way, that she might have her curiosity appeased.

The doctor discerned the insurrection of self in her face, and said,
almost bitterly, "Wait till I am gone, Bessie; you will have all the
rest of your life to think of it. Now, boys, you have done eating; be
off, and get ready for school."

Jack and the rest cleared out of the parlor and pattered up stairs,
Bessie following close on their heels, purposely deaf to her mother's
voice: "You may stay, love." She was hurt and perturbed. An idea of what
was impending had flashed into her mind. After all, her abrupt exit was
convenient to her elders; they could discuss the circumstances more
freely in her absence. Mrs. Carnegie began.

"Well, Thomas, what does this wonderful letter say? I think I can
guess--Bessie is to go home?"

"Home! What place can be home to her if this is not?" rejoined the
doctor, and strode across the room to shut the door on his retreating
progeny, while his wife entered on the perusal of the letter.

It was from Mr. John Short, on the business that we wot of. To Mr.
Carnegie it read like a cool intimation that Bessie Fairfax was
wanted--was become of importance at Abbotsmead, and must break with her
present associations. It would have been impossible to convey in
palatable words the requisition that the lawyer was put upon making; but
to Mrs. Carnegie the demand did not sound harsh, nor the manner of it
insolent. She had always kept her mind in a state of preparedness for
some such change, and the only sense of annoyance that smote her was for
her own shortcomings--for how she had suffered Bessie to be almost a