must be my excuse. I had no taste for company or mirth.

One afternoon the Leightons had gone to join a picnic party some two
miles from the city. They had invited me to accompany them, but as usual
I declined. I felt sad and lonely that long afternoon, and, being left
entirely alone, I could not prevent my thoughts from recurring to the
past. I thought of all the happy, careless days of my childhood; then my
memory ran back to the night, when, at ten years of age, I stood by the
death-bed of my father. With the eye of memory, I again saw my mother,
as she stood bowed with grief at the grave of my father; and now I was
left alone to mourn for both father and mother. Memory also fondly
turned to Miss Edmonds, my first teacher. I felt that to see her again
would indeed be happiness; but I knew not where Miss Edmonds then
resided. The last time I had heard from her she contemplated going
South, as governess in a gentleman's family. Then came the memory of the
happy years I passed in Mrs. Wentworth's school. Where now were the many
friends I had then known and loved? As these thoughts passed in quick
succession through my mind, I could not refrain from weeping; and, as I
was under no restraint from the presence of others, my tears seemed
almost a luxury. I know not how long my fit of weeping might have
continued had not one of the domestics entered the room, and informed me
that a poor woman was in the kitchen seeking charity.

"I thought," said the girl, "as the other ladies are all away, you might
give her a trifle, for she seems very needy."

Hastily drying my tears, I went down to the kitchen, where I found a
young woman, who would have been very pretty but for the look of want
and suffering depicted upon her countenance. It was evident, from her
appearance, that she was not an habitual beggar. As I approached her,