Emilie felt quite paid for the little self-denial she had exercised,
when she found that her greatest enemy, he who had declared he would
"plague her to death, and pay her off for not letting them send up their
fire-works," was really conquered by that powerful weapon, _love_.

Fred had thought more than he chose to acknowledge of Emilie's kindness;
he could not forget it. It was so different to the treatment he had met
with from his associates generally. It made him ask what could be the
reason of Emilie's conduct. She had nothing to get by it, that was
certain, and Fred made up his mind to have some talk with Miss Schomberg
on the subject the first time they were alone. He had some trials at
school with a boy who was bent on annoying him, and trying to stir up
his temper; perhaps the peacemaker might tell him how to deal with this
lad. Fred was an impetuous boy, and now began to like Miss Schomberg as
warmly as he had previously disliked her.

On their way to old Joe's house that night, Emilie thought she would
call in on Miss Webster, not having parted from her very warmly on the
first night of the holidays. A fortnight of these holidays had passed
away, and Emilie began to long for her quiet evenings, and to see dear
aunt Agnes again. She looked quite affectionately up to the little
sitting room window, where her geraniums stood, and even thought kindly
of Miss Webster herself, to whom it was not quite so easy to feel
genial. She entered the shop. The apprentice sate there at work, busily
trimming a fine rice straw bonnet for the lodger within. She looked up
joyously at Emilie's approach. She thought how often that kind German
face had been to her like a sunbeam on a dull path; how often her
musical voice had spoken words of counsel, and comfort, and sympathy,
to her in her hard life. How she had pressed her hand when she (the
apprentice) came home one night and told her, "My poor mother is dead,"