their heads,
and the end of the matter was, Mr. Condy's purse-strings were
loosened, and the required amount of money handed over.

After thinking a good deal about the matter, Mary suggested, about
an hour after breakfast, that it would not look well for her and
Jane to be seen shopping, and Willie only buried the day before; and
it was agreed to send for Ellen Maynard, who always sewed in the
family when there was much to do, and get her to make the purchases.
This determined, Lucy was despatched for Ellen.

The reader will transfer his mental vision to a small but neat and
comfortable room in another part of the town. The inmates are two.
One, with a pale, thin face, and large bright eyes, reclines upon a
bed. The other is seated by a window, sewing.

"I think I will try to sit up a little, Ellen," said the former,
raising herself up with an effort.

"I wouldn't, if I were you, Margaret," replied the other, dropping
her work and coming to the bedside. "You had better keep still, or
that distressing cough may come back again."

"Indeed, sister," returned the invalid, "I feel so restless that it
is almost impossible to lie here. Let me sit up a little while, and
I am sure I shall feel better."

Ellen did not oppose her further, but assisted her to a large
rocking-chair, and, after placing a pillow at her back, resumed her
work.

"I can't help thinking of Mrs. Condy's little Willie," said Ellen,
after a pause. "Dear little fellow! How much they must all feel his
loss."

"He is better off, though," remarked the sister; but even that idea
could not keep her eyes from glistening. The thought of death always
referred itself to her own near approach to the thick shadows and
the dark valley.

"Yes, he is with the angels," was the brief response of Ellen.

Just at that moment the door opened, and Mrs. Condy's chambermaid
entered.

"Good morning, Lucy, how do you do?" said Ellen, rising. "How is
Mrs. Condy and all the family?"

"They are very well, Miss Ellen," replied Lucy. "Mrs. Condy wants
you to come there this morning and go and buy the mourning for the
family. And then they want you to come and sew all this week, and
part of next, too."

Ellen glanced at her sister, involuntarily, and then said--

"I am afraid, Lucy, that I can't go. Margaret is very poorly, and I
don't see how I can possibly leave her."

"O yes, you can go, Ellen," said Margaret. "You can fix me what I
want, and come home every nig