ce heard a lady say that she was
afraid the society there would be rather mixed; she was a very exclusive
person; but Solomon tells us that there is nothing new under the sun, so
I suppose we shall never be without our modern Pharisees and Sadducees.
The grand idea to me is that there will be room for all. I do not know
when the idea first came to me that it was a mean thing to live under a
man's roof, eating his bread and warming oneself at his fire, and all
the time despising him in one's heart. I only know that one day the idea
took possession of me, and, like an Eastern mustard seed, grew and
flourished. Soon after that Uncle Keith had rather a serious loss--some
mercantile venture in which he was interested had come to grief. I began
to notice small retrenchments in the household; certain little luxuries
were given up. Now and then Aunt Agatha grew a little grave as she
balanced her weekly accounts. One night I took myself to task.

"What business have you, a strong, healthy, young woman," I observed to
myself, severely, "to be a burthen on these good folk? What is enough
for two may be a tight fit for three; it was that new mantle of yours,
Miss Merle, that has put out the drawing-room fire for three weeks, and
has shut up the sherry in the sideboard. Is it fair or right that Aunt
Agatha and Uncle Keith should forego their little comforts just because
an idle girl is on their hands?"

I pondered this question heavily before I summoned courage to speak to
Aunt Agatha. To my surprise she listened to me very quietly, though her
soft brown eyes grew a little misty--I did so love Aunt Agatha's eyes.

"Dear," she said, very gently, "I wish this could have been prevented;
but, for my husband's sake, I dare not throw cold water on your plan. I
cannot deny that he has had a heavy loss, and that we have to be very
careful. I would keep you with me if I could, Merle, for you are just
like my own child, but Ezra is not young;" and here Aunt Agatha's
forehead grew puckered with anxiety.

"Oh, Aunt Agatha," I exclaimed, quite forgetting the gravity of my
proposition in sudden, childish annoyance, "how can you call Uncle
Keith, Ezra? It is such a hideous name."

"Not to my ears," she answered, quite calmly; "a wife never thinks her
husband's name hideous. He loves to hear me say it, and I love to please
him, for though you may not believe it, Merle, I think there are very
few men to compare with your uncle."

She could act