s bedside.

"I'll do well enough while you are gone," said her aunt, smiling up from
the pillows into the bright face above hers. "Now you're not to worry
about me in the least, for you cannot do justice to yourself if your
mind is troubled. Remember, Caryl, and be thorough in your efforts to
teach your little pupils."

"And Madam Grant is going to buy some of my panels and little plaques,
I almost know," cried Caryl, bustling around for her aunt's long woolen
wrapper and her day slippers, "for she told me she should want to see
them some time. Then, Auntie--oh, then!"

The young girl in her eagerness climbed upon the old bed to lay her
fresh young cheek against the pale thin one. How she longed to put
brightness into the poor invalid's life!

"Remember," said Aunt Sylvia lightly, to hide the tears in her voice,
"your fortune's to be made. Only be prompt and thorough, and put your
whole mind to your work. That is the secret of success."

"I will, Auntie, oh, I WILL!" cried Caryl happily, "and Viny will do
well, I guess," she added, the gleeful tones dropping down with an
anxious note.

"Viny will prove a capital little nurse, I expect," said Miss Sylvia
cheerfully; "now the day won't wait, Caryl, so get your old auntie up."

"My old auntie is just LOVELY," cried the girl, hopping off from the
bed, and flying around merrily, well pleased at last when the invalid
was in her chair, to see a little faint, pink color stealing up the wan
cheek.

"The best cap, Aunt Sylvia--the best cap!" she cried, running for the
one with the fresh lavender ribbons.

"What an extravagant puss!" exclaimed Aunt Sylvia, willing to humor the
gay little heart, and tapping her cheek as the young girl settled the
cap on the lovely gray hair.

"Everything must be best to-day," cried Caryl recklessly. "It's all
fresh and new and fine! All the world is made just for us."

Maum Patty saw Caryl run down the dirty little brick path that served
for all the lodgers in the old house as a walk to the broken-down gate,
with her color-box under her arm, and her little roll of pictures in her
hand, and heaved a sigh from her ample bosom.

"Dat chile can't make no fortin' like she's a-tinkin' of, but laws! let
her try. Here, yer Viny, yer, be off up to de Missis' room. Scat now!
De pore lettle lamb," she mourned, as her hopeful grandchild unwillingly
dragged her recreant feet off to her duties, leaving her grandmother
to pursue her reflections in