ne? It is a nice
healthy place, and you are likely to do much better than either of our
elder sisters, if you follow straight on in the path you have chosen.
Of course, if such good fortune should attend me that I get rich by my
contrivances of public story-telling and so on, I shall share
everything with you and the rest of us, in which case you shall not
work at all. But (although I have been unexpectedly successful so
far) this is problematical; and it would be rash to calculate upon all
of us being able to live, or even us seven girls only, upon the
fortune I am going to make that way. So, though I don't mean to be
harsh, I must impress upon you the necessity of going on as you are
going just at present. I know the place must be dull, but we must all
put up with dulness sometimes. You, being next to me in age, must aid
me as well as you can in doing something for the younger ones; and if
anybody at all comes and lives here otherwise than as a servant, it
must be our father--who will not, however, at present hear of such a
thing when I mention it to him. Do think of all this, Picotee, and
bear up! Perhaps we shall all be happy and united some day. Joey is
waiting to run to the post-office with this at once. All are well.
Sol and Dan have nearly finished the repairs and decorations of my
house--but I will tell you of that another time.--Your affectionate
sister, BERTA.'

18. NEAR SANDBOURNE--LONDON STREETS--ETHELBERTA'S

When this letter reached its destination the next morning, Picotee, in
her over-anxiety, could not bring herself to read it in anybody's
presence, and put it in her pocket till she was on her walk across the
moor. She still lived at the cottage out of the town, though at some
inconvenience to herself, in order to teach at a small village
night-school whilst still carrying on her larger occupation of
pupil-teacher in Sandbourne.

So she walked and read, and was soon in tears. Moreover, when she
thought of what Ethelberta would have replied had that keen sister known
the wildness of her true reason in wishing to go, she shuddered with
misery. To wish to get near a man only because he had been kind to her,
and had admired her pretty face, and had given her flowers, to nourish a
passion all the more because of its hopeless impracticability, were
things to dream of, not to tell. Picotee was quite an unreas