parents, who were, in one sense, farther away still, and yet, perhaps, were close beside her then. Children cannot tell the story of their lives, as though it were a lesson learned by heart, when one asks them to do it; and as for grown people, they can never tell that story truly. But Miss Charteris asked more questions. 'Was the old home pretty?' 'Oh, beautiful! so beautiful!' said the child; and then, by little and little, the whole short sad tale came out.

She had never known her father; he had died long, long ago; but he had sung very very beautifully; Campanella knew that, for her mother had often told her so. The mother too, she sang; oh, so sweetly! It had made Nella cry to hear her sing; or, if she did not cry, she read long stories in the singing. Her mother used to sing in a theatre; and Nella was often dressed in pretty clothes, ('Not like this,' she said, touching the cotton frock as if it pricked her fingers,) and taken to a place, where she could see her mother dressed in much finer clothes still; sometimes like a queen, sometimes like an angel. Then she would sing, so that it was like listening to angels to hear her; and people threw flowers at her; and she would gather them up by armfuls, and smile, and look happy: and Nella would be half buried in flowers, as they went home in their carriage. That was a lovely time,' the child said; the mother was always smiling then.' But at last, she began to smile less, and then Nella was never taken to hear her sing; and one night she came home, and ran to Nella's little bed, and threw herself down upon it, and cried, with torrents of tears,' said the child, and told her that they were ruined, and should starve, for her voice was gone.

6

'Was it gone?' asked Miss Charteris.

'When

'No, it was not gone,' cried Nella, as if she were indignant. she had said that, the mother went to the piano, and sang so beautifully, that I have never heard anything half so fine; it was like all the sweetest birds, and yet so dreadful, that I had to hold my hands on my mouth, that I might not cry out, and stop her. And then, at last, there came a high note, which I had often heard her sing with a voice as clear as water; but now it came out harsh and broken, and then she threw up her hands, and began to sob; and when I went to her, she cried until my hair was quite wet through. She had often said before, in the happy time when her voice was beautiful, that we would go to England, and get rich, and I should be a lady, with no need to sing in a theatre; and after this night, she said we would go to England, and she would teach other people to sing, if she could not sing herself. So we came; and then there was the storm.'

Having heard the little history, Miss Charteris felt sure that since there had been no one to care for the mother while she lived, there would be no one to seek for the child now that her mother was dead. She loved Campanella all the better for her friendlessness, and entered with new zeal into the work of teaching, which, as the pupil was quick

the place, such as bachelors' homes soon acquire. Yet, although Miss Charteris had been there only a few days, she had already given a grace and freshness to the room, by means of her little work-basket with a blue frill, her poetry books, and the roses in a glass, which she was copying in water-colours.

Campanella hardly noticed any of these things; the graceful figure, in a blue morning dress, (looking to the poetical Italian child like the Madonna, whom she had once seen in a picture, clad in a soft blue cloud,) was all which she noticed. Her cheeks glowed, and her eyes sparkled with pleasure, as Miss Charteris came forward, and took her hands. Then the lady felt that there were two big hard pennies in one little fist. She smiled, and fetched a box from a side-table. There was a slit in the lid of the box, and on its side was a picture of a clergyman, preaching to three black people, and a baby.

'Put your money in here,' she said.

The child obeyed; the pennies dropped through the hole one after the other, with a ring and a flop.

'Now,' said Miss Charteris, we must begin our lessons, and be very busy, for I cannot stay in Brentholm long; and before I go, I want to teach you to speak to the people around you.'

Then she took up an Italian Bible, and asked Campanella to read ; but she could not read well, even in her own language. So Miss Charteris read to her, first from the Italian Bible, and then from the English, telling her what each word meant as she read it. After this, she made the child learn some English phrases: 'Please give me some bread,' and 'Where are the coals?' and other little sentences like these.

They found plenty to do until one o'clock, when Miss Charteris ate her lunch, and the little girl had a nice warm dinner given to her. She ate so neatly and so prettily, that the lady was pleased to watch her, and felt more than ever sure that she was the child of one who was a lady too, and more than ever anxious to hear who that mother had been.

