"Are they?" said Bessie. "Mamma has pretty things in the drawing-
room, but she keeps them out of the way; and everything here is so
dull and stupid!" and the little girl gave a yawn.

Miss Fosbrook understood her. The wainscoted room in which they were
sitting had been painted of a uniform creamy brown; the chairs were
worn; the table was blistered and cracked; the carpet only covered
the middle of the room, and was so threadbare, that only a little red
showed here and there. All that was needful was there, but of the
plainest kind; and where the other children only felt ease and
freedom, and were the more contented and happy for the homely good
sense of all around them, this little girl felt a want that she
scarcely understood, but which made her uncomfortable and
discontented, even when she had so much to be thankful for.

Miss Fosbrook moved nearer to the window. Down below there was
certainly not much to be seen; only Pierce cleaning the knives in the
knife-house, and Martha washing out her pans before the dairy-door;
but that was not where she looked. She turned the little half-
fretful face upwards. "Look there!" she said; "and talk of seeing
nothing pretty!"

"I see nothing--"

"Do you not see the pale clear green of those noble horse-chestnut
leaves just sprung into their full summer dress--not in the least
worn nor stained yet? And those fine spikes of white blossom, all
tending up--up--while the masses of those leaves fall so gracefully
down, as if lifting them up, and then falling back to do them