t free the honest little soul that could not hide its fault from
such a friend.

"I knew it all before, and was sure you would tell me, else you would
not be the child I love and like to help so well."

Then, while she soothed Jill's trouble, Mrs. Minot told her story and
showed the letter, wishing to lessen, if possible, some part of the pain
it had given.

"Sly old stamp! To go and tell on me when I meant to own up, and get
some credit if I could, after being so mean and bad," said Jill, smiling
through her tears when she saw the tell-tale witnesses against her.

"You had better stick it in your book to remind you of the bad
consequences of disobedience, then perhaps _this_ lesson will leave a
'permanent' impression on your mind and memory," answered Mrs. Minot,
glad to see her natural gayety coming back, and hoping that she had
forgotten the contents of the unfortunate letter. But she had not; and
presently, when the sad affair had been talked over and forgiven, Jill
asked, slowly, as she tried to put on a brave look,--

"Please tell me about Lucinda Snow. If I am to be like her, I might as
well know how she managed to bear it so long."

"I'm sorry you ever heard of her, and yet perhaps it may help you to
bear your trial, dear, which I hope will never be as heavy a one as
hers. This Lucinda I knew for years, and though at first I thought her
fate the saddest that could be, I came at last to see how happy she was
in spite of her affliction, how good and useful and beloved."

"Why, how could she be? What did she do?" cried Jill, forgetting her own
troubles to look up with an open, eager face again.

"She was so patient, other people were ashamed to complain of their
small worries; so cheerful, that her own great one grew lighter; so
industrious, that she made both money and friends by pretty things she
worked and sold to her many visitors. And, best of all, so wise and
sweet that she seemed to get good out of everything, and make her poor
room a sort of chapel where people went for comfort, counsel, and an
example of a pious life. So, you see, Lucinda was not so very miserable
after all."

"Well, if I could not be as I was, I'd like to be a woman like that.
Only, I hope I shall not!" answered Jill, thoughtfully at first, then
coming out so decidedly with the last words that it was evident the life
of a bedridden saint was not at all to her mind.

"So do I; and I mean to believe that you will not. Meantime, w