There had been rain in the morning; but in the afternoon, the June sun came out warm and strong, and the sky grew clear. Miss Charteris opened a long window in the drawing-room, and carried out a chair on to a terrace there, overhung with roses, growing on a trellis. She took some sewing for herself, and some for the little girl, whom she told to sit beside her on a low stool. She smoothed the child's dark hair, and thought how strangely unsuited that refined face was to the homely frock of purple print below it.

'I shall call you Nella,' she said; I find that Campanella is too long to say often. The rest will call you so too, I think. You must run when anyone calls Nella; you understand? And now, Nella dear, tell me what you can of your home, and of your father and mother.'

Nella could not answer to that; though her eyes took a dreamy expression, as though she were seeing the old home far away, and the

parents, who were, in one sense, farther away still, and yet, perhaps, were close beside her then. Children cannot tell the story of their lives, as though it were a lesson learned by heart, when one asks them to do it; and as for grown people, they can never tell that story truly. But Miss Charteris asked more questions. 'Was the old home pretty?' 'Oh, beautiful! so beautiful!' said the child; and then, by little and little, the whole short sad tale came out.

She had never known her father; he had died long, long ago; but he had sung very very beautifully; Campanella knew that, for her mother had often told her so. The mother too, she sang; oh, so sweetly! It had made Nella cry to hear her sing; or, if she did not cry, she read long stories in the singing. Her mother used to sing in a theatre; and Nella was often dressed in pretty clothes, ('Not like this,' she said, touching the cotton frock as if it pricked her fingers,) and taken to a place, where she could see her mother dressed in much finer clothes still; sometimes like a queen, sometimes like an angel. Then she would sing, so that it was like listening to angels to hear her; and people threw flowers at her; and she would gather them up by armfuls, and smile, and look happy: and Nella would be half buried in flowers, as they went home in their carriage. 'That was a lovely time,' the child said; the mother was always smiling then.' But at last, she began to smile less, and then Nella was never taken to hear her sing; and one night she came home, and ran to Nella's little bed, and threw herself down upon it, and cried, with torrents of tears,' said the child, and told her that they were ruined, and should starve, for her voice was gone.

6

'Was it gone?' asked Miss Charteris.

'When

'No, it was not gone,' cried Nella, as if she were indignant. she had said that, the mother went to the piano, and sang so beautifully, that I have never heard anything half so fine; it was like all the sweetest birds, and yet so dreadful, that I had to hold my hands on my mouth, that I might not cry out, and stop her. And then, at last, there came a high note, which I had often heard her sing with a voice as clear as water; but now it came out harsh and broken, and then she threw up her hands, and began to sob; and when I went to her, she cried until my hair was quite wet through. She had often said before, in the happy time when her voice was beautiful, that we would go to England, and get rich, and I should be a lady, with no need to sing in a theatre; and after this night, she said we would go to England, and she would teach other people to sing, if she could not sing herself. So we came; and then there was the storm.'

Having heard the little history, Miss Charteris felt sure that since there had been no one to care for the mother while she lived, there would be no one to seek for the child now that her mother was dead. She loved Campanella all the better for her friendlessness, and entered with new zeal into the work of teaching, which, as the pupil was quick

and the mistress gentle, made good progress in a short time. Miss Charteris was touched by the thought of the poor sweet-voiced mother, who must have been good, and a gentlewoman, as was clearly to be seen in the behaviour of her daughter. She had lived a life which is dangerous for women, in the glare and noise of a theatre, and had won her way safely through it, because leaning only on that Support which is the strongest; and had taught her child to love her, and helped to fill her mind with pure and lovely thoughts, which were unchildlike, only because they were deeper than the dreams of children often are.

It seemed hard, almost cruel, that one so brought up, and now flung on the world for friendship, should find a home only in the ruinous cottage of that wild Black Bill. Yet it was not easy to see how a change could be made, until Bill himself desired it; and, as Mrs. Lester had said, perhaps the good God had sent the child thither.

There could be no harm, however, in making that cottage more habitable; and one day, Miss Charteris said to Mr. Dykes,

Uncle, please do not forbid me to go to Bill Waters's house with Campanella. If it is fit for her to live in, it must be fit for me to see.'

