eal--but before that, it was only a kind of faith.
Writing letters to her was a very little--don't think it's naughty of me
to say it--a very little like saying our prayers. They went out, away to
somewhere, to some one I'd never seen; just like, you know, when we
pray.'

'Yes,' said Bessie gently, 'but the answers came.'

'I know,' replied Frances simply. 'And sometimes I think it helped to
make me feel that there is something _real_ in saying our prayers. But I
must go.'

'And so must I,' said Bessie. 'And thank you, dear Francie.'

She kissed the little face affectionately, and then hastened back to her
companions.

'I do love Frances,' she thought. 'Somehow, I don't feel as if I could
ever love Jacinth quite as much. I do hope all this won't bother the
poor little thing. I should make Margaret unhappy if I blamed her for
having told Frances, and I scarcely see how she could have helped it. It
isn't as if we were in disgrace,' and Bessie threw back her head
proudly. 'We have no secrets: father's whole life and character are
_grand_; and rather than have that horrid old Lady Myrtle--there, now,
I'm calling her just what I told Frances she mustn't--rather than have
her thinking _we_ want her money, I'd--I don't know what I wouldn't do.
If only'----And here poor Bessie's heroics broke down a little. There
came before her a vision of 'father' with his crutch--for he had been
wounded in the hip and was very lame--with the lines of suffering on his
face, showing through the cheery smile which it was seldom without; and
of 'mother' in her well-worn black poplin, which she used to declare
was 'never going to look shabby,' planning and contriving how to send
the two girls, neatly and sufficiently provided for, to school, when the
wonderful chance of a year at Miss Scarlett's had so unexpectedly come
in their way.

Bessie's eyes filled with tears.

'I'd do anything for them,' she thought. 'I'd go to be Lady Myrtle's
companion or lady's-maid or _anything_, if it would do any good. It's
all very well to be "proud," but I'm afraid my pride would melt very
quickly if I could see any way to help them. But I'm glad I stopped
Frances talking about it; it really might have done harm. I must write a
long letter to mother. I wonder if I can begin it to-night?'

Frances, escorted by Phebe, made her way home in greater silence for
some minutes than was usual with her. She was revolving many things in
her fluffy little head.

'