other times of trouble."

"Oh," exclaimed Ernestine, with a sudden smile; she had looked very much
worried, for work or self-denial was distasteful, and yet it seemed so
near. But now she smiled and nodded brightly, "I know what I will do,
mama. I'll go on cultivating my voice and work hard, so that I may take
a position in some city church, where everything is so elegant and
prima-donnas get such immense salaries."

"Yes, dear, music is unmistakably your talent," said Mrs. Dering, and if
they had only noticed it, she did not smile, and her eyes, fixed on the
fire, were tinged with deep sadness for a moment. "Cultivate your voice,
and your fingers too; for the positions as prima-donnas are sometimes
lacking, then you have a little class to fall back on."

When no one was looking, Ernestine gave her head a decided little shake.
It would be altogether touching and delightful, to stand up in a choir
before a beautiful congregation, with a pale lily in your hat, the
sunlight through a stained glass falling all around, and sing something
pathetic, that would make people cry, and then have everyone say: "Such
a noble young girl, she does it to help her father." But a class! A lot
of little children to talk to, and teach, no one to ever see, or
compliment;--no! Ernestine would never cultivate her fingers; that was
sure.

"I'm a sort of jack at all trades," said Beatrice breaking a thoughtful
pause with a little sigh. "I play a little, sing a little, draw a
little, but I've no talent for either, or anything else."

"I know some one who is very fond of books and children," said Mrs.
Bering, with a suggestive smile.

"Oh! to be sure," cried Beatrice, brightening. "Teach, so I could. Well
now, I'll go right on, harder than ever with my studies, and work up the
French; I never can get German; I haven't the necessary twist to my
tongue."

Olive was studying the fire with an intense dreamy gaze. She did not say
what she would do, but every one knew, or at least supposed they knew.
Olive's talent lay in her pencil. Such wonderful pictures as she could
rapidly sketch, when the different moods took her!

"Well, I should like to know," cried Kittie abruptly. "What will Kat and
I do? We haven't got a shadow of a talent of any kind, and don't really
know how to behave ourselves yet; why, mama----,"

"I have you all fixed, dear," interrupted mama. "Just wait a minute."

"There isn't anything that I can do either," said Jean, with