day, has it not? It was so kind of your brother to take care of papa."

"Oh, it was delightful!" echoed Mary, "and I took one pound fifteen and
sixpence!"

"I hope it will do great good to Cocksmoor," added Meta, "but, if you
want real help, you know, you must come to us."

Ethel smiled, but hurried her departure, for she saw Blanche again
tormented by Mr. George Rivers, to know what had become of the guard,
telling her that, if she would not say, he should be furiously jealous.

Blanche hid her face on Ethel's arm, when they were in the carriage, and
almost cried with indignant "shamefastness." That long-desired day had
not been one of unmixed happiness to her, poor child, and Ethel doubted
whether it had been so to any one, except, indeed, to Mary, whose
desires never soared so high but that they were easily fulfilled, and
whose placid content was not easily wounded. All she was wishing now
was, that Harry were at home to receive his paper-case.

The return to Margaret was real pleasure. The narration of all that had
passed was an event to her. She was so charmed with her presents, of
every degree; things, unpleasant at the time, could, by drollery in the
relating, be made mirthful fun ever after; Dr. May and the boys were so
comical in their observations--Mary's wonder and simplicity came in so
amazingly--and there was such merriment at Ethel's two precious jars,
that she could hardly wish they had not come to her. On one head they
were all agreed, in dislike of George Rivers, whom Mary pronounced to be
a detestable man, and, when gently called to order by Margaret, defended
it, by saying that Miss Bracy said it was better to detest than to
hate, while Blanche coloured up to the ears, and hid herself behind
the arm-chair; and Dr. May qualified the censure by saying, he believed
there was no great harm in the youth, but that he was shallow-brained
and extravagant, and, having been born in the days when Mr. Rivers had
been working himself up in the world, had not had so good an education
as his little half-sister.

"Well, what are you thinking of?" said her father, laying his hand
on Ethel's arm, as she was wearily and pensively putting together the
scattered purchases before going up to bed.

"I was thinking, papa, that there is a great deal of trouble taken in
this world for a very little pleasure."

"The trouble is the pleasure, in most cases, most misanthropical miss!"

"Yes, that is true; but, if so, why