Before many days the children had learned that Miss Lane intended to be obeyed; so the idea of resisting her authority gradually faded out of their minds, if they had ever entertained it. She went about her duties in her quiet, graceful way, showing in every action that she worked for God, and made the thought of her accountability to Him the rule of her life.

There was a promptness and decision in her manner that irresistibly drew every child into her way, and very soon there was no complaint of tardiness or carelessness in the school-room. Jennie’s hair was brushed smoothly, because Miss Lane’s satin braids made her ashamed of her tangled locks. Lillie thought of her own ten ragged finger-nails with a blush, when the rosy tips of her teacher’s fingers glided over the piano-keys; and Frank scraped his shoes before coming into the parlor, because he had once left a stain on the clear gray of her dress with his muddy boots; he could not forget her distressed look as she noticed it, and reformed accordingly.

A taste for beautiful things began to be developed in their minds too, and the stars, the sunset, and a snow-fall were seen with new eyes. They learned, too, to know that God was about them, around them, above them; that there was no thought in their heart but he knew it altogether; that he must be the Guide in the daily walk of his baptized children. So the days went on in content.

There came sometimes a girl of Jennie’s age to visit the children; Mary Noel was her name; her parents lived on the opposite shore of the lake, about a quarter of a mile from Mr. Graham’s, and were very careless, worldly people, keeping but a loose watch over their child.

Miss Lane did not fancy her from the first, and disapproved of the intimacy with her young charges; but she had never seen anything positively evil in the child’s behavior, and therefore could not forbid it. But one afternoon, while Mary Noel was there, something occurred which decided her to prevent all intercourse between the children.

Lillie and Mary in passing Miss Lane’s door found it ajar, and looked in curiously at the pictures, curious boxes and books that adorned it, all arranged with most exquisite neatness and taste.

“Let us go in,” proposed Mary. “She is not there, is she?”

“No; but I would rather go in when she is there,” answered Lillie.

“Well, I’d like to see those pictures; come,” and she pushed the door open.

“I don’t think Miss Lane would like it,” persisted Lillie.

“Why? what need you care? The room’s in your father’s house.” “I don’t think it would be quite right, quite polite; Miss Lane is so precise.”

“I know; such a stiff old maid, too. You’ll all be just like her. Well, I’m going in. I wonder if there are many pictures in that album; I’m going to look.”

“Come out, Mary; we had better not disturb anything. I am sure Miss Lane would be displeased.”

“You all act as if you were afraid of her. She isn’t mistress here yet. Mamma said may-be she’d be your stepmother sometime; how would you like that?”

The child’s face became scarlet; she stamped her foot.

“It is not true; it is a wicked story. You are very bad to say so. I’ll ask papa;” and Lillie sat down in the window with tears in her eyes.

In the mean time, Mary was examining one by one the contents of the room, opening books and boxes, and peering about, full of curiosity.

“Oh, Lillie, here is this bottle; it is so delicious! Oh, just smell—Cologne! And isn’t the bottle pretty?”

“Beautiful!” exclaimed Lillie, springing up and taking it out of her hand quickly—too quickly; the choice ornament fell from her grasp, and lay broken in two pieces upon the floor, while the odor of the Cologne water filled the room.

Lillie’s cheeks crimsoned; she stood with clasped hands and loud beating heart, surveying the fragments.

“What shall we do?” she exclaimed.

“Let us go away—she’ll find the bottle broken; we need not say anything. She will not know that you did it.”

So, conscience-smitten and miserable, the little girl followed her tempter down stairs; her first thought being an earnest desire to escape the blame. Lillie was nervous and sensitive and very timid; the idea of her teacher’s displeasure overshadowed all the sunshine of that day, and made it indeed a time of wretchedness. She trembled with terror when she heard Miss Lane’s step, and shrunk back with a guilty flush whenever she caught her eye, growing pale and chill at the sound of her voice, lest the dreaded question should be asked, and contending with her ever rebuking conscience which urged her to confession.

