Well, well," said Kitty, assuming the superior all at once, "I haven't
any time to stay here gossiping with you, Nelly. You had better take
your pails and go along. It Is growing late, and Mrs. Powers won't like
it. She doesn't like to have people hanging about the kitchen."

Nelly looked at Kitty for a moment without a word, and then, taking up
her pails, walked out of the kitchen, and shut the door behind her with
more than usual softness, leaving Kitty master of the field, but by no
means satisfied with her victory. Something told her that she had acted
a mean and cowardly part towards Nelly,—that she had broken her word,
and disappointed her friend; and her pride also told her that she had
been far from appearing to advantage, and that Nelly would have a good
excuse for despising her. All these feelings did not tend to make her
more good-natured or more attentive to her work; and the consequence
was that she first broke a valuable china pitcher, and then was so
impertinent about it that Mrs. Powers gave her a severe lecture and
threatened to send her home to her mother. Kitty went to bed and cried
herself to sleep; nor did she find any comfort in the thought that God
saw and noticed all she did. Kitty was afraid of God when she thought
of him at all. She did not love him.

Meantime, Nelly walked homewards with her heart full of grief and
perplexity. It seemed to her as though every thing disagreeable in her
life had all come together on this one day, which had begun so happily.
She loved Kitty with all her heart, and she racked her brains in trying
to think how she could have offended her. Perseverance was rather
natural to Nelly, and the habit of mind had become so strengthened that
she could not possibly understand that Kitty should have grown tired of
her undertaking. Then there were her lessons. She had always referred
all the hard words to Kitty, and now Miss Powell was so busy all the
time, she did not like to trouble her. Moreover, Kitty had promised
to help her with her sums, and had lent her a slate and pencil. She
did not feel as though she could keep on using them while Kitty was so
angry with her. And who would help her? or how was she to learn without
a teacher?

As Nelly walked along the quiet moonlit street, thinking of these
things, she almost ran against a lady who was just going in at her own
gate.

"Why, who is this?" asked the lady.

"Nelly Ryan, ma'am," answered Nelly, hastily brushing away the tears
which had run over her eyelids. "I didn't mean to run against you; but
I was just thinking of something, and I did not see you."

"And I was just thinking of you, Nelly," replied the lady. "Have you
all the customers you want for your milk?"

"No, ma'am; we could spare another quart since Mrs. Jay moved away."

"Mrs. Ward tells me that your milk is clean and rich, and that you
always give good measure," continued Mrs. Caswell. "I should be glad
to have you bring me a quart every evening, that I may have cream for
coffee. The milk I take now has no cream, and it seems to be half
water."

"We never put water in the milk," answered Nelly. "It is richer
sometimes than others, according to the cow's feed; but we never put
water in it. I can give you some to-night, if you like," she added,
holding up her unemptied pail. "Mrs. Ward only took a pint, and I have
a pint left."

"So much the better. Come in, and I will take it at once."

Mrs. Caswell turned out the milk, and Nelly stood meanwhile admiring
the neat kitchen,—pleasanter than many parlours,—the flowers on the
window-seats, the books on the shelf, and thinking to herself, "How
much I should like to have our house looking just like this! I wonder
if I ever could!"

As Mrs. Caswell returned the pail, she noticed the book under Nelly's
arm.

"What have you there?" she asked, pleasantly.

Nelly produced her large-print Testament and Psalms which Miss Powell
had given her, and which was clean and neatly covered, though bearing
marks of much use.

"I was going to ask Kitty Brown to hear me read my Sunday-school
lesson; but—she was busy," said Nelly, possibly stretching a point
so as not to find fault with Kitty. "I don't know all the words, and
sometimes she helps me."

"Oh, ho!" said Mrs. Caswell. "Well, Nelly, it is rather late to-night
for you to be in the street, so I will not ask you to stay now; but if
you will bring your book to-morrow evening, I will help you learn your
lesson."

"Thank you, ma'am. I shall be real glad," said Nelly, gratefully.

Here was another friend raised up in time of need; and Nelly, as she
hastened home, was more than ever convinced that God did love and
take care of her. She was grieved about Kitty's conduct; but in her
new-found sense of forgiveness, she was not disposed to be hard upon
her former friend.

"Everybody feels out of sorts, sometimes," she reasoned. "I dare say
something has happened to vex her. But anyhow, I am glad Mrs. Caswell
is going to help me; only I hope she won't be like Mrs. Vandake,—always
promising."

The next morning, Nelly was up with the sun, sweeping off the sidewalk
and steps, picking up the chips and sticks about the place, and piling
the wood up neatly. She then washed off the windows and doors, rubbed
up the glass with a newspaper as she had seen the boys do in the shops,
cleaned the stove as well as she could, and put the whole house in such
order as her means would allow. Granny always slept sound and late in
the morning, and Nelly rejoiced in having the place all to herself. She
felt, somehow, pretty sure of seeing Mr. Grayson in the course of the
day, and she meant to have every thing as decent as possible.

After breakfast, Nelly was not sorry to see granny dressing herself
to go out. They had an old neighbour, a distant relation of her
grandfather, who had moved away to the other end of the town; and
granny now and then made a pilgrimage to see and spend the day with
her. Nelly felt in her own mind that if Mr. Grayson did come, it
would be much better for granny to be out of the way. As soon as she
was left alone, she cleaned the floor in the best possible manner,
put every thing to rights about the room, and then, as it was a mild
Indian-summer day, she took her favourite seat upon the door-step,
where she could keep an eye upon Crummie. Her Testament lay upon the
step beside her, and she now and then looked at a verse of her lesson.

In the course of the morning, Mr. Grayson made his appearance, as she
expected. He had not much to say to Nelly, however. He looked at the
house, inside and out; examined the supports and the foundations; shook
his head over the fence and the garden; and grunted at the drain, or
what went by the name of one. He also examined Nelly's work, and asked
what she expected to get for it; inquired where she got her Testament;
told her she must be a good girl, learn all she could, speak the truth,
and learn to pay her way; and then went away, leaving Nelly in doubt as
to whether he was pleased or displeased by what he had seen.

Presently she saw him in earnest conference with Mr. Vandake. Mr.
Vandake was a carpenter and joiner, who also built cisterns, and
hung bells, and now and then did a little papering and painting, and
was the handy-man of the whole neighbourhood, doing little odd jobs
for everybody, and especially for Mr. Grayson himself, who kept him
employed more than half the time.

Nelly did not know what to think of all these observations and
consultations, and, therefore, wisely determined to think of them as
little as possible. So she turned her attention upon her work, and
employed herself as busily as she could, till it was time for her to
go to Mr. Grayson's office. Then, locking up the house and committing
Crummie to the care of a good-natured boy who was watching his own
cow upon the common, she set out upon her mission, not without some
misgivings, but upon the whole, with very good courage.

Mr. Grayson was sitting as before, writing by the bright open fire in
his office.

"Sit down, Nelly," said he, kindly, pushing a chair towards her. "I am
busy just now; but I shall soon have done."

Nelly waited accordingly. She had her tatting in her pocket (where she
now usually carried it), and, taking it out, she worked away busily
till Mr. Grayson should be at liberty to attend to her. She presently
became so much engaged in disentangling an obstinate knot that she
forgot all about every thing else, till Mr. Grayson spoke to her.

"Well done, Nelly! I like to see the minutes taken care of. Take care
of the minutes, and the hours will take care of themselves."

Nelly started and blushed.

"I have got into the habit of working at it every minute, so that I
don't know how to do without it," said she, in rather a tone of apology.

"So much the better, Nelly. I only wish all the young folks I know had
the same habit. But now put it away, and give me all your attention;
for I am going to talk to you very seriously,—as though you were a
grownup woman."

Nelly put away her work and prepared to listen.

"You see, Nelly, there are several things to be considered," said Mr.
Grayson. "It is not merely that your grandmother does not pay her
interest punctually,—though that is always annoying to a business
man,—but it is the state in which she keeps the place. It is an injury
to all the rest of my property to have such an untidy, tumble-down
concern in the midst of it. Nobody likes to buy a place next to such
slovenly neighbours; and it has really lost me the sale of two or three
lots."

"I see," said Nelly, as Mr. Grayson paused. "I should not like it
myself."

"Well, then, you can see that there was some excuse for my being
displeased. I have waited upon your grandmother, time after time and
year after year, more than I ever did upon any one else; because
she was poor and a widow, and I felt sorry for her. People say I am
hard-hearted and grasping, and all that, you know; and I don't know but
they are right, sometimes. But I have not been hard upon her."

"No, sir," said Nelly; "I don't think you have."

"But I can't always go on waiting," continued Mr. Grayson; "and I can't
have all the rest of my property injured. That would not be reasonable.
However, I am interested in you, Nelly, for your own sake. I have been
making inquiries about you. Mrs. Kirkland tells me that you are very
industrious and persevering about your work, that you are perfectly
honest and extremely desirous to improve. The neighbours tell me the
same thing,—that you are honest and punctual in your dealings about
your milk, always giving good quality and good measure."

Mr. Grayson paused and looked at Nelly, who blushed high at the praise,
while she wondered at what might be coming next.

"I have been thinking over the whole matter," continued Mr. Grayson,
once more; "and I have come to this conclusion. I shall let you keep
the place, and not ask you for any money, either principal or interest,
for a year, on the following conditions."

Nelly listened with all her ears and all her mind.

"You shall lay out all the money you have in hand in repairs upon the
house and the place. Mr. Vandake will do the work for you as reasonably
as any one. He works for me, and will follow my directions. That is the
first condition. Do you understand it?"

"Yes, sir," said Nelly.

"In the second place, having put the place in order, you shall keep
it in order. You shall keep the yard clean, both before and behind.
You shall not throw your dish-water and slops on the top of the ground
or into the street. You shall not scatter swill about. You shall keep
the cow tied up in her own part of the yard when she is not running
out; and, next spring, you shall either cultivate the garden or put
it into grass. You shall keep the windows mended and the fence whole.
On these conditions, and no other, you shall keep the place; and you
shall not be asked to pay any thing upon it till the first day of next
November,—that is, about a year from this time."

"But if I have the money, I should like to pay," Nelly ventured to say.

Mr. Grayson smiled. "Oh, very well. You may make a payment upon the
first day of May, if you have ten or twenty dollars to spare. Now,
Nelly, I expect you to keep strictly to these conditions; for I intend
to do so myself; and I shall not feel myself bound by my part of the
bargain unless you keep to yours. Do you understand me?"

"Yes, sir," said Nelly; "and I will do my best. But—"

"Well, but what?"

"I don't know what granny will say. She thinks there is no use in
keeping things so nice; and she will not keep Crummie tied up, whatever
I say."

"She must keep her tied up, or she won't have any place at all to keep
her in," said Mr. Grayson, decidedly. "Tell her so."

"Please, sir," said Nelly, "would you write it all out plain on a piece
of paper, so I can read it to granny and to myself? I can read plain
writing now."

"Can you?" asked Mr. Grayson. "Read the directions on this letter."

Nelly read, "Mr. John Webster, 96 Wall Street, New York."

"So you can read figures too! Do you know any arithmetic?"

"I am just beginning to learn," said Nelly. "But I haven't got any
slate, except Kitty Brown's; and she wants hers back." (For Kitty had
sent her word to that effect that very morning).

"Oh, she wants it back, does she? Well, Nelly, you shall not be
dependent upon Kitty for a slate any longer. Stop into the book-store,
as you go along, and buy yourself a slate. Tell them to charge it to my
account."

"I don't believe they will let me have it," said Nelly.

"That is well thought of. I will write you an order."

He wrote something on a paper and handed it to Nelly, who read, "Please
let Miss Nelly Ryan have a slate worth twenty-five cents, two pencils,
a steel pen and handle, and one quire of ruled foolscap paper."

"That will keep you going for some time," said Mr. Grayson. "Now go and
get your things; and tell granny what I say, and make her understand
that I am in earnest," he added, laying his hand on Nelly's shoulder.
"Remember, I am a man of my word. I have spoken to Vandake; and he will
do every thing necessary, at a reasonable rate. Good-by, Nelly."



