e," said Mrs. Leighton, after a short silence, "that you will
see the propriety of seeking another home."

"You might," I replied, "have saved yourself the trouble of reminding me
of this, as I intend, this night, to leave your house. I intend to show
you that I shall prove no hindrance to your son's marrying in accordance
with your wishes. Allow me to express my heart-felt thanks for your past
kindness to me; but we must now part."

Mrs. Leighton's anger, by this time, was beginning to cool.

"I am perfectly willing," said she, "that you should remain here till
you can obtain another situation. When I spoke of your seeking another
home, I wished not that you should understand that I wished you to leave
immediately."

I thanked her, but said "I preferred going at once."

She enquired whither I intended going? I replied that there were several
families residing in the city who had known and loved my mother, who
would gladly shelter her orphan daughter.

Mrs. Leighton owed me, at the time, one hundred dollars of my salary;
as I had not required the money, I had left it in her hands. Leaving the
room, she soon returned with the money in her hand, and pressed me to
accept of fifty dollars over and above what was owing me. I thanked her,
but said I wished to accept only of what was my just due. As she refused
to receive back the money, I laid it upon the table, and began making my
preparations for leaving her house. In less than an hour my trunks were
packed, and I was ready to go. Laura and Georgania, I think purposely
avoided me, for I did not see them before leaving. I felt grieved when I
parted with Birdie and Lewis, for I had become strongly attached to
them. Lewis used often to say that boys never ought to cry; crying, he
said, was only for girls and babies; but he must have forgotten himself
on this occasion, for he cried bitterly when I bade him good-bye. As I
turned from my pupils, Mrs. Leighton came forward and extended her hand
to me. I could not refuse the hand that had so often administered to the
wants of my dying mother. Neither of us uttered a word. We shook hands
in silence, and I passed from the house, and entered the carriage which
was in waiting for me. There was a family by the name of Burnside, with
whom I had been intimate from childhood; to them I intended going, and
in a few minutes I was set down at their door.

It chanced to be Mrs. Burnside herself who answered my ring at the
door. In a few