ish mother,
but they called her Molly in her new home--it was part of her
discipline.

Simon Keed had accepted, and fulfilled the trust in his own peculiar
way. That is to say, he had sheltered, fed, and clothed Estella, and
after some years' primary instruction in a elementary school, had sent
her to Miss Melford's to complete her studies.

Farther than this he had not gone, for she was totally without a proper
outfit. In summer her patched and faded print frocks presented a
pathetic contrast to the pink and blue cambrics, and floral muslins, of
the other girls; and in winter, when velvets and furs were in evidence,
the contrast made by her coarse plain serge, and untrimmed cape of Irish
frieze, was quite as strong; indeed, her plainness was more than
Quakerish, it was Spartan, she was totally destitute of the knicknacks
so dear to the girlish heart, and though she had grown used to looking
at grapes like Reynard in the fable, I am sure she often felt the sting
of her grandfather's needless, almost cruel, economy. This was evidenced
by what was ever after spoken of by us girls as the garden-party
episode.

Near the old city was a quaint and pretty village, one famed in local
history as having in "teacup," Georgian, times been honoured by a visit
by Mrs. Hannah More, who described it as Arcadian.

It had a fine, well-timbered park, full of green hollows in which grew
the "'rath primrose," and which harboured a large, Jacobean mansion,
occupied, at the period of this story, by Dr. Tempest as a Boys'
Preparatory School, and as Mrs. Tempest was an old friend of Miss
Melford's, the senior pupils (both boarders and day scholars) were
always invited to their annual garden- or breaking-up party, which was
held in the lovely park.

Stella, as one of the senior girls, was duly invited; but no one deemed
that she would accept the invitation, because her grandfather had been
heard to say that education was one thing, and frivolity another.

"I suppose _you_ won't go to the party," said impulsive Ivy Davis, and
Estella had answered with a darkened face:

"I cannot say. When I'm not here I have to stay in that gloomy old
house, like a mouse in its hole. But if I can go anyhow, Ivy, I shall,
you may depend upon _that_."

Then we heard no more about the matter until the eventful day, when, to
our surprise, Estella presented herself with the other day scholars, in
readiness to go.

"Look, Gloria, look," said Ivy, in a loud