CHAPTER VIII.

AS soon as granny came home, she inquired eagerly as to the result of
Nelly's interview with Mr. Grayson. She was by no means pleased with it.

"Sure he might give it to us out and out, and never feel the want of
it. And what's the use of laying out good money on the old thing, and
we may be going to leave it any time?"

"As to that," said Nelly, "we may leave any place at any time, you
know, granny. If we were at Kilmane Park, we shouldn't know whether
we were going to stay there. We should be just as likely to die there
as here. Mr. Grayson says the house is very good and firm, what there
is of it; and thirty dollars will do a good deal towards putting the
outside to rights,—mending the windows and the door-step, righting up
the fence, and so on. And you will see, when we get it all fixed up,
and the garden planted, and all, what a nice, pretty little place it
will be."

"And what is the cow to do?" asked Mrs. Ryan. "She will never stand it
to be tied up at night."

"I dare say she won't mind it after a little bit; and you know she
always stays in the shed at night in winter," said Nelly. "And, anyhow,
she will have to try it, if she is going to stay anywhere."

Granny still murmured. She thought they might as well let the place go,
and hire a room somewhere. As for Crummie, they could manage somehow,
or they could sell her.

Nelly exclaimed at the idea of selling Crummie. "And besides, granny,
we should lose all we have paid already. It would be like putting
seventy-five dollars right into Mr. Grayson's pocket; and I don't think
we can well afford that."

"And that's true too," said granny.

"And then how nice it would be, if any of the folks from Ireland should
come, to have a pretty place to see them in!" said Nelly, pursuing her
advantage. "You wouldn't like to have my lord, or even his lawyer, come
and find us living in a pig-pen, would you?"

Nelly was, in her own heart, rather ashamed of this last argument.
But it answered a better purpose than many a wiser one. Mrs. Ryan had
been all day talking with her old crony about the past and prospective
glories of the Butlers; and she assented at once.

"And there's something in that too. And it's very good tobacco the
old gentleman sent," she continued, filling her pipe. "And may-be,
after all, he means to let us have the place, only he wants it to look
decent, as you say. So just go on your own way, dear; and, as for
Crummie, what she don't like she may leave."

Delighted with the permission, Nelly hastened to get her grandmother's
tea ready, and then went out to milk, bestowing an extra amount of
caresses upon Crummie, as some set-off for the hardship about to be
inflicted on her. It was found possible to secure her in the shed,
however, without tying her; and the old cow submitted philosophically
to the restraint, much to Nelly's delight.

"I always said she had as much sense as a Christian," said she. "She
knows it is for her good, or I wouldn't do it."

Nelly did not forget to carry her Testament with her when she went to
Mrs. Caswell's with the milk; though, remembering how Mrs. Vandake
had disappointed her, she did not build much upon the promise. But
Mrs. Caswell was not one who made promises lightly, and when she did
make one she was apt to remember it. She heard Nelly read her lesson,
explained the hard words to her, and told her she might bring her book
and read every night if she chose.

"Have you ever learned any spelling lessons, Nelly?"

"No, ma'am. I read the spelling lessons in the first part of my book to
Kitty, but I did not learn them out of the book."

"Suppose, then, that you learn a spelling lesson to-morrow; and I will
hear you spell it in the evening. There are few things more important
than good spelling."

"Thank you, ma'am," said Nelly, much pleased. "I can learn it while I
am doing my tatting, can't I?"

"Oh, yes; very nicely. I wonder, by the way, if you are the little girl
Mrs. Kirkland told me of, who makes tatting so neatly and earns so
much? Do you work for her?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"Well, Nelly, I am glad to make your acquaintance. You had better begin
your spelling lessons with the words of two syllables, and learn two
lines. And be sure you call the letters right while you are studying
them. Good-night."

When Nelly went to Mrs. Powers's, she found the pan set ready for
her; but Kitty was nowhere to be seen. Kitty had had time to become
heartily ashamed of the way in which she had treated Nelly. She had
told her little brother (who chanced to come in while she was angry
about the pitcher) to go and ask Nelly for her slate. When she got it,
she would have been very glad to send it back again. But she did not
know how. She was not prepared to humble herself before Nelly and say
she had been to blame. So she hid herself in her own room, ashamed and
miserable, while Nelly poured out the milk, watching for her to go away
that she might come down and take care of it. Nelly, however, went out
so quietly that Kitty did not hear her; and another Kitty, who was also
keeping a sharp look-out, was quicker in her movements than the one
up-stairs: so that when Kitty Brown came down she found Kitty Whitecat
with her nose and whiskers in the milk-pan. Kitty sprang, and so did
Puss; and between them they knocked down the pan, spilt the milk, and
broke the dish,—all of which Kitty laid up against Nelly, as if it had
been her fault.

The next day the repairs began, and went prosperously on. The windows
were mended, the frames put to rights, the door new-hung, the fence
straightened up; and both that, the lean-to kitchen and Crummie's shed
received a resplendent coat of whitewash. Mr. Vandake found somewhere a
door-step with a rail and bench, which had been discarded by some one
for a more ambitious veranda; and this was mended up and set before
granny's door, where it looked, it must be confessed, rather more as if
the house belonged to it, than as if it belonged to the house. Nelly,
however, saw no fault to find with it, and looked forward with great
delight to the time when it should be warm enough to sit upon the bench
and work. A slight fence divided Crummie's portion of the yard from
the garden; and Mrs. Caswell promised to give Nelly plenty of flowers
to set out the next spring. I am not sure that Mr. Vandake had not
received some private directions from Mr. Grayson; but certain it is
that no thirty dollars ever effected such an amount of repairs before.
Nelly ceased to regret her new shawl, as she saw the altered aspect of
the place; and even granny admitted that the money was well laid out.

Meantime, Nelly was going on with her work and her lessons, busy as a
little girl could well be. She learned a spelling lesson every day; and
soon Mrs. Caswell added a lesson in Colburn's Arithmetic, which Nelly
found much easier to comprehend than the one she had first tried. She
began to have an understanding of figures, and to handle them easily;
and this was soon to be of great use to her.

Kitty Brown watched with great interest for Nelly's lesson the Sunday
after their quarrel, expecting, and half hoping, to hear her miss,
and be reproved; but she was disappointed. Nelly recited with perfect
correctness, and received extra commendation. Kitty would have found it
hard to tell why she was displeased at Nelly's success; but displeased
she certainly was.

"I sha'n't trouble myself about her any more," said she. "She would
never have known any thing, only for me,—the ungrateful little thing. I
don't ever mean to speak to her again."

But Kitty did not keep her resolution long,—no longer than till she
went up home and found Nelly sitting upon the new front step, reading
her Testament. She had not been that way before, since the repairs
began, and could not help stopping to observe them.

"Oh, Kitty, is that you?" exclaimed Nelly, springing up to meet her.
"Come in and see how nice we look! I have been watching for you all the
afternoon."

Kitty could not, for very shame, repel Nelly's affectionate greeting.

"Why, you do look real nice! And what a pretty bench!"

"And just think, Kitty; I paid for it all myself; out of the money
that I earned this summer!" said Nelly. "I 'tatted' it," she added,
laughing. "Just think of making a fence and a front stoop all out of
tatting!"

"I can't learn to make tatting," said Kitty. "I tried a whole hour one
day, and I could not get it."

"Oh, I worked at it a great deal longer than that," replied Nelly. "I
don't know how many hours I kept at it; and then, when I did learn it,
I forgot it again. I did feel discouraged then,—after I had worked so
long, and then to find, when I tried again, that I could not do it,
after all. But I stuck to it, and by-and-by it came back to me. I don't
believe but I could show you how to do it."

"Oh, I don't care," said Kitty; "I wouldn't take the trouble. Why don't
you come to say your lessons now?" she asked, attempting to speak
indifferently. "Have you got tired of them?"

"Why, Kitty, I thought you did not want to hear me any more," said
Nelly. "You sent for your slate; you know. Mrs. Caswell hears my
lessons now," she added. "I read and say an arithmetic and spelling
lesson to her every day,—the arithmetic one day and the spelling the
next. She says I am getting on nicely."

"I didn't know you knew Mrs. Caswell," said Kitty.

"I carry milk to her now. She saw my book, and asked me of her own
accord. Wasn't it nice?"

"She is a real good woman, I know. She taught little Harry Mercer a
great deal. Poor little fellow! He didn't live long enough to have it
do him much good."

"And he has been in heaven just about a year," said Nelly, musingly.
"Yes, just a year. Don't you remember, it was the first Sunday in the
month?"

"Yes; I remember it was Catechism-day, and Mr. Willson spoke about it."

"I stood at the gate and saw them carry out the coffin," continued
Nelly. "I thought it was dreadful for him to be buried in the cold and
dark ground and left all alone; and that night I was afraid to go to
bed, lest I should die too. I didn't know any thing about heaven then.
When I was tired of living as we did, I used to think about granny's
stories and try to make them seem real to me. But they never did,
hardly; and when I loft off thinking about them and came back, every
thing looked so poor and mean to me, I couldn't bear it. I got to hate
those stories; and yet they were about all the comfort I had."

"You are a great deal better off now than you were then," said Kitty.

"Yes, indeed, in all sorts of ways."

"I am sure you don't look like the same child," continued Kitty. "You
are a great deal better dressed. But that isn't all: you look so much
more cheerful and happy."

"Well, I am," said Nelly, with emphasis. "I have learned to earn money
and help support myself, and that is a great deal; and every one has
been very kind to me. I never could have learned to read and write, if
you had not helped me; and Miss Powell taught me so many things, and
Mr. Grayson has been so good about the house. And then," added Nelly,
in the reverent voice with which she always spoke of such subjects, "I
have learned so much about God and heaven, and about the Saviour dying
for us: that is the very best of all. And then to think that he will
let me go to heaven and see him and live with him forever,—just think,
Kitty,—to be happy and good, and all for ever and ever,—for ever and
ever!"

Nelly dwelt on the sound of the words as if she loved them.

"You must think you are very good, if you are so sure of going to
heaven," said Kitty, with a touch of the old sarcasm in her voice.

"No, indeed," returned Nelly: "Miss Powell told me better than that.
Oh, how I did try and try to be good, all by myself! And every day I
did something wrong; and I thought, 'I shall never go to heaven at
this rate.' So at last I told Miss Powell how I felt; and she told me
how God forgives us and helps us and takes us to heaven, not for what
we do, but for what his Son has done for us. You don't know how much
easier it has seemed to be good since then. It is just the difference
between doing things for a task, and doing them for some one who has
been good to you."

"I believe you are a real Christian," said Kitty, her better nature
getting the upper hand. "I wish I was! but I seem to grow worse every
day. But Nelly, I was real sorry I treated you so about your lessons,
and about the slate. I never should have sent for it, only Harry came
in while I was real angry about something, and I told him to go and get
it. You don't know how I felt when he brought it next day; and I would
have sent it back, only I was ashamed. Don't you want it now?"

"Mr. Grayson gave me one," replied Nelly; "and I don't need a slate as
much, because I do my sums in my head."

"Well, it has all turned out for the best," said Kitty, rising. "Of
course Mrs. Caswell can teach you better than I can; but that don't
make it any better for me."

"Don't think any more about it," said Nelly. "Every one is cross
sometimes; I am sure I am. But I am so glad we are him friends again!"

"Nelly is a real Christian," said Kitty, as she went home. "I wish I
was!"



CHAPTER IX.

THE next week the repairs upon the house were all finished, and Mr.
Grayson came down to inspect them. It was with no small pride that
Nelly showed him all that had been done. She was beginning to consider
Mr. Grayson as a friend. The old gentleman looked about into all the
holes and corners, inspected the cow-house, and shook his head over
some litter by the back door.

"All very nice, Nelly, and a great improvement; and now the main thing
is to keep it nice. Unless you do that, you might live in the finest
house in town, and never have it either neat or comfortable. Do you
know what dirt means, Nelly?"

Nelly thought she did; but when pressed to define the word she found it
not so easy.

