therfore, understand the nature of Jane's feelings, and sympathize
with her to a certain extent.

All through the day, Jane moved about more quietly than usual. When
I spoke to her about any thing--which I did in a kinder voice than I
ordinarily used--she would look into my face with an earnestness
that rebuked me.

Toward evening, I sent her down-stairs for a pitcher of cool water.
She went quickly, and soon returned with the pitcher of water, and a
tumbler, on a waiter. She was coming towards me, evidently using
more than ordinary caution, when her foot tripped against something,
and she stumbled forward. It was in vain that she tried to save the
pitcher. Its balance was lost, and it fell over and was broken to
pieces at my feet, the water dashing upon the skirt of my dress.

The poor child became instantly as pale as ashes, and the frightened
look she gave me I shall not soon forget. She tried to speak, and
say that it was an accident, but her tongue was, paralyzed for the
moment, and she found no utterance.

The lesson I had received in the morning served me for purposes of
self-control now, and I said, instantly, in a mild, voice--

"Never mind, Jane; I know you couldn't help it. I must tack down
that loose edge of the carpet. I came near tripping there myself
to-day. Go and get a floor-cloth and wipe up the water as quickly as
you can, while I gather up the broken pieces."

The colour came back instantly to Jane's face. She gave me one