sity of exceptional and somewhat exclusive natures.

Corona grew strong slowly, and could do little for her brother's
people, but Frances was an excellent proxy, and Elliott Sherwood kept
her employed. Incidentally, Frances had come to know the young
minister, with his lofty ideals and earnest efforts, very well. He
had got into a ridiculous habit of going to her--her, Frances
Farquhar!--for advice in many perplexities.

Frances had nursed Jacky Hart and talked temperance to his father and
read tracts to Aunt Clorinda and started a reading circle among the
factory girls and fitted out all the little Jarboes with dresses and
coaxed the shore children to go to school and patched up a feud
between two 'longshore families and done a hundred other things of a
similar nature.

Aunt Eleanor said nothing, as was her wise wont, but she talked it
over with Margaret Ann Peabody, and agreed with that model domestic
when she said: "Work'll keep folks out of trouble and help 'em out of
it when they are in. Just as long as that girl brooded over her own
worries and didn't think of anyone but herself she was miserable. But
as soon as she found other folks were unhappy, too, and tried to help
'em out a bit, she helped herself most of all. She's getting fat and
rosy, and it is plain to be seen that the minister thinks there isn't
the like of her on this planet."

One night Frances told Corona all about Holcomb. Elliott Sherwood was
away, and Frances had gone up to stay all night with Corona at the
manse. They were sitting in the moonlit gloom of Corona's room, and
Frances felt confidential. She had expected to feel badly and cry a
little while she told it. But she did not, and before she was half
through, it did not seem as if it were worth telling after all. Corona
was deeply sympathetic. She did not say a great deal, but what she did
say put Frances on better terms with herself.

"Oh, I shall get over it," the latter declared finally. "Once I
thought I never would--but the truth is, I'm getting over it now. I'm
very glad--but I'm horribly ashamed, too, to find myself so fickle."

"I don't think you are fickle, Frances," said Corona gravely,
"because I don't think you ever really loved that man at all. You only
imagined you did. And he was not worthy of you. You are so good, dear;
those shore people just worship you. Elliott says you can do anything
you like with them."

Frances laughed and said she was not at all good. Yet she