"Well, now, I will tell you how a learned gentleman defined dirt. He
called it 'something in the wrong place.'"

"I should think dirt was always in the wrong place," said Nelly. "I
don't see how there can be any right place for dirt."

"Well, but let us see," said the old gentleman. "Now, here
is the litter and stuff in the cow-house. Where it is, it is
dirt,—ill-smelling, disagreeable, and bad both for Crummie's health
and your own; but put on your garden and well dug in, it will become
manure,—enriching the ground and helping to produce all sorts of
pleasant and useful things. Look at those ends of rag and snaps of
paper blowing about. Lying round as they do now, they are dirt; but
put them in your rag-bag and they will help to make nice white paper.
Grease makes very ugly spots on the floor or your dress; but we could
have neither soap nor candles without it. Now do you understand?"

"Yes, sir."

"Now, if I were you, I would clear out the cow-house thoroughly and
spread the stuff on the land. You can either dig it in this fall or let
it lie till spring; but as the ground has never been cultivated, it
might be better to dig it at once, so that the frost and snow may help
to mellow the soil and make it fine and fit for planting. It will be
rather hard work for you, so I will let my man dig it for you the first
time; after that, you must keep it in order yourself."

"I will," said Nelly. "Mrs. Caswell says she will give me some
raspberry and currant bushes, and some flowers, next spring, and a vine
to plant at the end of the house and run all over it, like that one on
the church, which turns so red in the fall."

"My gardener shall give you a grape-vine, and that will bear fruit as
well as look pretty," said Mr. Grayson. "Now, Nelly, remember what I
say about keeping things neat. I shall take a look at you now and then,
to see how you get along."

Nelly seemed likely to get on nicely, except that her different
employments rather interfered with each other.

The next time she went down to the shop, she found no one but Mrs.
Kirkland and Miss Powell, trying to wait on a whole shopful of people.

"Oh, Nelly, you are just the person I was wanting to see! Alice has
taken this time, of all others, to sprain her ankle; and Miss Cameron
must needs go and be married!" said Mrs. Kirkland, as if marriage were
an unheard-of transgression, invented for her express annoyance. "Miss
Powell and myself are all alone; and you must take hold and help us.
Just get out the buttons for that lady. You know where they are."

Nelly complied, and plunged at once into the button business, and the
braid business, and the pin business, and endless other businesses,
surprising herself by the ease with which she remembered the places
and prices of things. She now and then found herself at a loss in
calculating and making change; but Miss Powell was at hand to help her,
and on the whole she made out very well, and gave satisfaction to her
customers.

Mrs. Kirkland found Nelly so useful that she could not spare her to go
home to dinner; so she stayed, and had her luncheon with Miss Powell,
on bread-and-butter and cold ham and chocolate, which Alice Kirkland
sent down to her mother. She could not get away till dark, and then
went home with a strict injunction from Mrs. Kirkland to come back in
the morning as soon as she had carried round her milk.

"What a useful, handy little creature she is!" said Mrs. Kirkland. "She
is worth more than any young girl I ever had. Who would have believed,
when she came in to return that pattern, early last spring, that we
should be so glad of her help in the store?"

"Nelly had one grand advantage to begin with," said Miss Powell. "She
was brought up to be strictly honest,—never to meddle with the least
thing which does not belong to her. She owes her grandmother an immense
debt of gratitude for that part of her education, at least."

"Yes, indeed. It is wonderful how few girls are to be trusted. They may
not take large sums or things of much consequence, but they are always
meddling. The servant I have now is good for a great many things;
but she constantly helps herself to tea and sugar, and to my thread,
needles and pins. Yet, if I should send her away, it is ten to one the
next comer would be worse,—would have all her faults, without her good
qualities. People often talk of common honesty; but I sometimes think
strict honesty the most uncommon thing in the world."

"I have watched Nelly closely, and I have never seen her take the
smallest trifle. She sometimes asks if she may have empty boxes or bits
of tinsel and ornamental paper; but I have never seen her appropriate
any such thing without leave."

Granny Ryan grumbled not a little at Nelly's long absence, and still
more at her going away again the next day. She complained of the
loneliness of being by herself from morning till night. But the truth
was, she began to grow somewhat jealous of Nelly, and to feel as though
the child was getting above her. Almost every one who has tried to
benefit children of Nelly's class has met with this feeling, and found
it a great hindrance. People do not like to have their children better
off than themselves.

Mrs. Ryan was not so bad in this respect as many others that I have
met; but she could not help a spasm of jealousy now and then. She
raised numberless objections to Nelly's going to the shop,—her own
loneliness, Crummie's needs, and the necessity of Nelly's going after
the slops for her.

But Nelly disposed of all in one way or another. She knew that Mrs.
Kirkland needed her services; and she felt, rather than thought,
that this was a turning-point in her life,—that on her action now
it depended whether she were to grow up intelligent, respectable
and comfortable, or whether she should live, like her mother and
grandmother, just contriving to keep soul and body together, and
tolerated by neighbours and acquaintances because no one knew what
to do with them. She felt that a permanent place in Mrs. Kirkland's
store was the summit of all her wishes; and she began to see that such
a place would presently be incompatible with the care of Crummie.
But leaving this matter to settle itself, or be settled by time and
circumstances, Nelly contented herself with meeting granny's objections
partly by reasoning, partly by jokes and coaxing, ending with—

"And you just dress yourself up by-and-by and come down to the store,
to see your own Nelly up behind the counter, waiting on the ladies, as
grand as Mrs. Kirkland or Miss Alice herself."

"And a fine place, to be sure, for the grand-daughter of an Irish earl,
to be selling such things!" grumbled the old woman. "But I'll not deny
that they have been kind to you; and your purty little fingers do look
more fit for silks and laces than to be handling slop-pails."

"You'll see," said Nelly, exulting in her success. "May-be, some day,
we'll have a nice little shop of our own. Who knows? Then you shall sit
in a nice white cap and a fine shawl, like Mrs. Grayson's own, and take
care of the money; and all the ladies will say, 'What a handsome woman
Mrs. Ryan is!' It's easy to see where Nelly gets her good looks," added
Nelly, archly.

"Get along with your blarney. You'd coax the very birds off the trees!"
said Granny Ryan. "Sure I hope to see you in your own drawing-room
before I die."

"And, then, think what a fine thing to know all sorts of nice work!"
said Nelly. "Well, granny, I'm off. Take good care of yourself and
Crummie, and I'll buy something good for supper when I come home. They
are selling the spare-ribs very cheap."

Nelly succeeded even better to-day than yesterday, and very proud she
felt to be left in the entire charge of the lower shop while Mrs.
Kirkland went out to the bank and Miss Powell was busy up-stairs.

"It is not every little girl I would leave in this way," said Mrs.
Kirkland; "but I know I can trust you, Nelly."

Nelly blushed high, and inwardly determined that she would never do any
thing to forfeit this trust. She made herself as useful as possible
that day and the next, and at the end of the week Mrs. Kirkland
proposed to engage her at least till after the holidays, at a regular
salary of three dollars a week.

"I should like it better than any thing else in the world," said Nelly;
"but I don't exactly see what I am to do. I must carry around the milk
in the morning and at night, and feed the cow. I don't see how I can
come before nine o'clock, now the mornings are so short."

"Could not granny carry round the milk herself in the morning?" asked
Mrs. Kirkland.

"I don't know: she used to, sometimes," said Nelly.

"I think I must go and see granny myself," said Mrs. Kirkland, who was
really anxious to secure Nelly's services, not merely for the child's
sake, but for her own. "I feel as if I must have you, Nelly."

"It is a great chance for me," said Nelly, "a better chance than I
could ever have expected,—and no one knows how I hate to lose it; but
granny is old, and she has her little ways; and you know she brought me
up the best she could, and never let me want for any thing she could do
for me; and I shouldn't feel it was right to go straight against her,
even if I was to gain by it."

"Very true, Nelly; and, as I was saying the other day, you owe granny a
great deal for bringing you up in such strict habits of honesty. Only
for that, I never would have taken you into the store as I have done."

"Granny was very particular about that," said Nelly. "Almost the only
time she ever whipped me, was for taking some fruit from a lady's
garden. She made me go and carry it back and ask pardon. But that was
when I was a little girl," added Nelly, with dignity.

Mrs. Kirkland smiled. "Well, I will call and see granny, in a day or
two. Meantime, you may carry her this red shawl, if you like, and tell
her I sent it to her. There are a few imperfections in it; but it is
warm and soft."

"I think it is lovely," said Nelly. "Granny likes red, and she is
always complaining of cold in her shoulders. If you do come and see
her, I wouldn't contradict her," she added, shrewdly. "I have always
noticed that after she has talked all she likes, and said all she has
to say, she will do almost any thing I want her to; but if I begin to
argue, there is no end to it."

"That is the way with more people than granny," said Mrs. Kirkland,
much amused. "Well, Nelly, I will attend to your hint, and see what I
can do; for I must have you, and that is all about it."

In going home that night, Nelly met with a grand surprise. She was
going to the past-office with some letters for Mrs. Kirkland, when, on
passing her favourite book-store, where the pictures were exhibited,
she saw Mr. Lambert's tall figure and silver beard towering above a
number of people who were looking at a large painting. Nelly had not
seen him for some months, and hardly expected him to recognize her; but
he pounced upon her at once.

"Why, Nelly, is this you? I have been meaning to hunt you up, ever
since I came home. How nicely you look! What are you doing now-a-days?
Making tatting?"

"Making a great many things," said Nelly. "I am in Mrs. Kirkland's
store," she added, feeling two inches taller. "I stay there all the
time now."

"I am glad to find you doing so well. But come, look at my picture and
see how you like it."

Mr. Lambert made way for Nelly, with very little ceremony, among the
crowd of gazers, and placed her in front of the picture. Nelly uttered
a cry of delight. There was Crummie, "as natural as life," cropping
the grass; and surely that was no other than Nelly,—that little girl
with the short black curls and the ragged red petticoat, working at her
tatting, under the chestnut-tree.

"Well, what do you say?" asked Mr. Lambert. "Does it look like you?"

"It looks like Crummie," said Nelly; "but I did not think I was as
pretty as that," she added, ingenuously.

"Then you never looked in the glass," said a gentleman standing by.
"Who is she, Lambert, and where does she live?"

"She is my little friend, Mr. Rowe, and she lives under very sufficient
protection," said Mr. Lambert, gravely, and with a look and tone that
Nelly did not understand. The gentleman laughed and turned away.

"So you like the picture, Nelly?" said Mr. Lambert, after she had
looked a while longer and was proceeding on her errand.

"Yes, very much," answered Nelly; "but I don't like that gentleman
speaking to me so," she added, with an angry flash of her eye. "I think
he was real impudent."

"And so he was. Don't have any thing to say to him, Nelly, in case he
ever speaks to you."

"I never do talk to strangers," said Nelly: "granny told me not to."

"Granny is a wise old woman, and, if you are a wise little girl, you
will be guided by her. But Nelly, I have something to tell you. Do you
know I have sold my picture for two hundred and fifty dollars?"

"Two hundred and fifty dollars!" repeated Nelly, in a tone of awe.
"What a heap of money! I am real glad you have got it, though; and
won't Miss Nelly be pleased?"

"Miss Nelly thinks more of spending the money than of the way it
comes," said Mr. Lambert. "But Nelly, some of this money belongs to
you."

"I don't see how," said Nelly; "I didn't do any thing to earn it, did
I?"

"Well, perhaps not, strictly speaking; but I should never have painted
the picture if you had not given me the idea and served as my model.
So I think some of the price is justly your due." He put his hand into
his pocket and took out his purse. "I should like to give you more, if
I could afford it; but you must accept this; and I hope it may do you a
great deal of good." He put a ten-dollar bill into Nelly's hand as he
spoke.

"I am sure I am much obliged," stammered Nelly, bewildered by this
sudden stroke of good fortune; "but somehow, I don't feel as if I ought
to take it."