“Ah!” she thought, “if I had only not given up at first—if I had only never touched it—it was so wrong. Mamma used to tell us that we were always punished for doing wrong, even if no one saw us: and now I know that is why I broke the vase. Miss Lane cannot trust me when she knows it; and, oh, she said she would rather we troubled her every minute with mischief than to see us do one dishonorable thing. She will be sure to find it out too, oh, dear! and I never can tell her; it frightens me to think of it. What shall I do? I am so unhappy;” and the child buried her head in the sofa cushions, sobbing aloud.

By and by she crept into the parlor, quite pale and subdued, worn out by the ceaseless reproaches of her conscience, and waited in much sadness for her papa’s coming. The children were in great glee watching the snow as it came softly down, and listening to the loud howling of the wind round the house, happy in their good home, the loving hearts around them, and the bright firelight.

How little they knew of the great world, with the sin, suffering, and death in it; of the dying, despairing thousands on God’s earth, crying out to him in sore pain and need, the day of their rejoicing long since passed!

Presently there was a shout, as Miss Lane came at a quick pace up the walk, struggling against the wind and storm, holding her cloak fast around her. She came in merrily, laughing, and with a vivid color in both cheeks.

“It is perfectly delightful,” she cried, as soon as she saw the children. “How happy is the dog rolling in the snow!”

“Where have you been? We were lonesome; we’ve been hunting you everywhere.”

“I have been to visit my Sunday scholars, and I came round by the post-office for my letters, and I have two such pleasant ones.”

“Did you go to see all the scholars? And did you find out who it was that sat on the end of the bench last Sunday?”

“Yes; her name is Phoebe Birch, and I went to her house. She has a stepmother who is not kind to her. Her father was sitting in a corner of the room; he had been drinking; and when I went in, Phoebe was crying. Her eyes were quite red and swollen; she brightened at the sight of me; but I was too much afraid of both the father and mother to talk much to her, poor child! At last I asked her if she would not come regularly to Sunday-school, and gave her a little Prayer-book, which seemed to make her very happy. The mother scolded and said, ‘She was good for nothing already, and she did not think going to Sunday-school would make her any better.’ I told her that I hoped it would. But when I had got out of the close little room, from that hard scowling woman and the drunken man, into the fresh air, I could scarcely bear to think of poor little Phoebe’s spending all her life there.”

Miss Lane looked round the beautiful rooms, her eye glancing through an open door to the glittering table awaiting them with its delicacies, and she sighed heavily. Her cloak lay on the sofa; she was holding her hat by one string, and Lillie was trembling, lest any moment she might go up to her own room to put them away, and so discover the mischief that had been done. What would she have given to live over that day again, that she might have left that undone?

It was too late then, and her face blanched as Miss Lane, gathering up her things, went gaily up stairs to brush her hair. In a little while she came down again, and Lillie’s watchful eyes saw—as no doubt she expected—a change in her face immediately.

“Has any one been in my room to-day?” she inquired. There was a chorus of Noes, and she continued:

“Some one or some thing has knocked my Cologne bottle off the bureau, and I found it lying shattered on the floor.”

“It must have been Sallie,” said Jennie, “she is so careless; she spilled all the ink in my bottle on the parlor carpet yesterday.”

“What were you doing with ink in the parlor?” asked Miss Lane.

“I was writing my exercises: Mary Noel and Lillie made so much noise in the hall that I could not write in my room.”

“Don’t go there to write again; it is not the proper place; and I wish none of you to have anything to do with Mary Noel; she is not a proper companion for you, I am sure. When she comes here to ask you to walk with her again, just tell her I do not allow you to go. I must speak to Sallie about breaking my things; there is no occasion for such accidents.”

She walked toward the door. Lillie started up to stop her; but the words died on her lip. She could not utter them; she could not bear to see the expression of disapproval gathering upon her teacher’s face, to know her trust was forfeited, and feel the punishment deserved.

“What did Sallie say?” asked Jennie, when she returned.

“She says she never touched the bureau, and seemed much hurt at my suspecting her,” answered Miss Lane, sitting down by the window with a grave air, and looking out upon the snow in silence.

“You need not believe her,” continued Jennie, “she is not true. Mrs. Hall can’t teach her to be.”

“I have good reason to believe her,” was the answer; and Mr. Graham’s arrival at that moment caused the children to rush with a shout to meet him, forgetting Sallie and the Cologne bottle.