no means a correspondingly
plain soul. On the contrary, it was attuned to the best, the richest,
the highest in God's world. She could see the loveliness of trees, of
river, of flowers. She could listen to the song of the wild birds, and
thank her Maker that she was born into so good a world. Nothing rested
her, as she expressed it, like a visit into the country. Nothing made
the dreadful things she had often to encounter in town seem more
endurable than the sweet-peas, the roses, the green trees, the green
grass, the fragrance and perfume of the country; and when she saw her
little niece--for she was very fond of Lucy--looking discontented and
unhappy, Mrs. Brett at once perceived a reason for her unexpected visit
to Sunnyside.

"We needn't go too fast, need we?" she said. "If we go down this path,
and note the flowers--aren't the flowers lovely, Lucy?"----

"Yes," replied Lucy.

"We shall be in time for tea, shall we not? But tell me, how is your
father, dear? I see you are in trouble of some sort. Is he worse?"

"No, Aunt Susy; I think he is better. He has had better nights of late,
and mother is not so anxious about him."

"Then what is the worry, my love, for worry of some sort there doubtless
is?"

"It is the girls, Aunt Susy."

"What girls, my love?"

"Those girls that mother has invited to finish their education at
Sunnyside. They came yesterday, and the teachers, Mademoiselle Omont and
Miss Archer, arrived to-day. And the girls don't suit me--I suppose I am
so accustomed to being an only child. I cannot tell you exactly why, but
I haven't been a bit myself since they came."

"A little bit jealous, perhaps," said Aunt Susan, giving a quick glance
at Lucy's pouting face, then turning away with a sigh.

"You will be surprised, Lucy," she continued after a pause, "when I tell
you that I used to be fearfully jealous when I was young. It was my
besetting sin."

"Oh, Aunt Susy, I simply don't believe it!"

"You don't? Then I will show you some day, when you and I are having a
snug evening at the old Rectory at Dartford, a letter I once received
from my dear father. He took great pains to point out to me my special
fault, as he called it; and his words had a wonderful effect, and I went
straight to the only source of deliverance, and by slow degrees I lost
that terrible feeling which took all the sunshine out of my life."

"Tell me more, please, Aunt Susan," said Lucy.

"Well, you see, dear, I was not