"Nonsense!" said Mr. Lambert, lightly. "Don't say any more about that;
but tell me what you mean to do with the money."

"I believe I will buy a load of hay, if granny will let me," said Nelly.

"A load of hay!" exclaimed Mr. Lambert, in surprise. "What could put
that in your head?"

"Granny said if we could afford to buy hay for Crummie, I should not
have to gather swill," said Nelly; "and I should be glad to get rid of
that. And then it would take one thing out of the way of my staying in
the shop."

Mr. Lambert laughed. "You are the most practical child I ever saw,
Nelly. I wish my girl had half your sense. But what about going into
the shop?"

Nelly told him the story.

"Oh, you must go into the shop," said Mr. Lambert. "Tell your
grandmother I shall not paint her portrait if she does not let you go."

Nelly promised. "I do hope she will. It seems such a chance for me, and
I may never have another."

Whether it was Mrs. Kirkland's argument or Mr. Lambert's threat that
prevailed, I cannot say; but certain it is, granny consented that
the ten dollars should be laid out in hay, and that Nelly should
accept Mrs. Kirkland's offer. It was also found possible to make an
arrangement by which little Harry Brown carried round the milk to most
of the customers, receiving his pay in the same commodity.

Granny's remaining objections were quite overcome by her first visit
to the store, where she heard Nelly called "Miss Ryan," and saw her
engaged in work which the old woman acknowledged was "far more fit
for the likes of her than going round to people's back-doors with a
slop-pail."



CHAPTER X.

NELLY had now reached the height of her ambition. She was actually
employed in the same store with her dear Miss Powell, and under her
eyes,—in that same store which had so often attracted her longing gaze
as being a paradise of every thing-wonderful and beautiful.

She was learning something new every day. She had the pleasure of
feeling that she gave entire satisfaction to her employers, and of
knowing that even granny was gratified with her improved condition.
Yes, Nelly had attained the height of her ambition.

Like other and greater people, however, Nelly discovered that in
reaching this height she had by no means left all her troubles behind
her. The store was a very popular one, and Nelly entered at the busiest
season. They were thronged with customers from morning till night.
Nelly must learn to attend to two or three at once, to answer questions
upon two or three different subjects without becoming confused, to
remember where every thing was, and to employ every spare minute with
her crochet-needle; for there was a greater demand even than usual at
that season for babies' jackets and blankets, scarfs and afghans, and
all the other worsted articles in which Mrs. Kirkland dealt so largely.
She must learn to do all this, to preserve her patience and presence of
mind, and not lose her temper when, as now and then happened, customers
were rude or unreasonable. It was far harder work than tending Crummie,
and tried Nelly's nerves much more severely. No matter how hard she
might have worked or how far she might have run out-of-doors, she could
always fall asleep the instant she went to bed, and never wake till it
was time to get up. But now she found her work haunting her at night in
a very unpleasant fashion. The patterns she had been working stared her
in the face; she saw endless buttons, of all possible and impossible
styles, whenever she shut her eyes; and her dreams were tormented with
visions of wrong change, of bundles mis-sent, and customers hopelessly
offended: so that she seemed to rise in the morning as tired as she
went to bed. She began to grow thin, pale and nervous. Miss Powell
herself noticed the change in her.

"You are growing nervous, Nelly," said she. "What is the matter?"

"I do get so tired," said Nelly, laying down her work and leaning back
in her chair (a rare luxury, which a hopelessly rainy and slushy day
allowed her to enjoy). "I never was so tired before in all my life. I
used to think it was very hard work running after Crummie; but it did
not weary me any thing like so much as this does. It makes my head so
tired!"

"I am afraid you carry too much of your work home with you," said Miss
Powell. "Don't you sit up at night to work?"

"No, ma'am granny won't let me."

"I am glad she has so much sense. But Nelly, you must learn not to
carry it in your mind, either. Try, as soon as you get home, to put
every thing which concerns the shop out of your head, and think about
something else."

"I do try," said Nelly; "but I don't make out very well; and I get
so fidgety in the store,—so afraid of making mistakes in change, or
prices, or something! I do want to do just right and please Mrs.
Kirkland. But I am afraid I never shall learn. I am afraid she doesn't
like me, after all; and I do so—"

Nelly's voice was lost in the tears which would come in spite of her.

Miss Powell laid down her work and took Nelly's hand in her own.

"You are a little fanciful, my child. Why should you think that you
don't please Mrs. Kirkland?"

"She looks so sober," said Nelly; "and she hardly spoke to me all day
yesterday."

"Is that all?" asked Miss Powell. "You don't consider, Nelly, how much
care Mrs. Kirkland has on her mind. She has all her business, in the
first place; then she is uneasy about Miss Alice, whose ankle does not
get any better; and she has other troubles more serious still. But
she is so far from being displeased with you, that I heard her tell
Mr. Willson only last night what a comfort and help you were to her.
She said you repaid her twice over for all she had ever done for you;
for, though you made mistakes sometimes, you were honest and faithful
in sight and out of sight: you did not idle away half your time in
gossiping or looking out of the window the moment her back was turned."

Nelly blushed high with delight. "I am sure I want to please her," said
she, earnestly.

"And you do please her: so you may set your heart at rest about that.
And as for the rest, Nelly, do you remember the chant they sung in
church yesterday morning before service?"

"Yes, ma'am: it was, 'Cast thy burden on the Lord, and he shall sustain
thee.' I thought it was beautiful. I kept singing it all the afternoon."

"But I fear you did not think of applying it to your own case, Nelly.
Why don't you do the same thing? Why don't you cast your burden on the
Lord, and trust him to sustain you?"

"I don't know," replied Nelly. "I never thought I could."

"Try it, and see. Tell him all about what troubles you."

"What!" interrupted Nelly. "About my puzzles in making change and
remembering the prices of things?"

"Yes, to be sure. Why not?"

"I did want to; but I did not know as it would be right," said Nelly.
"Kitty Brown says she does not believe it is right to pray about such
things,—only about our souls."

"I rather think Kitty has not looked into her Catechism lately," said
Miss Powell. "Are we not to ask God to give us all things needful for
our souls and bodies?"

"Yes, ma'am. I didn't think of that, though, when we were talking about
it."

"You need never be afraid to ask God for any thing," said Miss Powell.
"If you have a desire that you are afraid to ask God to bless, be sure
that desire is wrong and ought to be put down."

"It can't be wrong for me to want to keep my place and earn money to
pay for our house," said Nelly.

"No, indeed. But Nelly, you must pray in faith, my child. You must not
ask God in the morning to give you strength and wisdom to do your duty
through the day, and then go on worrying for fear you shall not do it.
That would be casting your burden upon the Lord and then taking it up
and carrying it away again. A great many people go on in that way all
their lives, and get very little good from it. You must ask him to help
you and then believe he will, and go on in the strength of that prayer.
Try it, and see if he does not keep his promise."

Nelly followed her friend's advice, and found, as every one will
who honestly trusts Him, that he does keep his promise. She strove
resolutely to put away all thoughts of the store and her work as
soon as she went to bed, and to give her last waking thoughts to
God, by repeating the hymns, verses and prayers she had learned in
Sunday-school. She presently found herself beginning to sleep much
better, and her work no longer troubled her dreams. Mrs. Kirkland took
care to send her upon all the errands, and Nelly found the exercise
very beneficial to her.

It troubled Nelly a good deal that she had so little time for her
lessons. She could not go to Mrs. Caswell with her arithmetic more
than twice a week, and then she found time to prepare only a very
short recitation. She comforted herself with the thought that she was
learning in one way, if not in another (which was true; for she was
learning to be very ready in making change and calculating prices), and
also in thinking that she would have more time after the holidays, when
the rush of work and trade should slacken a little.

Nelly had another trouble in the store, which she did not mention to
Miss Powell, but which distressed her greatly. She was pretty sure that
she several times missed little articles, which had not passed through
her hands. They were not things of any very great value,—a stick of
braid of some special sort, a few odd buttons of some particular
pattern, a spool or two of coloured silk out of a box which should have
been full,—but Nelly was sure that they did not go properly. She could
not suspect any one in the shop. There was no one employed but herself
and Miss Powell down-stairs and Miss Lennox up-stairs. Mrs. Kirkland
was usually at the desk, busied, when not making change or engaged with
the books, in some wonderful piece of embroidery.

Nelly came to the conclusion that the thief was one of the habitual
customers of the store. She resolved to watch closely. She did so,
and at last made up her mind. The thief was that very lady who had
called her a ragamuffin while she was learning to make tatting on
her first entrance to the store! Nelly was very slow in coming to
this conclusion. She could not make up her mind to think that a lady
belonging to a respectable family; who had always been well taught,
always gone to church and to Sunday-school, could be guilty of
stealing. She even accused herself of uncharitableness and bearing
malice because the lady had affronted her. But the more closely she
watched the more sure she became that her suspicions were correct.

Then arose the very grave question, what to do about it? Suppose she
should tell her suspicions: would Mrs. Kirkland believe her word
against that of a lady, an old customer? Would she not run the risk
of losing her own place, without doing anybody any good,—that place
for which she had prayed and worked, and in which she was striving so
hard to give satisfaction? On the other hand, was it right to allow
her employer to be robbed? The thefts grew bolder and bolder every
day; and Kelly began to be afraid that she should herself be accused.
Mrs. Kirkland had missed some little articles; and Nelly fancied that
she began to watch her more closely. She could not ask advice without
mentioning her suspicions; and she did not like to do this till she was
quite certain. It was a great responsibility to fall upon the shoulders
of a girl like Nelly, and it almost weighed her down. She was conscious
that something should be done directly, and yet she could not make up
her mind what to do. But one thing she did know,—that God had always
helped her before whenever she had asked him; and she went again and
again to the same source of strength and wisdom. The light and the
counsel came at last, and from rather an unexpected quarter.

Granny had lately learned to take great pleasure in hearing Nelly
read, especially in the Testament,—at first from pride in the child's
achievements, but latterly from interest in the book itself. Granny had
rather fallen between two stools, if I may say so, in the matter of
religious belief. Her mother's family were Romanists; but the Butlers
were Protestants; and granny's mother, partly from pride, partly from
affection, had professed to follow her husband's faith; though, in
fact, she knew little about it. She had taught her little girl to call
herself a Protestant, and to feel a pride in adhering to her father's
religion and setting at defiance all the coaxings and persecutions
of her aunts and cousins. She sent the little Gracie to the Ladies'
school, instead of to the Sisters'; and, though Gracie was neither
very regular in her attendance nor very diligent when there, she had
learned her creed and some few rudiments of doctrine. She had always
called herself a Protestant, even after she married Tim Ryan (who was
a Romanist of the very-easy-going kind); but her religious notions
were dim and obscure. Such as they were, they began to be awakened by
Nelly's reading and by her accounts of what she heard in Sunday-school.
She began to take pleasure in recalling and repeating things which she
had learned in her youth; and when Nelly was away she would sometimes
take the large-print Testament Miss Powell had given the child, and
spell out a chapter by herself.

One Sunday afternoon, Nelly had been reading aloud the parable of the
talents. When she had finished it, she exclaimed at the stupidity and
laziness of the slothful servant.

"I'm thinking there was more than that the matter; though that's bad
enough, mind," said the old woman, shrewdly. "I'm thinking the poor
crater was a coward, me dear."

"How?" asked Nelly. "What was he afraid of, granny?"

"Why, ye see, dear, he would run some risk in trading with his lord's
money," replied granny. "He might lose it, or make some bad speculation
with it, and so be blamed when his lord came home; and he was so afraid
of being found fault with that he just did nothing at all,—which was
the very worst thing he could do."

"I see," said Nelly, thoughtfully.

"I remember a story that would show you what I mean—" continued granny,
"a true story, too, that happened in Ireland when I was a girl like
yourself."

"Oh, do tell it, granny!" exclaimed Nelly. "I love true stories."

