the pastor's lady, and having told her of her father's
difficulties, she asked her if she could point out any means by which
she might get a little money to help in these difficulties.

"Monsieur Eversil, though a very simple man, was not so poor as many
Swiss pastors are. He had no children, and his lady had had money.
Madame wished to assist Ella, whom she much loved; but she rather
hesitated before she said to her:

"'I have been accustomed to have my linen taken up to be washed and
bleached upon the mountains every summer. The woman who did this for me
is just gone out of the country; if you will do it, you will gain
enough during the summer to make up for the loss of the cow. But are
you not above such work as this, Ella? They say of you that you are
proud--is this true?'

"The bright dark eyes of Ella filled with tears, and she looked down
upon the polished floor of the parlour in which she was talking with
Madame Eversil.

"'I know not, Madame,' she answered, 'whether I am proud or not, but I
earnestly desire not to be so; and I thank you for your kind proposal,
and as I am sure that I know my grandmother's mind, I accept it most
joyfully.'

"It was then settled that Madame Eversil should send all the linen
which had been used during the winter, to be washed and whitened and
scented with sweet herbs, up to the hill as soon as the snow was
cleared from the lower Alps. And Ella went gaily back to tell her
grandmother and Meeta what she had done.

"They were both pleased; Meeta loved the thoughts of any new
employment, and Monique promised her advice and assistance. Even
Jacques, when he came in, said he thought he might help also in drawing
water and spreading the linen on the grass.

"'And I,' said little Margot, 'can gather the flowers to lay upon the
things--can't I, Ella?'

"So this matter was settled, and everyone in the family was pleased.
The winter at length passed away: the cascades flowed freely from the
melting snow; the wind blew softly from the south; the grass looked of
the brightest, freshest green; and every brake was gay with flowers,
amongst which none were more beautiful or abundant than the
rose-coloured primrose or the blue gentian. The sheep, which had been
penned up during the winter, were drawn out on the fresh pastures, and
strangers began to come to the valley to see the waterfall, near to
which they climbed by the sheep-path, which ran just under the hedge of
Martin Stolberg's