I

look so lovely this morning, with the river sparkling, and the sunshine making everything bright. took Dessie into one of the little turret-places at the end, and then I told her a little of what I felt, how such beauty seemed to whisper to me of God, and how I thought it helped one to realise just a little what heaven must be like. I was not looking at her, but at the hills, and she did. not answer. And when I looked round she was laughing. I said, 'Don't you feel so sometimes, Dessie?' and she said, 'I? No! You're SO awfully sentimental, Emmie; all the world can't be like you.' And I said, 'But don't you think of God when you see beautiful scenery, Dessie?' And she just shrugged her shoulders, and said, 'Why should I?' O mamma, it made me so unhappy. And I do not think Dessie quite liked my asking the question, for when we went back to Miss Bruce and the others, she began talking in her wild way about people being sentimental and nonsensical, and about romance and common sense. She did not repeat what I had said, but she set off Bertie to laugh at me, as well as doing it herself. They made fun of the old castle, and talked all sorts of ridiculous nonsense about the history of it, in a style like Punch, only not so clever. It was very silly of me to mind. But when I have a real love and reverence for people or things, I can't bear to hear them made light of."

"If you could, neither your love nor reverence would be genuine, Emmie," said Mrs. Fitzroy, breaking silence for the first time.

"I suppose not; but I should have been wiser if I had not minded so much. Dessie went on to talk about poetry, and she criticised and laughed at some of the pieces that I love most; and Dessie knows they are my favourites. She did not look vexed or out of temper, like some people, but I think she was vexed with me, or she would not have been so bent on vexing me. The thing I care about most is that it is so bad for Dessie. It seems as if she did not really look up to or reverence anything that is grand or good or beautiful. I can't understand it," concluded Emmie, with a deep sigh.

"You are noticing one of the great wants in Dessie's character," said Mrs. Fitzroy. "But have patience, Emmie.

These are early days, and we may see a change by-and-by."

"What makes her so?" asked Emmie.

"Partly natural character, partly training. Her father has a cynical way of criticising persons and things, as if from a superior level. I don't think he is a man of great power or grasp, intellectually. If he were, he would most likely be less cynicalnot that 'cynical' is quite the fair word for him either, for he is thoroughly kind-hearted. But he has evidently encouraged Dessie in the same habit. There are a certain quickness of perception and a certain rather shallow cleverness about her, which she evidently values far beyond their real worth."

"Dessie thinks herself clever, mamma, I know, for she says so."

"Yes; and she is clever:' just that. She is

not talented, or intellectual, or appreciative, or particularly well informed, and she has no spark of true genius, but she is simply clever-quick and ready, with a good memory, and an aptitude for seizing upon a weak point, and an abundant supply of words."

"But you like her, mamma?" said Emmie wistfully.

"I am not sure that I can say 'Yes.' I have a due aunt-like regard for my niece, and she interests me. Dessie has her good points: she is goodhumoured, and I believe she is truthful, and she has plenty of energy. I think, however, that it is a misguided character-an uneducated one. She is not womanly, and her principles are vague."

"She does not care to do a thing simply because it is right," murmured Emmie.

"No: that is what I mean. There seems to be no fixed principle of duty, still less any mastering desire to serve God and to do His will. Dessie has evidently set before herself a model of what she considers a clever' girl, and she does her best to act up to that model. good many girls follow such a plan. She is not natural."

"Dessie thinks herself natural, mamma.”

A

"She is not. Dessie is constantly acting a part."

"Somehow, I cannot help being fond of her, in spite of all," was Emmie's conclusion.

"Don't try to help it," said Mrs. Fitzroy,

rising and kissing Emmie's brow.

"Your friend

ship and influence may be of service to her. Only don't take her for your model, darling; and do what you can to keep Allie from being injured by her influence. I have some anxieties on that score."

CHAPTER XIII.

A CONTEST.

THE first day of lessons came, a day somewhat

dreaded by gentle Miss Bruce.

She foresaw diffi

culties with this new pupil of hers.

Few things are more troublesome to a teacher than goodhumoured perverseness.

"Aunt Laura says I need not talk French at present," Dessie announced after breakfast, when the four found themselves together in the spacious salle applied between meals to schoolroom purposes.

"Mamma said she was sure you would kindly excuse Dessie just at first," explained Emmeline.

"Yes, my dear. Mrs. Fitzroy spoke to me about it," said Miss Bruce, in her most nervous manner. "I am going to grant you all a week's grace, on condition that the privilege is not

abused."

"Hurrah!" exclaimed Dessie, not too softly. "Dessie, you are not a boy."

"I wish I were, Miss Bruce."

Miss Bruce wisely avoided the discussion, for which Dessie was ripe, on the comparative merits