"Well, you must know, dear, that one of my uncles—Martin was his name,
and a good, steady lad, but not wonderful knowing—was groom at the
great house,—that's not Kilmane Park, you understand, but Dunsandle
House, the seat of Sir Patrick Byrne. Sir Patrick was wonderful fond
of horses, and his children took after him,—especially his eldest
daughter, Miss Una, the boldest rider to hounds in all the county, and
as constant at the hunt as the huntsman himself. Well, there was one
horse in the stable that was a terror to all the grooms and to Sir
Patrick himself,—a chestnut mare. She was named Pooka; and you would
think an evil spirit was in her, by the look of her eye. Well, this
very mare it was, above all others, Miss Una was possessed to ride; and
ride her she would, for all her father and friends could say; and at
last Sir Patrick forbade the grooms to saddle Pooka for Miss Una. So
what does Miss Una do, but get up very early in the morning, open the
stable with a key she had, saddle the horse herself—"

"A young lady saddle a horse!" interrupted Nelly.

"Sure she could do it as well as any man; for she had been, as you
might say, brought up with horses,—more was the pity! So she saddled
the mare herself, and was off for a gallop before any of them was up;
and when Martin, who was head-groom, came to the stable, there was the
mare gone and the door unlocked. Here was a pretty to-do! At first,
Martin thought the baste had been stolen; but then he remembered that
she would never let a stranger touch her; and, looking about, he picked
up Miss Una's handkerchief; which she had dropped in the stall. That
gave him a guess at the truth; and while he was standing debating in
his own mind what to do, up comes Miss Una, with the mare all in a
foam. She started and laughed when she saw Martin standing there."

"'Ah, Martin, so you have caught me! but I was too quick for you,'
said she, giving her head a saucy toss, and looking beautiful, my
uncle said. 'I'm determined not to lose my rides on Pooka,' said she,
patting, the mare's neck."

"'And what am I to say to Sir Patrick?' said Martin."

"'What you like,' answered Miss Una, with another toss; 'only you will
repent if you tell tales; that's all.'"

"She wasn't much of a lady, anyhow," observed Nelly.

"We won't be hard upon her," said granny, gravely. "She was a
motherless girl from her birth, and had grown up as wild as a hawk,
petted by her father out of all reason one day and crossed out of all
reason the next. Well, you see, my dear, Martin was between two fires
if Sir Patrick knew that he had let Miss Una ride the mare, he would
be turned off, and may-be thrashed into the bargain,—for Sir Patrick
was a violent man; and again, if he made an enemy of Miss Una, he knew
what that would come to; for she was sure to have her own way with her
father, by hook or by crook, and it was a boast with that family that
they never forgot a friend or forgave an enemy; and the latter part was
true, whether the former was or not."

"The right way would have been the brave way,—of telling the truth, and
doing as he was bid; but Martin was afraid to do that. So he rubbed
down the mare and did the best he could with her; and when Sir Patrick
noticed that she did not seem fresh, he made some excuse, being mighty
knowledgable about horses. So every morning Miss Una takes a gallop on
the mare, and Martin saddles the beast for her; for he thought that
was one risk the less, anyhow. And Miss Una—poor dear!—was wonderful
pleased with having her own way, and gave Martin and Martin's wife many
a present; for she was laundress at the house, which was another reason
that Martin was afraid to tell."

"But now see the end. One morning, Pooka had been more than commonly
vicious and spiteful, and Martin begged and prayed Miss Una, on his
knees almost, not to ride her; but all in vain. He might as well have
talked to the mountain-torrent. So away she went in her beauty and her
pride; but she never, never came back alive."

"Martin waited and waited, blaming himself all the time, and wishing,
too late, that he had done the straightforward thing at first. Well,
it came breakfast-time, and Miss Una was not there, nor in her room;
and there was great wonderment where she could be, and no little alarm
and stir; for you must know there had been a love-affair between her
and her cousin, whom Sir Patrick had forbidden the house; and the
first thing every one thought, was that Miss Una had gone off with her
cousin."

"At last the stir came to Sir Patrick's ears; and when he found out
that Miss Una was missing, he raved like a madman about the house,
declaring and swearing that he would never see her face again. At
last he went down to the stable for his own horse, to follow the
runaways,—alas! alas! just in time to see the chestnut rush home
covered with sweat and dirt, the saddle turned half round, but no Miss
Una."

"They followed the track of the mare in the road till they found the
poor girl lying by the way-side, all torn and disfigured by having been
dragged over the rocky roads. At first they thought she was dead; but
as they lifted her to lay her on a turfy bank under a tree, she just
opened her eyes, and, seeing her father standing over her, she said,
faintly,—"

"'Papa, Martin was not to blame.'"

"I'm glad she said that, anyway," said Nelly, who was crying heartily
over the story.

"It was the last word she ever spoke," continued granny, wiping her own
eyes. "They made a litter to carry her home, but she breathed out her
life there, under the great ash that is called Miss Una's tree to this
day; and it was only her bleeding and mangled body that was carried
home to the great house."

"Sir Patrick was like one out of his mind, with grief and rage. He
cursed Martin so, it was awful to hear him; and not only that, but
he turned him and his wife away, and drove the whole family off his
land, where they had lived for generations,—since the flood, for aught
I know,—to wander where they would. He declared the mare should be
starved.* But Martin saved him from that sin; for he just took a pistol
and shot her dead before his master's face."

"So you see, honey," concluded the old woman, "it would have been far
better for Martin to have done his duty, leaving the consequences to
take care of themselves. He was a broken man ever after, and never
could sleep without dreaming it all over again. And, my dear, take my
advice, and always do the straight thing and the open thing, even if it
should seem to be the greatest risk in the world, and you be ever so
much blamed. The blessing of God shines on the straight path."

"And that's true," said Nelly, drawing a long breath, as if relieved
of a heavy weight; "and I'll do it, too, cost what it may. Thank you,
granny, for telling me the story."

* A fact.



CHAPTER XI.

WHEN Nelly went to the store next morning, she had fully made up her
mind as to her duty, and was resolved, by God's help, to do it, let it
cost what it might. She remembered granny's words, "The blessing of God
shines on the straight path." She had found it true heretofore, and she
determined to be guided thereby.

It seemed for a while as if she were to have no occasion for putting
her resolution in practice. Miss Bartlett did not make her appearance
for some days; and when she did, though Nelly watched her closely, she
could detect nothing wrong; nor did she miss any thing afterwards.

Nelly drew a long sigh of relief and thankfulness. "Oh, I do hope she
will never do so again! I do hope she has thought better of it! It
would be so dreadful if I should have to tell Mrs. Kirkland!"

But Nelly was not to get rid of her trouble so easily. It was only a
few days before Miss Bartlett came again. A case of valuable fans was
on the counter, none of which had yet been sold. Miss Bartlett asked
for some coloured braid; and as Nelly turned to take it down from the
shelf, she distinctly saw in one of the mirror-panels which decorated
the store that Miss Bartlett took up a pearl-carved fan and slipped
it into her muff. She turned back to the counter. One of the fans
was certainly gone. Miss Bartlett glanced carelessly at the braid,
pronounced it perfectly hideous, and then, taking up the muff, she
turned and went up-stairs. The next moment Nelly had restored the fans
to their place and was speaking to Mrs. Kirkland at the desk. Her face
was very pale, and her voice trembled; but she did not hesitate.

"Mrs. Kirkland, that lady who has just gone up-stairs has taken one of
those pearl fans. I saw her put it in her muff when my back was turned."

"How could you see her when your back was turned?" asked Mrs. Kirkland,
laying down her work and looking sharply at Nelly, but without any of
that surprise which Nelly had expected.

"I saw her in the glass," answered Nelly, without hesitation.

"Have you ever seen her take things before?"

"I can't say that I ever saw her," said Nelly; "but I have been sure
for some time that she did take little things. She hardly ever comes
here without my missing something after she is gone. But this time I
saw her; and she has the fan now,—one of those twenty-dollar pearl fans
that Miss Powell said nobody would buy because they were so small and
so expensive."

"Miss Lennox," called Mrs. Kirkland, "come down-stairs at once, please.
I want you."

"Now, Nelly, come up-stairs with me; and be sure you know that you are
right."

"I am quite sure," said Nelly, firmly. "I could not be mistaken."

Mrs. Kirkland found Miss Bartlett standing by the worsted-table,
selecting shades of wool, as unconcerned as possible. But Nelly thought
she looked a little startled as they entered.

Mrs. Kirkland looked about to see that no strangers were present, and
then said to Miss Bartlett, quietly, but with marked emphasis, "Miss
Bartlett, I believe you have taken something which does not belong to
you." Miss Bartlett coloured and then turned pale, and made a movement
to take up her muff,—an unlucky movement, as it chanced; for it flirted
the large pink silk and silver tassels of the fan into plain sight, as
though the fan had determined not to be accessory to its own abduction.

Mrs. Kirkland laid her hand upon it.

"Yes, this is it," said she, looking the young lady steadily in the
face, as she took the fan from its place of concealment. "It is
fortunate that you did not drop it in the street."

Miss Bartlett gave an affected laugh; but Nelly observed that her hands
trembled so that she could not hold the worsted.

"I suppose I took it up with my pocket-handkerchief," said she. "Your
girl, here, keeps things in such a litter and confusion that it is no
wonder one should do such a thing. But I dare say she finds her own
account in having things upside down. It makes it all the easier for
her to help herself."

Nelly coloured high with indignation.

Mrs. Kirkland answered, quietly, "Nelly does not keep things in
confusion, neither does she help herself. I wish every one with whom I
deal were as strictly honest as she is."

"Dear me, Mrs. Kirkland!" exclaimed Miss Bartlett, with an appearance
of virtuous indignation, "you act as if you thought I meant to steal
the fan. Of course it was an accident."

"It was an awkward accident," said Mrs. Kirkland, dryly. "Unluckily, it
is not the first of the kind which has happened. I have a great respect
for your father, Miss Bartlett, and I should be sorry to be obliged to
apply to him; but I must do so if any more of these accidents happen."

"There is no danger of any accident happening to rue in your shop, Mrs.
Kirkland; for I shall never enter it again."

"So you said before," remarked Mrs. Kirkland.

"And I will take care that none of my acquaintances do so, either,"
continued the lady, disregarding the interruption. "You will rue the
day that you ever set that beggar's brat to watch and spy upon me. And
I will be revenged upon her, too. I dare say she steals from you all
the time. Indeed, I know she does. I have seen her slip things into her
pocket."

"There! I would not say any more, Miss Bartlett," interrupted Mrs.
Kirkland. "You do not mend matters. As for your not coming here
yourself, I certainly prefer that you should not do so: I am not fond
of such scenes; nor can I afford to be robbed. As to Nelly, I know her."

Miss Bartlett took up her muff, and flounced out of the shop without
any more words.

"You have done well, Nelly. I am pleased with you," said Mrs. Kirkland,
who was a woman of few words. "You have acted with great presence of
mind, and saved me from a serious loss. I shall not forget it. Don't
say any thing about the matter, my dear. I do not want the unfortunate
girl to fall into disgrace by my means. The trouble will come upon her
and her family soon enough."

"But she could not have taken it by accident, Mrs. Kirkland," said
Nelly. "I saw her take it out of the case and put it in her muff."

"No doubt she did. It is not the first scene of the sort I have had
with her; but I did hope she meant to do better. I have been watching
her for some time, however. Now go to work on Mrs. Sprague's afghan,
and finish one of the black stripes as quickly as you can, that I may
begin the embroidery. You need not be troubled about what Miss Bartlett
said," she added, seeing that Nelly still looked uncomfortable. "I know
her, and I know you."

With a most thankful spirit, Nelly began the black stripe; and most
earnestly did she resolve to be more and more careful to do her duty.

"Granny, you were right," said she, when she went home that evening.
"The blessing of God does shine on the straight path. I have found that
out to-day. I can't tell you how, because Mrs. Kirkland told me not;
but you don't know how I thank you for telling me that story the other
day."

"If she told you not to tell, you had better not say any thing about it
anyway, honey," said granny. "Sometimes a thing slips out unawares, and
when it's out it's like the smoke out of the chimney, dear,—it can't be
got in again."

