news came to her first as a great blow. There could not be very much
sympathy between the gentle, ailing, slightly querulous mother and the
vigorous, active girl; yet Edith had very strong, if half-concealed,
home affections, and it hurt her more than she cared to show that even
her mother seemed to feel a sort of relief in the prospect of her going
away for so long.

"Don't you _mind_ my going, mamma?" she said at last, with a little
accent of surprise.

"Well, Edith dear, papa and I think it will be such a good thing for you
and for us all. You have been too young, of course, to be told about
money matters, but perhaps I may tell you now, for I am sure you are old
enough to understand, that papa has a great many expenses, and is often
very much worried. There are so many of you," added the poor mother,
thinking with a sigh of her own powerlessness to do much towards lifting
the burden which pressed so heavily upon her husband's shoulders.

"Do you think it would help papa, then, if I went?" asked the girl
slowly.

"Indeed I do. You would have a good home for a time, at all events; and
if your Aunt Rachel should take to you, as we may hope she will if you
earnestly try to please her, she may be a friend to you always."

"Very well, then; I shall try my best to do as you and papa wish."

That was all Edith said, and Mrs. Harley was quite surprised. She had
expected tears and protests, stormy and passionate remonstrances--not
this quiet submission so unlike Edith.

Perhaps no one understood the girl less than her own mother. It might
have helped Mrs. Harley to know something of her daughter's inner nature
if she could have seen her, after their talk together, steal quietly up
to the nursery, where there were only the little ones at play, and,
throwing her arms round little Francie, burst into a fit of quiet
sobbing that fairly frightened the child.

"What is it, Edie? Don't cry, Edie! Francie'll give you a kiss, twenty
kisses, if you won't cry," said the pretty baby voice.

"Your poor Edie's going away, and it will break her heart to leave you,
my pet," said the girl through her tears, straining the child in a
passionate embrace. Presently she grew calmer, and put the wondering
little one down.

"There, Francie, I've done crying now, and you needn't mind. You'll
always love Edie, won't you, if she does go away?"

"Yes, always, always love Edie," said the child; and Johnnie chimed in
too, "And me--me always