so like the latent faults that dear mamma's letter
spoke of--"

Ethel sat meditating, and at last said, "I wish I had not told you! I
don't always believe it myself, and it is so unkind, and you will make
yourself unhappy too. I ought not to have thought it of her! Think of
her ever-ready kindness and helpfulness; her pretty courteous ways to
the very least; her obligingness and tact!"

"Yes," said Margaret, "she is one of the kindest people there is, and
I am sure that she thought the gaining funds for Cocksmoor was the
best thing to be done, that you would be pleased, and a great deal of
pleasant occupation provided for us all."

"That is the bright side, the surface side," said Ethel.

"And not an untrue one," said Margaret; "Meta will not be vain, and will
work the more happily for Cocksmoor's sake. Mary and Blanche, poor Mrs.
Boulder, and many good ladies who hitherto have not known how to help
Cocksmoor, will do so now with a good will, and though it is not what we
should have chosen, I think we had better take it in good part."

"You think so?"

"Yes, indeed I do. If you go about with that dismal face and strong
disapproval, it will really seem as if it was the having your dominion
muddled with that you dislike. Besides, it is putting yourself forward
to censure what is not absolutely wrong in itself, and that cannot be
desirable."

"No," said Ethel, "but I cannot help being sorry for Cocksmoor. I
thought patience would prepare the way, and the means be granted in good
time, without hastiness--only earnestness."

"You had made a picture for yourself," said Margaret gently. "Yes, we
all make pictures for ourselves, and we are the foremost figures in
them; but they are taken out of our hands, and we see others putting
in rude touches, and spoiling our work, as it seems; but, by-and-by, we
shall see that it is all guided."

Ethel sighed. "Then having protested to my utmost against this concern,
you think I ought to be amiable about it."

"And to let poor Mary enjoy it. She would be so happy, if you would not
bewilder her by your gloomy looks, and keep her to the hemming of your
endless glazed calico bonnet strings."

"Poor old Mary! I thought that was by her own desire."

"Only her dutiful allegiance to you; and, as making pincushions is
nearly her greatest delight, it is cruel to make her think it, in some
mysterious way, wrong and displeasing to you."

Ethel laughed, and said, "I did not think Mar