t I can't understand them. It is books for quite
little children that I want," her face flushing hotly.

"Well, I daresay Cousin Charlotte will have loads of old school-books,
and--and well, at any rate, Esther," reproachfully, "you know how to read
and write, and you might have been teaching Angela and Poppy to do so, you
really might have done that."

"I have," said Esther.

"Oh, well, that is something. When one can read there is no excuse for
ignorance in a place where there are books. There are lots of people who
have set to work and taught themselves when they have been too poor to go
to school, and have done--oh, marvels!" responded Mrs. Carroll, relieving
herself of any feeling of self-reproach. Because a few rare geniuses had
done so, by facing difficulties and self-sacrifices such as she could not
even imagine, she felt there was nothing to prevent every ordinary child
from pursuing the same course.

Esther said no more; a sense of hopelessness and helplessness seized her--
a feeling common to most who had to do with Mrs. Carroll, but Esther, as
yet, did not know that. She walked away out of the room and the house--
she felt she must get away somewhere by herself.

She hurried on quickly till she came to the woods. There, at any rate,
there was peace and rest, and no bickerings. "But oh," she thought, as
she flung herself down on the soft, springy pine-needles which lay so
thickly everywhere, "what shall I do when I haven't the woods to come to?"
and she put out her hand and patted tenderly the rough trunk of the
nearest pine-tree.

Half an hour later she rose as bewildered and vexed as ever. Her thoughts
had led her nowhere; instead of finding some way to surmount her troubles,
she had just brooded and brooded, and nursed her grievances until they
were larger than ever. She could not go home yet, she felt too depressed
and miserable, so she wandered on and on.

In one little hollow in the woods was a spot they called their 'house,'
where they spent long days playing all sorts of lovely games, and very
often, when their mother or Lydia wanted to have a free day, they had
their dinner and tea there too. Making for this place now, Esther came
upon Penelope perched in the forked trunk of an old tree, a book in her
hand. She was so absorbed she gave quite a start when Esther called to
her, "What are you doing, Pen?"

Penelope had a deep pucker in her forehead and a very grave face.
"I am trying