ient and kind than we have been."

It seemed difficult to Aunt Hannah to get through this speech, for she
stopped very often; and Susan could see that once she was nearly crying.
She had been sitting up half the night and was no doubt very tired, but
how wonderful it was to hear her speak like that of Sophia Jane! It
made her resolve still more firmly than she had yet done, that as soon
as ever her companion was well enough she would make full and free
confession of her fault.

And this time Sophia Jane seemed to have made up her mind to go straight
on and get well, for she improved every day; and though it was only a
little way at a time there were no drawbacks. The morning arrived which
Susan had long been waiting for, when Aunt Hannah said, "You may see
Sophia Jane." Susan thought that Mary Queen of Scots could not have
felt worse when they told her that the block was ready; but she did not
flinch. The moment she was alone with Sophia Jane she faltered out her
story, and stood before her with burning cheeks and downcast eyes. The
little invalid peered curiously out of the frilled white cap she wore.
It was one of Aunt Hannah's adapted to her size, because she complained
that her head felt cold, and it gave her such a strangely old witch-like
air that it greatly increased Susan's fear and distress.

"But I thought you said Mademoiselle understood I sent it?"

"So I did," murmured Susan.

"But that was a story?"

No answer.

"But I thought you were always good?" with a gleam of gratification in
her eyes.

"I'm very sorry," said the culprit.

Sophia Jane paused a moment, then she asked:

"Does Mademoiselle know now?"

"No," said Susan. "I haven't seen her."

"Well!" exclaimed Sophia Jane scornfully, "I should think you might
write."

"So I will," said Susan earnestly; "and then will you forgive me?"

"Oh, I don't know about that!" said Sophia Jane, shaking her head till
the frill of her cap trembled. "You see it was so very bad of you."

"I know," said Susan humbly. Then venturing to glance at Sophia Jane's
face she was surprised to see a sudden little smile appear, and to hear
her exclaim:

"At any rate there's _one_ thing! They'll never be able to say again,
`try to be as good as Susan,' because you've been much naughtier now
than I've ever been!"

She chuckled softly to herself, and then said--suddenly and sharply:

"Why don't you write the letter?"

It was not the least part of Susa