The hour that followed was tedious in the extreme to both teacher and
pupil, for not one single word was spoken during that time.

When the clock struck ten--the hour generally devoted to music--Violet
arose, and, going to the piano, began to play.

Instantly Bertha's chubby hands went up to her ears again, but her young
teacher, without appearing to notice the movement, kept on, and did a
faithful half-hour's practice for herself.

Then she began to sing a sweet little ballad which she had learned soon
after her mother's death. It was plaintive, and told the story of a
lonely little heart longing for mother-love, and she had not reached the
end of the second verse when she saw the tears streaming over Bertha's
little face, and knew that her wedge had entered the obstinate little
soul.

Still she pretended to ignore her, keeping on with her song until she
had finished it, then she went back to her work in the window.

Presently a timid, somewhat uncertain voice said:

"Miss Huntington."

"Well, dear."

"May--may I have oysters for my lunch?"

"Ah! those oysters! Were ever such tender things so hard to be disposed
of?" But she took courage from the form of the request and the appealing
tone.

"No, dear," she quietly answered.

"Why?" imperatively.

"Because I have said, once, that you cannot have them, and have given
Mary orders to provide them for your breakfast to-morrow morning," was
the calm response; then she added: "Now, let us talk no more about the
unpleasant subject, but attend to our duties. It is time for your
geography lesson."

"I do not want my geography. I must do my history first," was the
rebellious response.

"The history hour is past, and will not come again until to-morrow,"
Violet replied.

She knew that the child was very much interested in her history--she
always listened attentively while she read it to her, and seldom had to
be prompted in repeating it; but the lessons had all been assigned for
certain hours in the day, and she did not intend to break her rules or
be governed by the caprices of this spoiled girl of twelve.

"I don't care; I shall not do my geography until I have done my
history," retorted Bertha, angrily.

"Bertha," said Violet, gravely, "we are going to do the lessons in their
regular order every day, for if we jumble things we shall never have any
system. Now, I hope you are going to do right, because only those who do
their duty are happy. I know you