"Well, I won't," said Nelly: "only, granny, I do want to say one thing;
for it has been on my mind all day. I used to grumble because you did
not give me an education; but you did give me an education in one way,
and of the best sort. You taught me to be honest, and never to touch
the least thing that did not belong to me. I should not be trusted as I
am now, only for you. Mrs. Kirkland said to-day she would trust me with
any thing in the shop. I feel as though I had been very ungrateful to
you, granny; but I do love you."

Nelly's voice faltered, and she could find no farther expression, save
by throwing her arms round the old woman's neck and hugging and kissing
her in true Irish fashion.

"Sure you was but a child; and one don't expect gray heads on young
shoulders," said granny, taking Nelly on her knee, as if she had been
still a baby. "And it's true for you, Nelly. Your granny hasn't always
done the right thing by you. But I think I have lived in a kind of
dream all my life, dear," she continued. "I have always been thinking
and thinking of going back to Ireland and being a great lady; but I'm
thinking I shall go to a better country first, my dear."

"You don't feel sick, do you, granny?" asked Nelly, anxiously.

"No, dear. I have my health wonderful for an old woman of seventy-four.
But yet I am old, you know; and, of course, I have not as long to live
as I had forty years ago; and it becomes me to be thinking about the
place where I am hoping to go."

"I think it is much pleasanter to think about going to heaven than
about going back to Ireland, because that is a thing one can be sure
about," said Nelly. "And one never can be sure about any thing in this
world, because, somehow, the most likely things are the very ones that
never happen."

"And have ye just found that out?" said the old woman, smiling at
Nelly's very Irish mode of stating the matter. "That's a discovery was
made some years before you were born or thought of, my Lady Eleanor.
But it's true, for all that; and a good thing it is to think of. And
glad and proud I am to see my Nelly trusted and honoured. So now put
away your work a while, and read me another chapter before I go to bed."

Nelly met with only one more serious trouble this year; and that came
through her old friend Kitty Brown. Kitty had been for a time rather
shy of Nelly. She had formerly found it very pleasant to have some one
to patronize; and she could not help feeling rather aggrieved that
Nelly had so soon mounted over her head, and was earning so much larger
wages than herself. She forgot, as girls are apt to do, that she was
receiving board as well as wages. She fancied that Nelly was "stuck
up" and looked down upon her (which certainly was not the case); and
in her own heart she magnified what she had done for her friend, and
denounced Nelly's ingratitude in bitter terms. But as Nelly continued
to treat her in exactly the same way as before, she by degrees dropped
her coldness and stiffness, and returned to her former friendly manner.
Mrs. Powers frequently sent her down town upon errands, and she fell
into the habit of running into Mrs. Kirkland's store to gossip with
Nelly and stare at the customers, thus wasting her own time as well as
that of her friend.

These visits made Nelly very uneasy. She was glad to see Kitty, and
glad to be friends with her again; but she did not think it a very
good plan so far as Kitty was concerned, and she was pretty sure Mrs.
Kirkland did not like it. Then, too, Kitty was somewhat inclined to
take liberties. She had never been taught to look at things with her
eyes and not with the ends of her fingers; and as she leaned upon the
counter or occupied one of the stools, she was apt to take up articles
and turn them over,—sometimes pretty roughly,—to open boxes, and even
drawers. All these things annoyed Nelly greatly, and all the more that
Kitty did not seem to have the least notion that she was doing any
thing out of the way.

"Don't, Kitty," said she, one day, as Kitty slipped behind the counter.
"Mrs. Kirkland does not like to have any one go behind the counter."

"I only just want to look at these pretty boxes," said Kitty, still
keeping her place. "I wonder how much they cost?"

"They are three dollars apiece for the small ones. But please don't
touch them, Kitty," she added, in an agony, as Kitty took one down.
"There!" she exclaimed, hastily, as Kitty nearly let the box fall.
"Please do come away."

"Just as though I should do any harm!" said Kitty, scornfully. "I am a
great deal more used to handling nice things than you are. My! What a
lovely doll! Does it open its eyes?"

"You must not touch the doll, Kitty," said Nelly, decidedly; "and you
must not go behind the counter. Mrs. Kirkland said so."

"She is not here: so what harm will it do?"

"That is the very reason," said Nelly. "Mrs. Kirkland has left me
in charge, and I am responsible," she added, with a touch of that
stately pride which was as natural to her as if she had been indeed the
high-born heiress of Kilmane Park. "I would no more do any thing wrong
when she was away than when she was looking on: I would be even more
careful."

"Oh, you are a great person, no doubt," said Kitty, scornfully; but as
she spoke she hastily restored the doll to its place and came out from
behind the counter, looking rather alarmed.

"I don't want to be a great person, but I want to do what is right,"
said Nelly. "And please, Kitty," she added, with some hesitation, "I
would rather you would not stay here while Mrs. Kirkland is away. She
does not like the girls to have visitors in the store."

"Oh, very well, Miss Nelly Ryan," said Kitty, her voice trembling with
anger. "I suppose that is the same as telling me that my room is better
than my company. You are a mighty great lady, to be sure. You did not
use to be quite so particular when you were carrying swill about the
street."

"And you did not use to be quite so fond of my company," thought Nelly;
but she did not say so. She turned to rearrange some matters on the
shelf, and, in doing so, she took up the doll Kitty had been handling,
and discovered the mischief that had been done: one of the arms had
been almost broken off.

"Oh, Kitty, just see what you have done!" she exclaimed. "You have
broken the doll. What shall I do?"

"I don't believe I broke it," said Kitty, colouring. "It was just so
when I took it up."

Nelly shook her head. "I was showing it to a lady just before you came
in, and it was all right then. Oh, how sorry I am! Now I shall have to
pay for it, and it is worth four dollars,—almost two weeks' work."

"I don't see what you have got to do with it," said Kitty. "You did not
break it."

"No, but you did," answered Nelly; "and Mrs. Kirkland will say I ought
not to have let you touch it. Just see now, what trouble you have got
me into."

"You needn't be so cross about it," said Kitty, angrily; "and you
needn't lay all the blame on me, either. I dare say you broke it
yourself, showing it to the lady. Besides, you needn't show it to her
the first minute."

"I must," said Nelly: "she always tells me to tell her the minute I do
any mischief."

"So does Mrs. Powers; but I don't always, by a great deal," said Kitty,
laughing. "I broke a notch out of one of those blue china plates they
make such a fuss over, and I put it away at the bottom of the pile,
with the notch towards the wall; and Mrs. Powers has not found it out
yet."

"But Kitty, that don't seem right to me. It isn't honest."

"Pshaw! You are wonderfully particular, all at once. How long since you
felt so?"

"I always felt so," said Nelly. "Granny always told me—"

"Oh, you are a great saint," interrupted Kitty. "Of course you never do
any thing wrong. Saints never do; they are always right; and the people
who have done for them and taught them all they know, and helped them
on when they hadn't anybody else to care for them, are wicked sinners.
That's always the way with saints. For my part, I hate hypocrites."

"So do I," said Nelly, "and I don't mean to be one, either; and so I
intend to tell Mrs. Kirkland about the doll the very first minute she
comes in. She will blame me, I know, but I can't help it; and it will
cost me almost two weeks' wages; but I can't help that either. I must
say, Kitty, I think you did wrong about the plate. Suppose Mrs. Powers
finds the notch, as she is sure to do some time, and asks you about it:
what will you do?"

"I sha'n't borrow trouble about that," said Kitty. "Something will turn
up."

"You will have to tell the truth, or else tell a lie," pursued Nelly.
"If you tell the truth, she will be a great deal more angry with you
for trying to hide it, than if she had known it at first; and if you
are tempted to tell a lie—oh, Kitty, just think if you should!"

"Oh, pshaw! What a fuss all about nothing!" said Kitty. "I dare say
you can tell fibs when it suits your purpose. But I must go. Good-by,
Nelly; I hope Mrs. Kirkland won't turn you out of the store for
breaking the doll." And away Kitty ran, leaving Nelly to reflect upon
her words.

Suppose she should lose her place. It was possible; Miss Lennox had
been dismissed only the week before, for disobeying rules; and Mrs.
Kirkland had declared then that she could not keep any girl who would
not do as she was told. She did not see how she could have kept Kitty
away from the shelves, except by main force; but then she might have
told her before that she did not like to have people coming to see
her. Suppose she should let Mrs. Kirkland think that the lady who had
looked at the doll had injured it. It Was just possible, after all.
Things were often injured in that way,—no one knew how. Only yesterday,
a morocco shopping-bag had been found with the lock broken, and no one
could tell who did it. Suppose she should just say nothing about it,
but leave it to be found as the bag had been.

The temptation was a strong one,—the strongest that had ever assailed
Nelly in all her life. The thought of losing her place was dreadful to
her. How could she now go back to the old life,—to watching Crummie
all day and going about after slops, as she had done before? What
would granny say? What would the neighbours say? What would become of
her cherished plan of paying for their house and lot out of her own
earnings?

It was a terrible temptation, a fearful struggle; but Nelly was not
left to fight her battle alone: there stood by her One whom she saw
not,—One whose eye is always upon those who in faith and patience are
striving to follow and serve him. That Holy Spirit, for which she had
prayed in faith that very morning, came to her help, and enabled her to
pray again for grace to resist temptation; and He, without whom not a
sparrow falls to the ground, sent her assistance in her hour of trial.

"I will do right," said Nelly; "I will keep the straight path, whatever
happens."

Nelly leaned both her arms on the counter and buried her face in her
hands for a moment. She was so absorbed that she did not hear the
shop-door open, and she started as if she had been shot when somebody
spoke to her.

"What, Nelly! asleep over your work! Is that the way you attend to your
customers?"

"Oh, Mr. Grayson!" Nelly raised her head with a smile. There were tears
in her eyes, and she was rather pale; but her face had a quiet and
resolved expression.

"What! crying?" said the old gentleman. "Nay, that is worse than going
to sleep."

"I am not going to cry," said Nelly, brushing away the drops; "only
something troubled me; that's all."

"Troubled you! You have no business to have any troubles!" said Mr.
Grayson, gruffly. "When you are as old as I am, you may talk of
troubles. What can happen to trouble such a little shrimp as you? Come,
tell me all about it, and I'll advise you for nothing. When folks come
to my office for advice, I charge 'em a big price for it; but you and I
are old friends, Nelly. What's the matter?"

Mr. Grayson's voice softened, as he said these words, and his manner
was very gentle. Nelly felt attracted towards him and disposed to
confide in him.

"I don't know as I need any advice," said she, smiling frankly,
"because I have made up my mind."

"Well, but don't you know that is the very time? Half the people I see
make up their minds first and ask advice afterwards," said Mr. Grayson.

"I suppose they want to be advised to take their own way," said Nelly.

Mr. Grayson laughed. "You are a shrewd one, Nelly. But come, now; tell
me the trouble."

Nelly told the story, blaming Kitty as little as she possibly could.

"Oho!" said Mr. Grayson, rubbing his glasses. "And now what are you
going to do about it, Nelly?"

"I am going to tell the truth," said Nelly, with emphasis, and falling
back into her Irish, as she was apt to do when excited. "Sure my granny
said the blessing of God shone on the straight path; and I believe it's
true, sir."

"It is true; stick to that, Nelly," said Mr. Grayson, with emphasis.
"But what were you crying about, my girl?"

"I don't know but I shall lose my place," said Nelly, the tears coming
up again. "Miss Lennox was sent away, last week, for not keeping rules;
and it is against orders for the girls to have their friends come to
see them in the shop."

"Oho! so then I am breaking rules, too? I must buy something and become
a customer, or I shall be getting you into another scrape. And so you
cried because you thought you should lose your place? Was that all?"

"No, sir," said Nelly, hanging down her head and becoming at once very
busy with her crochet-needle; "it was because—because I was tempted to
tell a lie." Nelly fairly broke down, and cried heartily. Mr. Grayson
coughed, blew his nose, and took a pinch of snuff.

