rley was very tired as she locked the door of the library
Saturday night and started for _home_, as she caught herself calling
the parsonage. She had been there the greater part of the day. She
had spoken to Mr. Middleton at breakfast of going over to familiarize
herself somewhat with the encyclopaedias and reference-books, and he
had asked her to look up certain passages and verify one or two
quotations for him. The latter proved a more difficult task for the
girl than the clergyman would have dreamed; but she was very happy in
doing it, gratified, too, to realize that her handwriting was very
clear as well as pretty. And the single cause of her dismay when he
thanked and praised her and referred to her mother--or his sister--was
that she should not be on hand to help him another Saturday.

The afternoon had been a very busy one, every one in town, seemingly,
old, young, and middle-aged, desiring a book for Sunday. A goodly
number of girls of near her age came in, sweet-faced girls who, though
they couldn't compare with Elsie Moss (who was, however, in a class by
herself), seemed more attractive than those she had seen at home. The
tall boy who was interested in electricity came again and greeted her
shyly, though rather as if they were old friends. Later, older girls
and young men who worked in Boston during the week dropped into the
library to inquire for the latest novel or to spend part of their
half-holiday looking over the picture papers and magazines. All were
extremely cordial and friendly. Without actually overhearing anything,
Elsie, who wasn't at all quick in regard to matters of that sort,
understood, somehow, that there was more or less comparison between
herself and the regular librarian, which was not altogether
complimentary to Miss Stewart.

As she went up the walk shortly after six o'clock, the girl saw some
one gazing out of the window of the room she had first entered four
days ago, and recalled her first view, which seemed now far back in the
past. There was no one there when she went in, however, and as she
realized that the place had not been touched since her arrival,
suddenly the glow of satisfaction that had cloaked her weariness
changed to wrath. She flew to her room for refuge.

And now real wrath descended upon her. For she found it as she had
left it that morning. The bed was not made; her nightgown was on the
floor, and the clothes she had worn yesterday scattered about on