snows. Leaning her elbows on the window-sill, Edna rested her face
in her palms, and after a few minutes a tide of tender memories rose
and swept over her heart, bringing a touching expression of patient
sorrow to her sweet, wan face, and giving a far-off wistful look to
the beautiful eyes where tears often gathered but very rarely fell.
Hagar had dressed her in a new white muslin wrapper, with fluted
ruffles at the wrists and throat; and the fair young face, with its
delicate features, and glossy folds of soft hair, was a pleasant
picture, which the nurse loved to contemplate. Standing with her
work-basket in her hand, she watched the graceful little figure for
two or three moments, and a warm, loving light shone out over her
black features; then nodding her head resolutely, she muttered:

"I will have my way this once; she shall stay," and passed out of
the room, closing the door behind her. Edna did not remark her
departure, for memory was busy among the ashes of other days,
exhuming a thousand precious reminiscences of mountain home,
chestnut groves, showers of sparks fringing an anvil with fire, and
an old man's unpainted head-board in the deserted burying-ground.
She started nervously when, a half hour later, Mrs. Murray laid her
hand gently on her shoulder, and said:

"Child, of what are you thinking?"

For an instant she could not command her voice, which faltered; but
making a strong effort, she answered in a low tone:

"Of all that I have lost, and what I am to do in future."

"Would you be willing to work all your life in a factory?"