"Don't do it, my child. Never do that, whatever happens. Look here,
Nelly: I am an old man, and have seen a great many young men set out in
life, with more or less bright prospects,—some of them very talented,
some with only moderate abilities. I have seen some of them succeed
and become respected, and others go to ruin and drag their friends
down with them. But I have always seen this: the men who are perfectly
honest and upright,—who are faithful to their work and to their word,
honest in small things as well as great, not serving with eye-service,
but having their employer's interest at heart as much in his absence
as in his presence,—such young men invariably get on and do well, even
with a very moderate amount of talent; while those of an opposite
character, sooner or later, fall to the ground. Depend upon it, honesty
is the best policy, even as regards this world. Mistress Kirkland,"
he added, turning to that lady as she entered the shop, "I have been
giving Miss Nelly a lecture,—not exactly a lecture, either, but the
benefit of my experience as respects honesty."

"Nelly needs it less than a good many other people we know, Mr.
Grayson," replied Mrs. Kirkland. "I am happy to be able to say, with
truth, that I have found her a very faithful, honest girl. You may
guess that I have confidence in her, by my leaving her alone in the
shop so long."

"Oh, if I had made up my mind to deceive her," thought Nelly, "how I
should feel!"

"But now I must buy something, or I shall be breaking your rules,"
continued the old gentleman. "Nelly says you do not allow your girls
to have visitors in the shop; so I have no choice but to become a
customer."

"I have been obliged to make such a rule," said Mrs. Kirkland. "It may
seem rather hard, and of course it does not apply to you; but I have
had so much trouble that I found it the best way to forbid all visiting
in business hours."

"Quite right. Idle people are a great trouble to busy ones, and
they are always in mischief;—eh, Nelly? But come; show me some of
those beautiful, useless little work-boxes. I must buy my daughter a
Christmas present, I suppose; and the more senseless it is, the better
she will like it, of course. That's the way with girls;—eh, Nelly?"

Mr. Grayson made a great deal of talk about the work-boxes, trying to
beat Nelly down in the price, and ended by buying the most expensive
of the whole,—as well as the very pearl fan Nelly had saved from being
stolen. Then, bidding her come to his office when she went home, and
he would send granny some more tobacco, he took his leave. He was no
sooner gone than Nelly hastened to tell Mrs. Kirkland the whole story.

"You see now, Nelly, the use of the rule I made about visitors," said
Mrs. Kirkland. "You say you could not help Kitty's going behind the
counter, and I dare say that is true; but she has done the mischief,
and might have done a great deal more, and you are responsible."

"Yes, I know," said Nelly: "it will have to come out of my wages, of
course. I was afraid you would send me away, as you did Miss Lennox."

Mrs. Kirkland smiled. "You need not be afraid, Nelly. I should not
send you away in a hurry for any mishap that you were honest enough to
tell me of. Neither did I dismiss Miss Lennox for any one violation
of rules, but because I could not depend upon her in any thing. She
did nothing thoroughly; and if I trusted her to finish the least thing
by herself, I was sure to be disappointed. She did well enough when I
was looking at her; but the moment my back was turned she neglected my
interests and thought only of pleasing herself. I bore with her longer
than I should have done, because I was sorry for her mother and elder
sisters, who are hardworking and very poor. Now she is back upon their
hands again, in the middle of winter, with nothing to do. I am sorry
for them, as I said; but I cannot help it."

"The doll is marked four dollars," said Nelly. "You will have to take
it out of my wages."

"Oh, the doll can be mended easily enough; it only wants a little glue.
I am glad it is no worse. But Nelly, if Kitty comes again, and I am
here; just tell me. I want to speak to her."

"She did not mean any harm," said Nelly, desirous to screen her friend.

"No: I dare say not. Most of the mischief in the world is done by
people who don't mean any harm."

"I shouldn't have said any thing about her," continued Nelly, "only I
didn't see how I was to tell the truth without. I hate telling tales.
It seems so mean."

"Nothing can be meaner than telling tales for the sake of making
mischief," said Mrs. Kirkland. "It is almost or quite as bad as lying,
and always leads to it. I hope you will never do that. But you were
quite correct in telling me the whole truth; and Kitty has no right to
complain of you for doing so. The meanness was in herself, in running
away and leaving you to bear the blame. She will surely get into
trouble if she acts in that way."

"I am afraid she will; and I should be real sorry; for Kitty is a very
good girl in some things," said Nelly. "She has been very kind to me.
Please, Mrs. Kirkland, don't find fault with her about the doll. I will
tell her, if she comes again, that she mustn't stay."

"Very well, Nelly. I will say nothing about the matter, since you
desire it. Only, remember, she must not come again unless she has an
errand. It is wrong in two ways. It is wasting your time, which is
mine; and it is wasting her time, which belongs to Mrs. Powers."

"There is one thing I can't understand," said Nelly, presently. "When
Kitty gets angry at me, she always says, 'Oh, you are a great saint! I
don't pretend to be a saint.' I thought saints meant good people. I am
sure that is what the word means in the Bible."

"You are quite right, Nelly. You ought to be a saint; and there is no
reason why you should not be one. A saint is a holy person, one who
strives to serve God in all things, and to avoid every thing that is
evil. All God's people are 'called to be saints.' But because some
people have pretended to be saints who were not, therefore foolish
persons like Kitty use the word as a term of reproach. Their own
consciences condemn them for not trying to do the will of God, and
they like to excuse themselves by thinking that all who strive to live
strict and holy lives are hypocrites. I don't say this is the case
with all,—even all who know themselves to be sinners. I have seen very
wicked men who seemed glad that their wives and daughters were true
Christians. But it is often the case. Never mind, Nelly. You are called
to be a saint. God desires that you should be one: 'This is the will of
God, even your sanctification.' And he is as ready to give his grace
and his Spirit to you as to the greatest apostle or martyr that ever
lived. Mind, I don't say you can ever be as useful as St. Peter or as,
wise as St. Paul; but I don't know any reason why you should not be as
holy as either of them."



CHAPTER XII.

"WELL, did you get into a scrape about the doll?" asked Kitty, meeting
Nelly a few days afterwards.

"No," replied Nelly. "I told Mrs. Kirkland all about it, and she was
not angry."

"There! I knew it wasn't any thing to make a fuss about," interrupted
Kitty.

"But she said she should have been very much displeased if I had tried
to hide it. And she told me I must not have any more visitors in the
store."

"Mean old thing!" said Kitty. "And I was just coming down to see you
this very day. What time does she go to dinner?"

"I don't think she will go home to dinner at all to-day—" replied
Nelly; "we are so busy. And anyway, Kitty," she added, decidedly, "you
must not come and see me at the store unless you have an errand. I
shall lose my place if you do. And I am sure you would not want me to
do that, would you?"

"Of course not," said Kitty; though in her heart of hearts she perhaps
would not have been sorry to see Nelly brought down at least to her own
level. "But I think it is a shame. They are all just so,—making such a
fuss about the least thing, and having no feeling for people who live
with them."

"Oh, Kitty!" exclaimed Nelly, "I am sure that is not fair. Just think
how many things Mrs. Powers has given you,—your Bible, and your
thimble, and that pretty dress which your mother made over for you."

"A shabby old thing she had done wearing!"

"It was as good as new. You said so yourself," persisted Nelly. "And
Mrs. Kirkland and Miss Powell have never been any thing but good to me.
People have to be strict where there is so much going on."

"Oh, of course she is all right! Every one is all right but me. But
never mind. What are you going to do for Christmas?"

"I haven't made up my mind; only I shall buy a nice shawl for granny,
if I have money enough. I have been making her such a pretty worsted
hood, of this new pattern,—shaped like a little bonnet, you know,—and I
don't know how much I shall have left. I have not counted up my money."

"Do you suppose Mrs. Kirkland will give you a present?"

"I don't know. I have not thought any thing about it. I should like to
give Miss Powell something, if I have money enough."

"You couldn't give her any thing worth while," said Kitty. "She
wouldn't care for any thing you could afford to buy. You had better
spend the money on yourself, and get something decent to wear."

"I haven't thought of that yet. I suppose I must have a shawl. But I
don't want to spend any more than I can help."

A few days before Christmas, Mr. Lambert came into the store and asked
for Nelly. He had a square parcel in his hand, which he gave her,
saying,—

"I have brought you a little Christmas present, Nelly. It is somewhat
before the time; but I am going away to New York, and I wanted to give
it you with my own hands. Open it and see how you like it."

The parcel was quickly opened, and found to contain a fine large
photograph of Mr. Lambert's last picture (the one for which Nelly and
Crummie had sat) in a beautiful oak frame.

Nelly was delighted. "Oh, how pleased granny will be!" she exclaimed.
"She loves pictures, and she was so disappointed at not seeing this
one. Thank you very much, Mr. Lambert. I shall keep it all my life. I
hope Miss Lambert is well? Is she going to stay in school?"

Nelly asked these questions not only from a sense of civility, but
because she felt a real interest in Nelly Lambert, who had sent her the
first nice dress she ever had. She was surprised to see Mr. Lambert's
face darken at the mention of his daughter.

"She is well," said he, shortly. "She is not in school at present.
Good-by, Nelly. Be a good girl, work hard, and tell the truth, and God
will prosper you. Give my regards to granny, and tell her I wish her
joy of having a grand-daughter who is a comfort and a credit to her."

He shook Nelly by the hand, bowed to Mrs. Kirkland, and left the store.

"I wonder what ailed Mr. Lambert," said Nelly. "He always used to be so
merry."

"I suspect he is in a great deal of trouble about his daughter," said
an elderly lady who had been admiring Nelly's present. "She has been
sent away from school under rather bad circumstances—expelled, in fact.
They have kept it still, out of regard to her father; but, of course,
girls will talk."

"Oh, how sorry I am!" exclaimed Nelly. "What was it for?"

"I don't understand it, exactly. Three or four of the girls engaged in
a plot against the French teacher, of which Nelly was the ringleader,
and they nearly drove the poor woman out of her senses. Finally, they
dressed up a ghost and scared poor Mademoiselle into a fit and a fever,
which is likely enough to cost her her life. My grand-daughter tells me
that Nelly has always been at the beginning and end of all the mischief
in school, and would never learn a lesson, if she could help it. She
said Miss Birch had endless patience with her; but this last was a drop
too much."

"I should think so," remarked Miss Powell. "I do not know any sort of
mischief which deserves more severe punishment than frightening timid
and nervous people."

Nelly could not but allow that Miss Lambert had deserved her
punishment; but that did not prevent her from being very sorry. How
strange it did seem! She had always envied Miss Birch's young ladies,
as she saw them walking to church every Sunday; and she had thought,
how easy it would be for any girl to be industrious and good who had
so many things to help her. And now here was Miss Lambert, who she had
believed must be the best and happiest girl in the world, grieving her
father's heart, wasting her time, and doing what was really mean and
cruel. Nelly began to think that there was not so much difference,
after all,—that every lot in life must have its temptations, and that
it would be, perhaps, as easy for her to be good and please God in Mrs.
Kirkland's store as in Miss Birch's school.

"Well, Nelly, I suppose you will like to have your money before
Christmas, so as to lay it out to the best advantage," said Mrs.
Kirkland, that evening. "I dare say you have spent it all, in
imagination, ten times over."

"I thought I should like to buy a shawl for granny," said Nelly, as
Mrs. Kirkland handed her a roll of bills. "You know there is the
worsted for the hood to come out, as well as the doll which Kitty
broke."

"I have charged you with the worsted, and the doll was mended as good
as new," said Mrs. Kirkland. "Count your money, and see if it is right.
Always count money the moment you receive it; and then, if there is any
mistake, it can be corrected directly. Well, is it right?"

"No, ma'am," replied Nelly "you have given me a great deal too
much. You only owed me thirty dollars in all, and you have given me
forty-eight."

"It is all right," said Mrs. Kirkland. "I have been reckoning your
wages at six dollars a week for the last six weeks. Your services are
worth that to me, and there is no reason you should not receive their
value, as much as if you were ten years older. It is everything to me
to have a girl whom I can trust."

