strong sense of propriety, and others no sense of propriety at all."

"It's a great responsibility; is it not, Mrs. Peters?"

"Very great."

"It makes me really unhappy. I am sometimes tempted to wish them all
in heaven; and then I would be sure they were well off and well
taken care of. Some people appear to get along with their children
so easy. I don't know how it is. I can't."

Mrs. Peters could have given her friend a useful hint or two on the
subject of managing children, if she had felt that she dared to do
so. But she knew Mrs. Elder to be exceedingly sensitive, and
therefore she thought it best not to say any thing that might offend
her.

There was a quiet-looking old gentleman in the room where the two
ladies sat conversing. He had a book in his hand, and seemed to be
reading; though, in fact, he was observing all that was said and
done. He had not designed to do this, but the interruption of little
Mary threw his mind off his book, and his thoughts entered a new
element. This person was a brother of Mrs. Elder, and had recently
become domesticated in her family. He was a bachelor.

After the (sic) visiter had retired, Mrs. Elder sat down to her
work-table in the same room where she had received her company, and
resumed her sewing operations, which the call had suspended. She had
not been thus engaged long, before Mary came back into the room,
looking sad enough. Instead of going to her mother; she went up to