know that one sister died a pauper and the other was one for a length
of time. This, however, can not be helped, and now, as I said before I
only wish it were in your power to do more for Mary. I, of course,
know that you are poor, but I do not think less of you for that--"

Mrs. Mason's body became slightly more erect, but she made no reply,
and Mrs. Campbell continued.

"Still I hope you will make every exertion in your power to educate
and polish Mary as much as possible, so that if by chance Ella in
after years should come in contact with her, she would not
feel,--ahem,--would not,--would not be--"

"Ashamed to own her sister, I suppose you would say," interrupted Mrs.
Mason. "Ashamed to acknowledge that the same blood flowed in her
veins, that the same roof once sheltered them, and that the same
mother bent lovingly over their pillows, calling them her children."

"Why, not exactly that," said Mrs. Campbell, fidgeting in her chair
and growing very red. "I think there is a difference between feeling
mortified and ashamed. Now you must know that Ella would not be
particularly pleased to have a homely, stupid, rawboned country girl
pointed out as her sister to a circle of fashionable acquaintances in
Boston, where I intend taking her as soon as her education is
finished; and I think it well enough for Mary to understand, that with
the best you can do for her there will still be a great difference
between her own and her sister's position."

"Excuse me, madam," again interrupted Mrs. Mason, "a stupid, awkward
country girl Mary is not, and never will be. In point of intellect she