"Oh, how good you are!" Helen pressed the hand she held to her warm,
soft cheek with a mute caress.

It seemed to her as if she might be walking on air, her heart was so
light. And still there was a secret sympathy with her aunt for the
disappointment. Yet, what real difference could it make to Aunt Jane,
whether she taught school, or worked in a shop. She should not feel
better or grander, only more thoroughly satisfied with her lot in life.
And before she took any journeys, she would pay Uncle Jason for these
years of care since her father died. That would be her duty for taking
her own way.

"We are going to take up something solid," said Mrs. Van Dorn, the next
morning. "I am tired of frivolous novels. We will have a little history,
and learn about places and people, and what has been done in the world,
and improve our minds."

Helen looked up with a new and rather surprised interest. "There is so
much in your mind already," she returned with the admiration in her
voice that was so grateful to the elder woman. "Oh, I do wonder if I
shall ever know so many things."

"There are years for you to study in. I did not know all these things at
fourteen."

She would never have confessed how little she knew at that period.

They stopped now and then to discuss some point, but Mrs. Van Dorn was
going over several other considerations. An ordinary country girl with
the sweetest temper in the world would not have given her more than a
passing pleasure. This girl was quite out of the ordinary with her
intelligence and her quick understanding. She would love all the finer
arts of life. Her enthusiasm was really infectious. That was what one
needed when one was going down the other side of the great divide. And
she didn't really belong to anybody. Clara would never forget her mother
and sisters, and if they were ill she would want to fly to them. This
girl was not comfortable in her home, she would not sigh for it. And she
might adore her, for there was a kind of worship in her nature. To be
adored by a young girl who might have been her grandchild, the child of
the daughter she had longed for and never had.

Helen glanced up hesitatingly.

"Oh, I'm not asleep," laughingly. "I was thinking. You have a fine
voice, so strong and clear, and not aggressive. Don't you sing?"

"Oh, yes. When I am out in the fields I sing with the birds."

"But you have never had lessons in elocution?"

"Mr. Warfield taught me that the b