possibly be spared. But
what does mamma say?"

"You know my wretched health, Henry," said Mrs. Harley. "I never could
do without Maude to look after the housekeeping; and Jessie saves both
school and governess for the younger ones. But then there is Edith. Why
should not Edith go?"

[Sidenote: Edith Harley]

"Why, indeed?" repeated the doctor. "Edith does nothing but mischief--at
least, so far as the account of her doings reaches my ears. She is quite
too big for Jessie to teach, and we cannot afford to send her to a good
school at present, which is the thing that ought to be done. It really
seems to me a providential opening for Edith."

"Poor Edie!" sighed the mother again. "It would be a hard life for her,
I am afraid."

"Oh, nonsense, Maria! You were always unjust to Rachel. You think,
because she took such deep offence, that there can be nothing good in
her. Surely I ought to know my own sister's character! Rachel would do
her duty by any inmate of her home--of that I am quite certain."

"Well, Henry, it would be a help in many ways. Edith is growing such a
great girl, nearly fifteen now, and if it would lighten your cares to
have her provided for, I ought not to resist. But at least it would be
well to let her know what you think of doing, and hear what she says."

"I don't know that what she says need affect the question much. The fact
is, Maria, something will have to be done. We are exceeding what we can
afford even now, and the children will be growing more expensive instead
of less so. For my own part, I can only feel glad of Rachel's offer. I
must go now; but you can tell Edith, if you like; and tell her, too, to
hold herself in readiness, for the sooner the matter is settled the
better."

Edith Harley, called indifferently by her brothers and sisters the
Middle One and the Odd One, was the third daughter and the fifth child
of this family of nine. She was a rather tall, awkward girl, who grew
out of her frocks, and tumbled her hair, and scandalised her elder
sisters, in their pretty prim young ladyhood, by playing with the boys
and clinging obstinately, in spite of her fifteen years, to her hoop and
skipping-rope. An unfortunate child was this chosen one, always getting
into scrapes, and being credited with more mischief than she ever really
did.

It was Edith who had caught the whooping-cough through playing with some
of the village children, and had brought it home, to be the plague of
all the