yet you run away from me."

She made no answer.

"Rachel," I said, at last, "I wish you would talk to me freely. I wish
you would tell what troubles you."

She hesitated a moment; and when, at last, she spoke, her answer rather
surprised me.

"I ought not to be so weak, I know," she replied; "but it is so hard to
stand all alone, to live my life just right, that sometimes I get
discouraged."

I had expected complaints of ill treatment, but found her blaming no one
but herself.

"And who said you must stand alone?" I asked.

"That was one of the things my mother used to say."

"And what other things did she say?"

"Oh, Mr. Browne," she replied, "I wish I could tell you about my mother!
But I can't talk; I am too ignorant; I don't know how to say it. When
she was alive," she continued, speaking very slowly, "I never knew how
good she was; but now her words keep coming back to me. Sometimes I
think she whispers them,--for she is an angel, and you know the hymn
says,

'There are angels hovering round.'

When we sing,

'Ye holy throng of angels bright,'

I always sing to her, for I know she is listening."

Here she stopped suddenly, as if frightened that she had said so much.
The house to which she was going was now close by. I waited for her to
come out, and walked back with her towards home. After proceeding a
little way in silence, I said, abruptly,--

"Rachel, do they treat you well at the house yonder?"

She seemed reluctant to answer, but said, at last,--

"Not very well."

"Then, why stay? Why not find some other home?"

"I don't think it is time yet," she replied.

"I don't understand you. I wish--Rachel, can't you make a friend of me,
since you have no other?"

"I will tell you as well as I can," she replied, "what my mother used to
say. She said we must act rightly."

"That is true," I replied; "and what else did she say?"

"She said, that _that_ would only be the outside life, but the inside
life must be right too, must be pure and strong, and that the way to
make it pure and strong was to learn to _bear_."

"Still," I urged, "I wish you would find a better home. You cannot learn
to bear any more patiently than you do."

She shook her head.

"That shows that you don't know," she answered. "It seems to me right to
remain. Why, you know they can't hurt me any. Suppose they scold me
when I am not to blame, and my temper rises,--for I am very
quick-tempered"--

"Oh, no, Rache