ken into some charitable
institution. You will admit it was not a cheerful prospect."

"No, it was not," said Dora, in dreary abstraction.

"As I said," resumed Miss Franklin, "I had been in so many schoolrooms;
I had seen so many pupils grow up, go out into the world, and settle in
life, leaving me behind, so that when they came back on visits to their
old homes, they were prepared to pity and patronize me. I could not
continue cudgelling my poor brains until I had not an original thought
in my head, and all to keep up such acquirements as I had, and preserve
a place among younger, better equipped girls, certain to outstrip me
eventually."

"I suppose so," acquiesced Dora mechanically.

"Then poor dear Tom came to see me, and I told him what I was
thinking. He got me to pay a visit to Redcross, and made a new opening
for me. I may say without self-conceit that I was always considered to
have a good taste in dress. I know it was a question which had never
failed to interest me, to which I could not help giving a great deal
of attention--making a study of it, as it were. Tom insisted that I
could be of the greatest use to him, and was worth a liberal salary,
which I was not likely to lose. And there was a comfortable refined
nest, which I could line for myself, awaiting me in the pleasant rooms
he had looked out for me."

"I know, Miss Franklin," said Dora, with a faint smile; "you told
Phyllis Carey, and she told May, who repeated it to me. But I thought
it might be a relief to you to speak of it again."

"Yes," cried the eager woman; "and it has all answered so well--the
duties not too heavy, and really agreeable to me; the young women and
men, under Tom's influence, no doubt, perfectly nice and respectful; and
within the last six months, dear little Phyllis like a daughter or niece
to me. I thought always I should be able to do something in return for
him one day, yet with all the will in the world I have been able to do
nothing until it has come to this;" and poor Miss Franklin sobbed
bitterly under the burden of her unrequited obligations, and beneath the
dove's neck cluster of feathers in her bonnet.

It was for Dora in her turn to seek to soothe and compose her companion.
"I am sure you have been of the greatest service to him, and that he has
enjoyed the near neighbourhood of an old friend--his mother's friend.
Oh! think what a comfort it will be to you to have that to look back
upon," finished Dora, in a