'Why do you wish to go, Amy?' asked the Rector, rather troubled. 'Because I know her own room is in no proper state for her; and if I see it, I may be able to improve it. Perhaps I may improve the whole cottage; who knows? I have great hopes of Bill, since he sends the child to me so regularly. No, it will not do as well for you to go; Women's eyes can see, and women's

it will not do nearly so well. heads can contrive a hundred ways of making a place comfortable, which a man would never think of. Even if Bill is a smuggler, as you suspect, his kegs of brandy won't hurt me.'

Do let me go.

So Miss Charteris got her will, by means of a kiss and smile. And on that very afternoon, Campanella tripped along the rutty lane, with a lighter heart than she had ever known in treading that path before; for her dear teacher was holding her hand, and talking to her in her sweet way.

When the two passed through the gate, before which there was always a puddle, and Miss Charteris saw the desolate garden ornamented only with stalks of beheaded cabbages, the bulgy walls, the window stuffed with rags, her heart ached for the child. Yet she could see redeeming points about the place, which Mrs. Lester had not seen, nor good Mr. Dykes himself. A strong ivy tree clambered up the walls, throwing out rich sprays everywhere, and covering the lower part of the chimney, which rose above like a pinnacle, glowing against the blue summer sky, in all the warm colour of old brick.

Miss Charteris saw that the growth of the ivy was beautiful; and that the old building, with its dropping thatch, stained yellow with lichen, and shaded by a graceful wych-elm behind, was fit to be drawn in a picture. Yet it was not fit to live in. She felt this strongly, with real pain on Campanella's behalf, as she passed through the poor kitchen,

smelling strongly of the pipes which Bill had smoked there; up the steep rickety stair, and into the little girl's room, where cobwebs hung from the open rafters, and the plaster on the wall was falling away. She sat down on the box which held the clothes; and after she had looked round her carefully, took Nella's hand as she stood beside her, and asked,

'Is this room quite your own? Does no one come here but you?' 'Only Mrs. Lester has been twice, and Mrs. Lucas once to sweep it.' Mrs. Lucas was a sailor's wife.

'How do you like the room?' asked Miss Charteris.

'It is very ugly,' answered Campanella.

'It is ugly,' said her friend, glancing round again; 'yet I think we may soon make it prettier. There are many things which make a room look very cosy, and yet cost little trouble. I suppose we must let the kitchen be as it is for the present. Is Bill Waters often at home?'

'Yes; often for a long long time in the evenings,' replied the child, with a sigh.

• Do

you

love Bill?' asked Miss Charteris.

Nella replied, 'Oh, no!' her eyes opening wide with surprise.

'Yet he is very kind to you; as kind as he knows how to be. He was very anxious that you should come to live with him; and I can see that he has bought a few things to make the room nice for you, according to his fancy. I think he is very fond of you.'

Her

Nella said nothing; but she looked more and more surprised. mother had been fond of her, and with what a different fondness from Bill's!

Miss Charteris said no more then. She briefly set down in her memory a list of such articles as were chiefly needed to improve the poor attic; and then she kissed the little girl, and went away.

When next she met Bill Waters, she said to him, when she had just thanked him for sending Nella to her every day, 'I have a nice little plan, Bill, and I want you to help me in carrying it out. I should like us to give Nella a pretty room, fit for such a dainty little woman. I think that upper room of yours will do very well indeed, if you will let me help you in setting it in order. You know, there are so many things wanted to make a home nice, which a man would never think of.' Bill returned no answer but a confused, 'Thank'ee, Mum.'

So Miss Charteris went on. 'What I want you to help me in, first of all, is the papering of the room. There are a few places on the wall where the plaster is not quite good. I know a very pretty wallpaper, with pink roses on it, which I should like to give Nella for her You will not mind my giving Nella such a little present as that, will you? because I am so fond of her.'

room.

'Thank'ee, Mum,' again from Bill, with the Cheshire cat smile beginning to broaden on his countenance.

'Then, I think it will be so very nice if Nella can stay with me, or