ves me
a bit. I was having such a happy morning, and he came in and spoiled
all."

"Never mind about Tom. No one cares for his teasing, except you, Hatty.
I would not let him see you mind everything he chooses to say. He will
only think you a baby for crying. Now, do help me arrange this drawer,
for dinner will be ready in a quarter of an hour, and the floor is just
strewn with clothes. If it makes your head ache to stoop, I will just
hand you the things; but no one else can put them away so tidily."

The artful little bait took. Of all things Hatty loved to be of use to
any one. In another moment she had dried her eyes and set to work, her
miserable little face grew cheerful, and Tom's sneering speeches were
forgotten.

"Why, I do believe that is Hatty laughing!" exclaimed Christine, as the
dinner-bell sounded, and she passed the door with her mother. "It is
splendid, the way Bessie manages Hatty. I wish some of us could learn
the art, for all this wrangling with Tom is so tiresome."

"Bessie never loses patience with her," returned her mother; "never lets
her feel that she is a trouble. I think you will find that is the secret
of Bessie's influence. Your father and I are often grateful to her.
'What would that poor child do without her?' as your father often says;
and I do believe her health would often suffer if Bessie did not turn
her thoughts away from the things that were fretting her."

CHAPTER V.

THE OATLANDS POST-MARK.

One day, about three months after her adventure in the Sheen Valley,
Bessie was climbing up the steep road that led to the Lamberts' house.
It was a lovely spring afternoon, and Bessie was enjoying the fresh
breeze that was blowing up from the bay. Cliffe was steeped in sunshine,
the air was permeated with the fragrance of lilac blended with the faint
odors of the pink and white May blossoms. The flower-sellers' baskets in
the town were full of dark-red wallflowers and lovely hyacinths. The
birds were singing nursery lullabies over their nests in the Coombe
Woods, and even the sleek donkeys, dragging up some invalids from the
Parade in their trim little chairs, seemed to toil more willingly in the
sweet spring sunshine.

"How happy the world looks to-day!" said Bessie to herself; and perhaps
this pleasant thought was reflected in her face, for more than one
passer-by glanced at her half enviously. Bessie did not notice them; her
soft gray eyes were fixed on the blue sky above