y dear Emily, you and May have been deprived of your brother,
and I know what it is to lose a person one loves. When poor dear Mr
Clagget was taken from me, I thought my heart would break; but it
didn't, you see, and I got over my grief in time. Now, according to my
idea, it is wise to make the best of everything; and what I propose is,
when we reach New Zealand, that we should set up house together. You
cannot live alone, that's very certain, and I have no wish to reside by
myself. It is but natural, and right and proper, that an old friend of
your family, as I am, should remain with you, and afford you that
protection which you so much require."

Notwithstanding Mrs Clagget's kind intentions, neither Emily nor May
had any wish to have the sound of her tongue always in their ears. They
talked over her proposal, but agreed that they would rather do anything
than be compelled to accept it. Mr Paget did not offer any advice on
the subject, considering that there would be time enough to discuss the
matter when they were nearer New Zealand. He probably thought that they
would, when there, find some more desirable friend than the talkative
lady appeared to be. What was passing in his own mind, indeed, he did
not reveal. There were still so many sick on board that the young
ladies' services were almost as much required in attending to them as at
first. In this occupation they found their best solace. After two or
three days, they had aroused themselves to attend to their self-imposed
duties. They were now never idle, although tears unbidden often came
into their eyes when they thought of their young brother, cut off so
suddenly in his youth and strength. They endeavoured, on such
occasions, to turn their minds to the duties they had in hand, and, to
the casual observer, they appeared very soon to have recovered from
their loss.

"I have an idea," said Mrs Clagget to the lady who occupied the next
cabin to hers, "that it won't be long after we arrive in New Zealand
before my friend Emily replaces poor dear Charles. I should have given
those two girls credit for having more feeling; but ah, my dear Mrs
Jones, there's wonderful elasticity in the spirits of youth. I am sure
such was my case, when I was a girl--down one moment, up the next;
weeping and sighing, laughing and dancing, within a few minutes. I was
still in my youth when I was deprived of my dear Mr Clagget, and, as I
was telling them the other day, I