s, little pigeonholes, and
secret places, in which were kept all sorts of ornaments, some
precious, some merely curious, all more or less antique. To examine and
arrange these things gave Amy great satisfaction, especially the jewel
cases, in which on velvet cushions reposed the ornaments which had
adorned a belle forty years ago. There was the garnet set which Aunt
March wore when she came out, the pearls her father gave her on her
wedding day, her lover's diamonds, the jet mourning rings and pins, the
queer lockets, with portraits of dead friends and weeping willows made
of hair inside, the baby bracelets her one little daughter had worn,
Uncle March's big watch, with the red seal so many childish hands had
played with, and in a box all by itself lay Aunt March's wedding ring,
too small now for her fat finger, but put carefully away like the most
precious jewel of them all.

"Which would Mademoiselle choose if she had her will?" asked Esther,
who always sat near to watch over and lock up the valuables.

"I like the diamonds best, but there is no necklace among them, and I'm
fond of necklaces, they are so becoming. I should choose this if I
might," replied Amy, looking with great admiration at a string of gold
and ebony beads from which hung a heavy cross of the same.

"I, too, covet that, but not as a necklace. Ah, no! To me it is a
rosary, and as such I should use it like a good catholic," said Esther,
eyeing the handsome thing wistfully.

"Is it meant to use as you use the string of good-smelling wooden beads
hanging over your glass?" asked Amy.

"Truly, yes, to pray with. It would be pleasing to the saints if one
used so fine a rosary as this, instead of wearing it as a vain bijou."

"You seem to take a great deal of comfort in your prayers, Esther, and
always come down looking quiet and satisfied. I wish I could."

"If Mademoiselle was a Catholic, she would find true comfort, but as
that is not to be, it would be well if you went apart each day to
meditate and pray, as did the good mistress whom I served before
Madame. She had a little chapel, and in it found solacement for much
trouble."

"Would it be right for me to do so too?" asked Amy, who in her
loneliness felt the need of help of some sort, and found that she was
apt to forget her little book, now that Beth was not there to remind
her of it.

"It would be excellent and charming, and I shall gladly arrange the
little dressing room for you i