hould be doing something for herself, Mrs. Carey
proposed to put her at once into "Robinson's," under Miss Franklin, if
Mr. Robinson would receive Phyllis for an apprentice.

It was in vain that Phyllis cried and implored her mother to take back
her resolution, and that all her friends apprised of the proposed step
remonstrated; Dr. Millar even called expressly to enter his protest.

Mrs. Carey would hear of no objections. Phyllis must do something for
herself, and she was not clever or qualified in any way to be a
governess. Mrs. Carey had every confidence in "Robinson's" as an
excellent shop, conducted on the best principles. She had a great
respect for both Mr. Robinson and Miss Franklin--she would never find a
more desirable place for Phyllis. As to cutting her off from all her
connections and the circumstances of her birth and education, that had
been done already pretty effectually. The sooner everybody found his or
her level the better for the world in general. If Mrs. Carey was not
much mistaken, more girls than Phyllis would have to learn that lesson
before these hard times were over. No, it was not Phyllis who was to be
cut off from her connections--from those who ought to be nearest and
dearest to her. It was poor Ella who was separated from the rest of the
family, and condemned to gilded exile. Mrs. Carey was doing her best to
keep Phyllis, not only for her mother and her poor father, but for her
brothers, who must all start in life in a humble way, by putting the
girl into "Robinson's," since Mr. Robinson had reluctantly consented to
have her.

Dr. Millar retired from the field beaten.

The unheard-of destination of her friend Phyllis played the most
extraordinary pranks with May Millar's mind. The fact was, there were
two Mays dwelling side by side in one goodly young tabernacle of flesh.
There was the May with the exceptional scholarly proclivities. She had
a life of her own into which none of the family except her father
possessed so much as the tools to penetrate. She cherished dreams of
Greece and Rome, with the mighty music of the undying voices of their
sages and poets, and the rich treasures of learning, among which a poor
little English girl, far far down in the centuries, could only walk with
reverend foot and bated breath.

And there was the other May, hanging about her mother, running to bring
her father's slippers, sitting on his knee to this day, taking
possession of Dora, ordering her ab