o glory
and virtue. Topsy did not become at once a saint; but the life and death
of Eva did work a marked change in her. The callous indifference was
gone; there was now sensibility, hope, desire, and the striving for
good,--a strife irregular, interrupted, suspended oft, but yet renewed
again.

One day, when Topsy had been sent for by Miss Ophelia, she came, hastily
thrusting something into her bosom.

"What are you doing there, you limb? You've been stealing something,
I'll be bound," said the imperious little Rosa, who had been sent to
call her, seizing her, at the same time, roughly by the arm.

"You go 'long, Miss Rosa!" said Topsy, pulling from her; "'tan't none o'
your business!"

"None o' your sa'ce!" said Rosa, "I saw you hiding something,--I know
yer tricks," and Rosa seized her arm, and tried to force her hand into
her bosom, while Topsy, enraged, kicked and fought valiantly for what
she considered her rights. The clamor and confusion of the battle drew
Miss Ophelia and St. Clare both to the spot.

"She's been stealing!" said Rosa.

"I han't, neither!" vociferated Topsy, sobbing with passion.

"Give me that, whatever it is!" said Miss Ophelia, firmly.

Topsy hesitated; but, on a second order, pulled out of her bosom a
little parcel done up in the foot of one of her own old stockings.

Miss Ophelia turned it out. There was a small book, which had been given
to Topsy by Eva, containing a single verse of Scripture, arranged for
every day in the year, and in a paper the curl of hair that she had
given her on that memorable day when she had taken her last farewell.

St. Clare was a good deal affected at the sight of it; the little book
had been rolled in a long strip of black crape, torn from the funeral
weeds.

"What did you wrap _this_ round the book for?" said St. Clare, holding
up the crape.

"Cause,--cause,--cause 't was Miss Eva. O, don't take 'em away, please!"
she said; and, sitting flat down on the floor, and putting her apron
over her head, she began to sob vehemently.

It was a curious mixture of the pathetic and the ludicrous,--the little
old stockings,--black crape,--text-book,--fair, soft curl,--and Topsy's
utter distress.

St. Clare smiled; but there were tears in his eyes, as he said,

"Come, come,--don't cry; you shall have them!" and, putting them
together, he threw them into her lap, and drew Miss Ophelia with him
into the parlor.

"I really think you can make something of t