"Why, Claudy, I am astonished to hear you talk so. Miss Dorothy
helps to buy food and clothes for us, and you ought to be ashamed to
speak of her as you do." As she delivered this reprimand Beulah
snatched up a small volume and hid it in her work-basket.

"I don't believe she gives us much. I do hate her, and I can't help
it; she is so ugly, and cross, and vinegar-faced. I should not like
her to look at my mug of milk. You don't love her either, any more
than I do, only you won't say anything about her. But kiss me, and I
promise I will be good, and not make faces at her in my apron."
Beulah stooped down and warmly kissed the suppliant, then took her
little sister's hand and led her into the house, just as the
carriage reached the door. The children presented a pleasant
spectacle as they entered the long dining room, and ranged
themselves for inspection. Twenty-eight heirs of orphanage, varying
in years, from one crawling infant to well-nigh grown girls, all
neatly clad, and with smiling, contented faces, if we except one
grave countenance, which might have been remarked by the close
observer.

The weekly visiting committee consisted of four of the lady
managers, but to-day the number was swelled to six. A glance at the
inspectors sufficed to inform Beulah that something of more than
ordinary interest had convened them on the present occasion, and she
was passing on to her accustomed place when her eyes fell upon a
familiar face, partially concealed by a straw bonnet. It was her
Sabbath-school teacher. A sudden, glad light flashed over the girl's
countenance, and the pale lips disclosed a set of faultlessly
beautiful teeth, as she smiled and hastened to her friend.