"Does my poor little lame boy write often like this?" Mildred asked when she had finished the perusal of the composition.

"I have one or two, other compositions equally good in prose," I replied, "but this seemed to me remarkable for a boy of his years. I have long thought it a pity not to encourage the lad. If he could read standard authors with you, Mildred, besides reciting to me- His intellectual ambition is already roused, and he but needs direction and timedirection from a cultivated mind. Oh, Mildred! if he should be a poet ! "

A fiery ardor lighted her countenance at my words. She arose and walked fast through the room.

"He shall lack neither opportunity nor means," she said, speaking hurriedly. "I will teach him, and when I can help him no longer in his studies, he shall be sent to college. He shall be educated, Bessie, and whether he becomes a poet or not, I shall yet have done a right thing, in finishing a work already begun. His mind shall have food, scope, guidance."

She was now roused and wholly interested. I looked at her with pleasure.

"Have you work enough, Mildred?" I asked.

"Oh, Bessie!" she exclaimed, pausing in her walk to throw her arms impulsively about me, "how shall I ever be able to thank you for this? Your suggestion shows me my duty and gives me employment. Walworth did right to send me to you."

Mildred did not hesitate long in the performance of what she considered right. Philip Arran was removed from Andy Ray's care and given an upper room, near that of Tommy, who was now judged old enough to leave the nursery and occupy an apartment of his own. No objection was made to this arrangement. Both her parents would have gratified the most extravagant whim of Mildred's, and this seemed no extraordinary proceeding, for the boy was a favorite with the whole household.

Philip took his meals with the children, and said his ordinary lessons with them as usual.

In the afternoon of three days in the week he went to Mildred to recite from his Latin and French grammar, and read some fine poem or choice old English essay, which both teacher and pupil discussed afterward with taste and enjoyment, for, as I have said, Philip was gifted with rare discrimination and a love for the heroic and beautiful, uncommon as it was enthusiastic.

So the days flew busily on, and Mildred and her protégé grew strongly attached to each other. A visible change was taking place in lame Philip. It was not likely that he would ever grow much taller, but he no longer looked sickly and puny: the crimson of health was on his cheek, and his step, though he halted a little, was firm and strong. Physically, he was greatly benefited; intellectually, he was making rapid strides to excellence. I remember one or two conversations held with him at this time, which astonished and delighted me. "There is even more promise about the lad than I at first thought," I said to Mildred one day, while I lingered in her room. She smiled, and going to her bureau, took from a

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small, locked drawer, a Savings Bank book, and pointed to an entry made in Philip's name for a thousand dollars.

"I did not mean to tell any one just yet," she said, "but I can trust you, Bessie. There are my diamond necklace and ear-rings in another shape. It will do more good in Philip's education than it ever did when in the form of glittering jewelry; it made me the envy of one-half my lady acquaintances.'

"But will your parents approve?" I asked, aghast at the exchange that had been made. "I do not anticipate any blame from them," she returned. "Uncle Erastus gave me the necklace and ear-rings. The pin and bracelet which my mother obtained to match them I have not parted with. In any case, Bessie, I feel that I have done right."

And thus lame Philip's future education was provided for. The "poet," Mildred and I had named him in our hearts.

HE children sat with me in the twilight of the cold October evening, beside the nursery fire. Lillian was seated on my knee, twining the long, front locks of my hair into curls. It was a favorite amusement with her, and she had a habit of murmuring

Bessie, Bessie," under her breath while her hands were busy with my hair. At all other times she called me Miss Wilmerton. Tommy and Frank sat at my feet. They were talking of their brother Walworth's departure.

"Papa looks so cross," said Frank,

"that I