my waist from behind. A voice, so close that it tickled my neck, said:
"Dear girl, what friends we shall be!" I turned round, and confronted
Miss Jillgall.

CHAPTER XV. HELENA'S DIARY.

If I am not a good girl, where is a good girl to be found? This is in
Eunice's style. It sometimes amuses me to mimic my simple sister.

I have just torn three pages out of my diary, in deference to the
expression of my father's wishes. He took the first opportunity which
his cousin permitted him to enjoy of speaking to me privately; and his
object was to caution me against hastily relying on first impressions of
anybody--especially of Miss Jillgall. "Wait for a day or two," he said;
"and then form your estimate of the new member of our household."

The stormy state of my temper had passed away, and had left my
atmosphere calm again. I could feel that I had received good advice; but
unluckily it reached me too late.

I had formed my estimate of Miss Jillgall, and had put it in writing for
my own satisfaction, at least an hour before my father found himself
at liberty to speak to me. I don't agree with him in distrusting first
impressions; and I had proposed to put my opinion to the test, by
referring to what I had written about his cousin at a later time.
However, after what he had said to me, I felt bound in filial duty
to take the pages out of my book, and to let two days pass before I
presumed to enjoy the luxury of hating Miss Jillgall. On one thing I
am determined: Eunice shall not form a hasty opinion, either. She shall
undergo the same severe discipline of self-restraint to which her sister
is obliged to submit. Let us be just, as somebody says, before we are
generous. No more for to-day.

.......

I open my diary again--after the prescribed interval has elapsed. The
first impression produced on me by the new member of our household
remains entirely unchanged.

Have I already made the remark that, when one removes a page from
a book, it does not necessarily follow that one destroys the page
afterward? or did I leave this to be inferred? In either case, my course
of proceeding was the same. I ordered some paste to be made. Then I
unlocked a drawer, and found my poor ill-used leaves, and put them back
in my Journal. An act of justice is surely not the less praiseworthy
because it is an act of justice done to one's self.

My father has often told me that he revises his writings on religious
subjects. I may harmlessly imita