renewed strength permitted the execution of designs now fully mapped
out. Notwithstanding her feebleness, she rendered herself invaluable
to Mrs. Wood, who praised her dexterity and neatness as a
seamstress, and predicted that she would make a model housekeeper.

Late one Sunday evening in May, as the miller and his wife sat upon
the steps of their humble and comfortless looking home, they saw
Edna slowly approaching, and surmised where she had spent the
afternoon. Instead of going into the house she seated herself beside
them, and, removing her bonnet, traces of tears were visible on her
sad but patient face.

"You ought not to go over yonder so often, child. It is not good for
you," said the miller, knocking the ashes from his pipe.

She shaded her countenance with her hand, and after a moment said,
in a low but steady tone:

"I shall never go there again. I have said good-bye to everything,
and have nothing now to keep me here. You and Mrs. Wood have been
very kind to me, and I thank you heartily; but you have a family of
children, and have your hands full to support them without taking
care of me. I know that our house must go to you to pay that old
debt, and even the horse and cow; and there will be nothing left
when you are paid. You are very good, indeed, to offer me a home
here, and I never can forget your kindness; but I should not be
willing to live on anybody's charity; and besides, all the world is
alike to me now, and I want to get out of sight of--of--what shows
my sorrow to me every day. I don't love this place now; it won't let
me forget, even for a minute, and--and--"