ess and so thin. He crossed the
room, and touched her gently on the shoulder. "My dear child! have I
said anything to distress you?"

"Nothing."

"Then why are you crying?"

"I don't know." She hesitated; looked at him; and made a desperate
effort to tell him what was in her mind. "I'm afraid you'll get tired
of me. There's nothing about me to make you pity me now. You seem to
be--not quite the same--no! it isn't that--I don't know what's come to
me--I'm a greater fool than ever. Give me my lesson, Amelius! please
give me my lesson!"

Amelius produced the books, in some little surprise at Sally's
extraordinary anxiety to begin her lessons, while the unaltered dress
lay neglected on the carpet at her feet. A discreet abstract of the
history of England, published for the use of young persons, happened
to be at the top of the books. The system of education under Amelius
recognized the laws of chance: they began with the history, because it
turned up first. Sally read aloud; and Sally's master explained obscure
passages, and corrected occasional errors of pronunciation, as she went
on. On that particular morning, there was little to explain and nothing
to correct. "Am I doing it well today?" Sally inquired, on reaching the
end of her task.

"Very well, indeed."

She shut the book, and looked at her teacher. "I wonder how it is," she
resumed, "that I get on so much better with my lessons here than I did
at the Home? And yet it's foolish of me to wonder. I get on better,
because you are teaching me, of course. But I don't feel satisfied with
myself. I'm the same helpless creature--I feel your kindness, and can't
make any return to you--for all my learning. I should like--" She left
the thought in her unexpressed, and opened her copy-book. "I'll do my
writing now," she said, in a quiet resigned way. "Perhaps I may improve
enough, some day, to keep your accounts for you." She chose her pen a
little absently, and began to write. Amelius looked over her shoulder,
and laughed; she was writing his name. He pointed to the copper-plate
copy on the top line, presenting an undeniable moral maxim, in
characters beyond the reach of criticism:--Change Is A Law Of Nature.
"There, my dear, you are to copy that till you're tired of it," said the
easy master; "and then we'll try overleaf, another copy beginning with
letter D."

Sally laid down her pen. "I don't like 'Change is a law of Nature',"
she said, knitting her pretty eyebrow