nd yet her silence seemed to be more
the result of having nothing to say and no sympathy with the ordinary
topics of conversation, than from dislike or inability to converse. When
she did speak, the same childlike curtness and immobility were
observable, that had been shown by the couch of her dying relative. She
seemed to be repeating set words, that did not affect her heart or make
any change in the expression of her face; even though she may have been
deeply moved in reality. She received kindnesses with thankfulness, and
yet that thankfulness was generally too set and formal in its phrase to
create the impression of gushing warm from the heart, and to give that
exquisite pleasure that a simple "Thank you!" will often convey when it
seems to leap out unbidden.

Of course in the double disaster of the fire and the death, the poor
girl found herself almost entirely unprovided with clothes. Isabel, with
thoughtful care, the next day after her arrival, spoke of making
arrangements for procuring the services of a dressmaker at once.

"Yes, thank you, I have no clothes. I shall want some," answered the
young girl.

"Excuse my touching upon your grief," said Bell, "but I suppose that you
will wish black? You will wear mourning?"

"No, if you please," was the reply. "My family never wear mourning. My
grandmother never did. I have been told so. I do not remember my
grandmother. I do not know why we never wear mourning. But if you
please, I wish to do as grandmother did."

Here was the same peculiarity again, that had been shown at the bedside
of the dying grandfather--the grandmother spoken of, but no mention of a
_mother_. Bell Crawford noticed the fact, as her brother had not done;
but she could no more have asked that strange girl for an explanation,
and risked the possible opening of some family wound, than she could
have gone to the stake.

Nothing more was said upon the subject of the mourning; and Bell
Crawford made the necessary arrangements for procuring her clothing that
suggested no remembrance of her recent loss.

John Crawford had not forgotten the words of the old man, as to money in
his granddaughter's name, lying in one of the city banks. He suggested
the matter to her, aware that she would be anxious to rid herself from
any feeling of absolute dependence,--and she answered him at once. She
knew the name of the bank, and nearly the amount that should be standing
to her credit, which was, as her grandfa