n these words. They
were always mourning for having no brother. Here was one who appeared
to be entirely alone. From not knowing exactly what to say, Margaret
opened the book Miss Young had laid aside. It was German--Schiller's
Thirty Years' War. Every one has something to say about German
literature; those who do not understand it asking whether it is not very
mystical, and wild, and obscure; and those who do understand it saying
that it is not so at all. It would be a welcome novelty if the two
parties were to set about finding out what it is to be mystical,--a
point which, for aught that is known to the generality, is not yet
ascertained. Miss Young and her visitors did not enter upon precise
definitions this morning. These were left for a future occasion.
Meantime it was ascertained that Miss Young had learned the German
language by the aid of dictionary and grammar alone, and also that if
she should happen to meet with any one who wished to enjoy what she was
enjoying, she should be glad to afford any aid in her power. Hester was
satisfied with thanking her. She was old enough to know that learning a
new language is a serious undertaking. Margaret was somewhat younger,
and ready for any enterprise. She thought she saw before her hours of
long mornings, when she should be glad to escape from the work-table to
Miss Young's companionship and to study. The bright field of German
literature seemed to open before her to be explored. She warmly thanked
Miss Young, and accepted her offered assistance.

"So you spend all your days alone here," said she, looking round upon
the rather bare walls, the matted floor, the children's desks, and the
single shelf which held Miss Young's books.

"Not exactly all the day alone," replied Miss Young; "the children are
with me five hours a day, and a set of pupils from the village comes to
me besides, for a spare hour of the afternoon. In this way I see a good
many little faces every day."

"And some others too, I should hope; some besides little faces?"

Miss Young was silent. Margaret hastened on--

"I suppose most people would say here what is said everywhere else about
the nobleness and privilege of the task of teaching children. But I do
not envy those who have it to do. I am as fond of children as any one;
but then it is having them out to play on the grass, or romping with
them in the nursery, that I like. When it becomes a matter of desks and
school-books,