rs and difficult tendencies, had a
refined and cultured mind; her chief source of fretfulness was that she
loved the best, and failed to reach it. The very loftiness of her
standard produced despondency akin to despair.

Hatty's faith was pure, but feeble. She hated everything false and mean.
She despised the conventionalities of life, while Bessie laughed at
them. She and Bessie had their ideals, their simple secrets, their crude
girlish notions, that were nevertheless very true and sweet.

Bessie could make allowances for Hatty's sharp speeches as she watched
her daily struggles with her faulty temper. She could rejoice in Hatty's
victories all the more that she had borne so patiently with her
failures, and there was no abiding sting in her grief now, no remorseful
feelings for duties undone and opportunities wasted; but with Christine
things were different.

One Sunday afternoon when Bessie was stealing away for a quiet half hour
in Hatty's room, she was surprised to find Christine following her.

"May I come in too, Bessie?" she said very humbly, and her eyes were
full of tears; "I do so want a little comfort, and I can't talk to
mother. I am making myself miserable about Hatty."

"About our dear Hatty! Oh, Chrissy, what can you mean?" asked Bessie
reproachfully. "We can talk here, and perhaps our poor darling may be
listening to us. I do love this room; it seems to breathe of Hatty
somehow. There, I will open the window. How sweet the air is? and look,
how red the leaves are, though it is only the end of September!" And
then she added, softly: "Hatty has been six weeks in her new home."

"Oh, how I envy you, Bessie!" sighed Christine, "you can talk and think
happily about our dear little Hatty, but with me it is all so different.
If I had only been good to her, if she had not made me so impatient But
I cannot help remembering how horrid I used to be." And here one tear
after another rolled down Christine's pretty, troubled face.

Bessie's soft heart grew very pitiful. "Dear Chrissy," she said gently,
"there is no need to fret over that now. Hatty was always fond of you,
and you of her; she told me that night, when I came home, how kind you
had been to her. There was no one but you to do things, and you were
such a comfort to her."

"How could I help being kind to her, when she was so ill, and there was
the fear of losing her? Somehow, I never thought there was much amiss
with Hatty. I could not get it out o