How tired she was! Every nerve seemed to quiver with weariness.

It was a pleasant little room, this one which she entered, with its
low windows looking out toward the river, and its cosy furniture all
neatly arranged by Sadie's tasteful fingers.

Ester seated herself by the open window, and looked down on the group
who lingered on the piazza below--looked _down_ on them with her eyes
and with her heart; yet envied while she looked, envied their free
and easy life, without a care to harass them, so _she_ thought; envied
Sadie her daily attendance at the academy, a matter which she _so_
early in life had been obliged to have done with; envied Mrs. Holland
the very ribbons and laces which fluttered in the evening air. It had
grown cooler now, a strong breeze blew up from the river and freshened
the air; and, as they sat below there enjoying it, the sound of their
gay voices came up to her.

"What do they know about heat, or care, or trouble?" she said
scornfully, thinking over all the weight of _her_ eighteen years of
life; she hated it, this life of hers, _just_ hated it--the sweeping,
dusting, making beds, trimming lamps, _working_ from morning till
night; no time for reading, or study, or pleasure. Sadie had said she
was cross, and Sadie had told the truth; she _was_ cross most of the
time, fretted with her every-day petty cares and fatigues.

"O!" she said, over and over, "if something would _only_ happen; if I
could have one day, just _one_ day, different from the others; but
no, it's the same old thing--sweep and dust, and clear up, and eat and
sleep. I _hate_ it all."