y on the new dress. It was a pretty,
soft-tinted muslin, and made the round, plump figure look more nearly
approaching to attractiveness than it had ever done before.

"Well, I declare," said the farmer, surveying her with satisfaction,
"that does look nice and tidy. Now, if we could always have you, Miss
Graystone, to select my wife's dresses, and cut and fit them, and
afterwards tell her how to put them on, she would look, positively,
respectable."

"Here is a collar that I brought for you," said Clemence, pretending not
to have heard this doubtful compliment, and the delighted little woman
forthwith burst forth into a profusion of exaggerated acknowledgements
of her kindness and generosity.

"There, Amos Owen," she exclaimed, blushing with pleasure, "what do you
think of your wife, now? You can see by this time that she ain't the one
to be kept down forever, and drudge her life away. She was born for
better things." And stepping backwards, with a self-complacent smile and
toss of her head, the little creature, unfortunately unused to fineries
of any kind, planted her foot, which was by no means a small one, upon
the delicate fabric and made an awkward rent.

Clemence was ready to cry with vexation. Plainly, here was, at least,
another half hour's work for her tired fingers.

Mr. Owen gave a long, low whistle, and then a shout of derisive
laughter, as he turned and went out of the house. Clemence feared that
her cause was being irreparably ruined, instead of helped along, as she
so ardently desired, by this untoward event.

"Deary me!" said Mrs. Owen, "what _shall_ I do? I wish I'd never tried
to dress up at all. Just think how much that cost, and it's only a
stringy thing after all, and a great big rent in it before its ever worn
at all. I wish now, I'd got that calico that I wanted to. I should, if
_you_ hadn't persuaded me not to."

If a few tears fell among the pale, pink rosebuds, with which the
condemned article was dotted as plentifully as May blossoms, it is
hardly to be wondered at. Tired, overworked, and a good deal
discouraged, the pale young teacher might be pardoned for any signs of
weakness, though she needed to gather up all her sinking courage for the
future, that lay before her lost in shadow.

CHAPTER X.

Somewhat apart from, and forming the western boundary of Waveland, was a
lovely inland lake, by the margin of which Clemence had been accustomed
to spend many sad hours, since she