ing until night ever since she came to us. At
her age, she ought to be going to dances and lying late in the morning
to make up sleep, and shopping and having beaux and all that sort of
thing, just as her Aunt Milly did."

She sighed deeply, clasping her ringed hands. Elsie was indignant,
even angry; but before she could protest, Mrs. Middleton went on.

"Instead of which, she started work at the library the first thing and
has been off and on ever since, and is now going to do it permanently,
besides teaching a class in the Sunday-school, looking after the
choir-boys, running errands for you, and what not."

"My dear Milly!" cried her husband, really distressed; and went on to
explain that when they decided to open the library in the evening as
well as the afternoon, some one had to relieve Miss Stewart for two of
the afternoon hours, and every one had clamored for Elsie.

"And I love to do it," added Elsie, "and I'm so pleased that I am to
have the hours when the children are out of school."

"Of course," agreed Mrs. Middleton, smiling; "dear lambs! I should
have felt just the same. Indeed, you're so like I was at your age,
Elsie, dearest, that I feel as if it were to _me_ that you are really
related."

Elsie murmured a silent word of deprecation, forgetting, as she often
did, that she wasn't related to Mr. Middleton, either.

The rain beat furiously. The minister rose and put another stick on
the fire. He did not return to his seat but stood with his elbow on
the mantel gazing at his wife. Though thin, John Middleton looked
strong and well, in part, perhaps, because of his florid complexion,
partly because of his serenity. But in moments of stress he had a way
of seeming to grow worn and older under one's very eyes.

He felt the cogency of his wife's words. He had, indeed, he said to
himself, taken possession of his sister's orphan child immediately upon
her arrival, and had made a sort of drudge of her: he kept her
constantly occupied, performing miscellaneous services for him--he
wasn't sure that he could have demanded so much of a paid secretary.
And she, like her mother, unselfish and devoted, had made no complaint.

He spoke before Elsie, who was slow of speech and was regretting that
she didn't share the real Elsie Moss's gift of expression, was able to
put her feeling into words that would convince him.

"No wonder you felt like putting up your curls and saying farewell to
youth, Elsie," he