Nelly did not know what to say. She had never dreamed of having so much
money, all her own, at one time. Now, if Miss Powell would only go with
her to choose granny's shawl, she felt that her happiness would be
complete.

Miss Powell was very ready to do so, and they set out together. A warm
and handsome plaid shawl—good enough for any lady, Nelly said—was
purchased for ten dollars; and Nelly bought a good, serviceable, plaid
woollen frock and a pair of stout boots for herself, leaving the
subject of a shawl for future consideration. Twenty dollars and some
shillings did Nelly lay out that evening, besides a dollar for a little
blue-and-gold volume of poems, for which she had heard Miss Powell
express a wish a few days before. Then, with the rest of her money safe
in her pocket, and loaded down with her bundles, she hastened home,—as
proud and happy a little girl as could be found in Milby. Then came
the display of her purchases for herself, of which granny approved;
and mysterious hints of something else to be sent to the store in the
morning,—at which granny laughed, having also her own little secret.
The photograph was admired and exclaimed over, even to the contentment
of Nelly herself; and she went to bed, almost too tired to stand.

Next day was Christmas-eve,—and what wonders it brought! What a throng
of customers! What merry and happy faces! What calculations! What
wonderful purchases! What presents and pleasures to Nelly herself! Mrs.
Kirkland gave her a fine large basket, such as she had often wished
for, to carry her dinner and her work back and forth,—and an emery and
scissors besides. Miss Powell gave her a new prayer-book, with her name
on the side, in gilt letters. Miss Alice Kirkland sent her a nice blue
merino dress,—better than new, Nelly declared,—which, as Alice was very
tall, and Nelly short for her age, admitted of being made over to great
advantage. Finally, late in the day, a black man brought in a large
parcel, which he delivered to Nelly with a flourishing bow.

"Mr. Grayson sends you this, miss, with his regards and de compliments
of de season, and wishes you a merry Christmas, ma'am."

Nelly was quite overwhelmed, and could hardly gather presence of mind
to send back a suitable reply.

"Open your bundle, Nelly," said Mrs. Kirkland, laughing. "You are not
afraid of it, are you?"

"No," said Nelly; "only it seems so strange. I didn't ever expect to
have so many presents. It don't seem as if it could be for me."

"Mr. Grayson isn't apt to make mistakes," said Miss Powell. "Come,
Nelly; let us see."

Lo and behold! the parcel contained a nice warm shawl, just the thing
to match the merino frock,—a serviceable and substantial work-box, and
a package of the most wonderful confectionery in the world, with a tin
box of tobacco for granny. A note, attached to the shawl, said,—

"For my honest little friend, Nelly. From William Grayson."

"Well," said Nelly, "I don't know whether it is me or not; but I begin
to think I must have been turned into somebody else by one of those
Irish fairies granny tells about. I only wish I could ever do any thing
for anybody else: that's all."

"Perhaps you do more than you think, Nelly."

"But such a grand present!" said Nelly, reverting to her treasures, and
opening the box. "Just see, Mrs. Kirkland,—see, Miss Powell,—a real
silver thimble and all! Oh, how I do wish I could do something for him!"

"You might work him a pair of slippers, by-and-by, when we are not
quite so busy," said Miss Powell. "I dare say he would like that very
much. Now you had better be going home; and I would advise you to take
the street-car, for you will never carry all your treasures."

As Nelly got out of the car, at the corner nearest her own home, she
ran against Kitty Brown, who was walking slowly in the same direction.

"Oh, Kitty," she exclaimed, joyfully, "I am so glad to see you! Come to
our house and see all my nice presents,—and something else," she added,
mysteriously. "I know something—But oh, Kitty, what is the matter?" she
exclaimed, catching sight of Kitty's tear-stained face, by a gas-light.
"What has happened?"

Kitty burst into tears.

"I have lost my place, Nelly," she sobbed. "Mrs. Powers has sent me
away, and I dare not tell mother. Oh, I don't know what she will do."

"Oh, I am so sorry!" exclaimed Nelly, with real sympathy. "I thought
you liked it there so much."

"She sent me away," repeated Kitty, sobbing afresh. "Oh, Nelly, if I
had only done as you did about the doll,—only told her the truth! I was
unlucky, and broke several things; and, finally, I broke a beautiful
glass bowl with a foot to it. I ought not to have taken it in my hand;
but I wanted to look at it, and one day, when she was gone, I took
it down and dropped it. I dared not tell her: so I put the pieces
together and set them back as they were before, and she never found
out till to-day. Oh, how angry she was! She said she would not care so
much if I had only told her the truth at the time, though the bowl was
worth twelve dollars. And then she began to look, and she found all
the others,—the plate and all—and she said she would not have me any
longer, and sent me away. I have been walking in the street ever since
three o'clock this afternoon, because I dared not go home."

"Why, Kitty Brown!" exclaimed Nelly, very much shocked. "And without
your supper?"

Kitty nodded.

"Come right in and have some with me," said Nelly, with authority.
"Yes; you must, too. Granny will have mine all ready; and when you are
warm and have eaten, you will have more courage. I know just how you
feel. I remember how I felt when I thought I should lose my place."

"And that was my fault, too," murmured Kitty. "I have heard about
heaping coals of fire on people's heads; and I guess you mean to try
it, Nelly."

"No, indeed," said Nelly, indignantly. "I never thought of such a
thing. Don't you believe it, Kitty. I am not one of that kind."

"I don't think you are, Nelly. You are a real Christian; and I'm sorry
I ever called you a saint."

"It wasn't a very bad name," said Nelly, demurely. "We call the
apostles so every day. But now come in this minute. That's right.
Granny, how nice and light and cheerful it looks here! and how good the
tea smells! Kitty is going to have some supper with us."

"Sure she is welcome as flowers in May. And it's glad I am I made the
cakes for you," replied the kind-hearted old woman. "But what's the
matter, dear? You shouldn't have the tear in your eye this blessed
night, of all the nights in the year."

"Kitty has lost her place, granny," replied Nelly. "So no wonder she
feels bad. But I hope it will all turn out right yet."

"To be sure. There's a silver lining to every cloud. Remember that,
dears. If it wasn't dark sometimes, we never should see the moon. But
what have you there, my Lady Eleanor? Are you going to set-up a shop
yourself?"

Nelly's presents were displayed, and wondered over to her heart's
content. Then came the production of granny's shawl and hood; and the
old woman promised, much to Nelly's delight, to wear them to church
next day. Her own present to Nelly was a little felt hat trimmed with
blue, just the thing for church and Sunday-school. Nelly only regretted
that her blue frock was not ready to go with it.

"Sure I can tuck it up just for to-morrow; and you need not mind the
waist under your fine new shawl," said granny. "Give me the thread and
needle, till I try. And won't we be as fine as paycocks, just?"

"Here is something for you, Kitty," said Nelly, modestly. "It is only a
little basket; but I thought it would do to remember me by, and to hold
your working-things."

"I am sure it was very good in you to remember me at all, Nelly," said
poor Kitty, crying afresh. "I don't deserve it the least bit in the
world."

"Oh, my dear, we won't talk of deserts," said the old woman, busily
plying her needle. "Sure the good Lord don't think of our deserts when
he gives to us, or we should be badly off."

"If it wasn't for mother," said Kitty, sobbing. "But how can I tell
her? Oh, Mrs. Ryan, would you just go and see her first? It isn't that
I am afraid," she explained; "but she will cry and feel so bad."

"Indeed and I will, then. But come you with me, honey," said granny,
rising. "Poor dear! I don't wonder at it. Let me just step out and see
that the cow is safe. And Nelly, you hold the light."

"Just see where the crooked path leads, Nelly dear," added granny, as
she attended to Crummie's wants. "Here's poor Kitty, as smart a girl
as ever lived, and with such a dale of schooling and all, afraid to
face her mother on Christmas-eve, of all times in the year, losing as
good a friend as ever a girl had (for Mrs. Powers has been all that to
her), and all because she took to the crooked way,—because she put her
hands to what wasn't hers, and turned her tongue to what wasn't true
to hide the mischief. Oh, my dear, remember what your old granny tells
you,—remember, whatever happens, that the blessing of God shines on
the straight and honest path. Your granny left it once, when she spent
the money that was not hers to spend, because it was honestly owing;
and see what came of it. Only for the goodness of God, that raised us
up friends in our trouble, we might be in the poor-house this blessed
minute, instead of in our own home, with a good prospect of paying for
it in time, and my Nelly loved and trusted, and earning her own living
and more."

"I'm sure God is very good to us," said Nelly, with tears in her eyes.
"I never thought we should be so well off."

"Ay, indeed is he," replied granny, with emphasis. "And it's ashamed
I am to think how long I forgot him while I was dreaming and mourning
over vanities and nonsense,—over an inheritance in Ireland, instead of
an inheritance in heaven. Mind, Nelly, you are a lady born, for all
that; but dear, it is better far to be a child of God than to be a
grand-child of all the earls in Ireland. And now give me my fine new
shawl and hood, till I go home with poor Kitty."

"Oh, granny," cried Nelly, struck with a sudden idea, "suppose you were
to go to Mrs. Powers with her and ask Mrs. Powers to take her back and
try her again? You know she is such a kind lady, and she always did
like you. Do try."

"And that is a good thought; and there's no harm in trying," said
granny. "Anyhow, Kitty will be none the worse off if I fail; and it
will save the widow's heart from aching sore, if I succeed."

I am happy to be able to say that granny did succeed. Mrs. Powers had
already begun to relent towards Kitty; and granny's eloquence and the
little girl's tears prevailed. Mrs. Powers promised to take her on
trial for another month; and it was in a spirit of true thankfulness
and humility that Kitty said her prayers that night in the little
room where she had so often gabbled them over or omitted them
altogether,—the room in which she had never expected to sleep again.

I have little to add to Nelly's history. Before the next Christmas, the
house was paid for in full; and Nelly had still something to spare for
Christmas presents. That was seven years ago. You would hardly know
the place now. The house has been enlarged and improved; the garden
well planted, both with flowers and fruit. Nelly, a fine tall young
lady, earns nine dollars a week, and might easily get more, but nothing
will induce her to leave Mrs. Kirkland. She is forewoman now (for Miss
Powell is married), and every thing passes through her hands. She has a
large class in Sunday-school, and spends upon them more than ten cents
out of every dollar she earns; for they are very poor children,—poorer
than Nelly was when we first made her acquaintance.

There is a young woman, too, who comes to Nelly for work sometimes, but
who can do only the poorer sorts, on whom Nelly spends many a dollar;
for she is the daughter of one of her first friends. Can this be Nelly
Lambert,—this thin, faded creature, dressed in a poor attempt at
widow's mourning? Even so. Nelly ran away at sixteen with a worthless
scamp, whose acquaintance she made through a newspaper advertisement,
who first neglected and then abused her, enlisted, deserted, and was
finally shot as he was trying to make his escape a second time. Mr.
Lambert is dead, and his daughter has no dependence save the work of
her hands and the charity of old friends of her father's. People have
been very kind to her; but she wears out every one's patience by her
folly and her peevish ingratitude. Her health is giving way, and she
has no better prospect before her than a bed in the hospital in which
to spend her last days.

I am glad to give a better account of Kitty Brown. Kitty never forgot
the lesson of that Christmas-eve. She had much to struggle with; for
bad habits are not easily overcome. But she was in earnest; and she
learned where to look for strength and help in her struggles with
herself. Kitty is a useful Christian woman, earning the highest wages
as nurse in a wealthy family, because, the lady says, she is entirely
to be trusted.

Granny still survives, a hale old woman of more than fourscore, walking
to church every Sunday, and spelling out her large-print Bible with
the help of her glasses. She is still rather fond of talking about the
past glories of the Butlers and the splendour of Kilmane Park; and
Nelly listens with patience, and even with interest, thankful to know
that granny's portion is secured in that better kingdom,—an inheritance
incorruptible, undefiled, and which fadeth not away,—that house not
made with hands, eternal in the heavens.



THE END.





*** End of this LibraryBlog Digital Book "Nelly : or, The best inheritance." ***


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