er room, or go out with her
mother or Miss Atherton to drive or pay visits, so as to chase her
vexing thoughts away. But they always came back again. She grew silent
and grave, caring little for her studies or her music, or for any of the
thousand employments that usually fill up the time of young people.

Even Clement was permitted to escape from the discipline of lessons to
which he had been for some time condemned during at least one of Miss
Gertrude's morning hours. She no longer manifested the pride in his
progress and in his discipline and obedience which had for some time
been a source of amusement and interest to the elder members of the
family. Master Clement was left to lord it over Martha in the lower
nursery as he had not been permitted to do since his mother's visit to
the sea-side.

"What ails you, Gertrude?" said Mrs Seaton, one Sabbath afternoon.
"Are you not well? What are you thinking about? I declare, you look as
if you had not a friend in the world!"

Gertrude was sitting with her chin leaning on her hand and her eyes
fixed on the grey clouds that seemed to press close down on the tops of
the snow-laden trees above the lawn. It was already growing dark, and
the dreariness of the scene without was reflected on the girl's face.
She started at the sound of her mother's voice.

"I am quite well," she said, coming towards the fire, slightly
shivering, "but somehow I feel stupid; I suppose just because it is
Sunday."

"That is not a very good reason, I should think," said Mrs Seaton,
gravely. "What were you thinking about?"

"I don't know; I have forgotten. I was thinking about a great many
things. For one thing, I was thinking how long the winter is here."

"Why, it is hardly time to think about that yet," said Miss Atherton,
coming forward from the sofa where she had been sitting; "the winter is
hardly begun yet. For my part, I like winter. But," she added,
pretending to whisper very secretly to Miss Gertrude, "I don't mind
telling _you_ that I get a little stupid on Sunday myself."

"Frances, pray don't talk nonsense to the child," said Mrs Seaton.

"It is not half so much of a sin to talk nonsense as it is to look glum,
as Gertrude does. What ails you, child?"

Gertrude made no answer.

"Are you unwell, Gertrude?" asked Mrs Seaton.

"No, mother; I am perfectly well. What an idea!" she said, pettishly.

"She looks exactly like her Aunt Barbara," said Miss Atherton. "I
decl