ded with pleasure. She ran races with Kitty--and nobody reproved her.
She rested, out of breath, while the stronger child was ready to run
on--and no merciless voice cried "None of your laziness; time's up!"
Wild flowers that she had never yet seen might be gathered, and no
offense was committed. Kitty told her the names of the flowers, and
the names of the summer insects that flashed and hummed in the hillside
breezes; and was so elated at teaching her governess that her rampant
spirits burst out in singing. "Your turn next," the joyous child cried,
when she too was out of breath. "Sing, Sydney--sing!" Alas for Sydney!
She had not sung since those happiest days of her childhood, when her
good father had told her fairy stories, and taught her songs. They
were all forgotten now. "I can't sing, Kitty; I can't sing." The pupil,
hearing this melancholy confession, became governess once more. "Say the
words, Syd; and hum the tune after me." They laughed over the singing
lesson, until the echoes of the hills mocked them, and laughed too.
Looking into the schoolroom, one day, Mrs. Linley found that the serious
business of teaching was not neglected. The lessons went on smoothly,
without an obstacle in the way. Kitty was incapable of disappointing her
friend and playfellow, who made learning easy with a smile and a kiss.
The balance of authority was regulated to perfection in the lives of
these two simple creatures. In the schoolroom, the governess taught the
child. Out of the schoolroom, the child taught the governess. Division
of labor was a principle in perfect working order at Mount Morven--and
nobody suspected it! But, as the weeks followed each other, one more
remarkable circumstance presented itself which every person in the
household was equally quick to observe. The sad Sydney Westerfield whom
they all pitied had now become the pretty Sydney Westerfield whom they
all admired. It was not merely a change--it was a transformation. Kitty
stole the hand-glass from her mother's room, and insisted that her
governess should take it and look at herself. "Papa says you're as plump
as a partridge; and mamma says you're as fresh as a rose; and Uncle
Randal wags his head, and tells them he saw it from the first. I heard
it all when they thought I was playing with my doll--and I want to know,
you best of nice girls, what you think of your own self?"

"I think, my dear, it's time we went on with our lessons."

"Wait a little, Syd; I