rk, cannot do away with the intrusion of domestic
griefs, or any other griefs, and in our hearts we know it and act up to
it. Far gone, indeed, must we be in mental or physical agony before we
abandon the attempt to keep up appearances.

Augusta drank a little tea and ate a very small bit of bread-and-butter.
As in the case of Mr. Meeson, the events of the day had not tended to
increase her appetite. Jeannie drank a little milk but ate nothing. When
this form had been gone through, and the maid-of-all-work had once more
made her appearance and cleared the table, Jeannie spoke again.

"Gus," she said, "I want you to put me to bed and then come and read to
me out of 'Jemima's Vow'--where poor Jemima dies, you know. It is the
most beautiful thing in the book, and I want to hear it again."

Her sister did as she wished, and, taking down "Jemima's Vow," Jeannie's
_own_ copy as it was called, being the very first that had come into the
house, she opened it at the part Jeannie had asked for and read aloud,
keeping her voice as steady as she could. As a matter of fact, however,
the scene itself was as powerful as it was pathetic, and quite sufficient
to account for any unseemly exhibitions of feeling on the part of the
reader. However, she struggled through it till the last sentence was
reached. It ran thus:--"And so Jemima stretched out her hand to him and
said 'Good-bye.' And presently, knowing that she had now kept her
promise, and being happy because she had done so, she went to sleep."

"Ah!" murmured the blue-eyed child who listened. "I wish that I was as
good as Jemima. But though I have no vow to keep I can say 'Good-bye,'
and I can go to sleep."

Augusta made no answer, and presently Jeannie dozed off. Her sister
looked at her with eager affection. "She is giving up," she said to
herself, "and, if she gives up, she will die. I know it, it is because we
are not going away. How can I get the money, now that that horrible man
is gone? how can I get it?" and she buried her head in her hand and
thought. Presently an idea struck her: she might go back to Meeson and
eat her words, and sell him the copyright of her new book for L100, as
the agreement provided. That would not be enough, however; for travelling
with an invalid is expensive; but she might offer to bind herself over to
him for a term of years as a tame author, like those who worked in the
Hutches. She was sure that he would be glad to get her, if only he could