of
disposition.

To-night she tried hard at her tables, and all to no use. Her head
ached so, she could not remember them, do what she would. She longed to
go to her mother, whose cool hands around her forehead always seemed to
do her so much good, and whose soft, loving words were such a help
to her when she had to bear pain. She had arranged so many plans for
to-night, and now all were deranged by Bessy's new fancy for knitting.
But Mary did not see this in the plain, clear light in which I have put
it before you. She only was sorry that she could not make haste with her
lessons, as she had promised Jenny, who was now upbraiding her with the
non-fulfilment of her words. Jenny was still up when Tom and Jem came
in. They spoke sharply to Bessy for not having their porridge ready; and
while she was defending herself, Mary, even at the risk of imperfect
lessons, began to prepare the supper for her brothers. She did it all
so quietly, that, almost before they were aware, it was ready for them;
and Bessy, suddenly ashamed of herself, and touched by Mary's quiet
helpfulness, bent down and kissed her, as once more she settled to the
never-ending difficulty of her lesson.

Mary threw her arms round Bessy's neck, and began to cry, for this little
mark of affection went to her heart; she had been so longing for a word
or a sign of love in her suffering.

"Come, Molly," said Jem, "don't cry like a baby;" but he spoke very
kindly. "What's the matter? the old headache come back? Never mind. Go
to bed, and it will be better in the morning."

"But I can't go to bed. I don't know my lesson!" Mary looked happier,
though the tears were in her eyes.

"I know mine," said Bill, triumphantly.

"Come here," said Jem. "There! I've time enough to whittle away at this
before mother comes back. Now let's see this difficult lesson."

Jem's help soon enabled Mary to conquer her lesson; but, meanwhile, Jenny
and Bill had taken to quarrelling in spite of Bessy's scolding,
administered in small sharp doses, as she looked up from her
all-absorbing knitting.

"Well," said Tom, "with this riot on one side, and this dull lesson on
the other, and Bessy as cross as can be in the midst, I can understand
what makes a man go out to spend his evenings from home."

Bessy looked up, suddenly wakened up to a sense of the danger which her
mother had dreaded.

Bessy thought it was very fortunate that it fell on a Saturday, of
all days in the week, tha