They found Lena in the library, ensconced in state in her uncle's comfortable rolling chair, in which, in by-gone days when he was lame and helpless, he had spent many hours, and in which she could easily be conveyed from room to room by the Colonel's man, Starr, without putting her still tender little feet to the ground. It was natural that she should be glad to be down-stairs again after all the past weeks of confinement and suffering; but Maggie and Bessie found her in a state of happiness and excitement unusual with the calm, reserved Lena, and which seemed hardly to be accounted for by the mere fact that she had once more been allowed to join the family circle.

But this was soon explained.

"Maggie and Bessie," she said, with more animation than her little friends had ever seen her show before, "what do you think has happened? Such a wonderful, such a delightful thing! I cannot see how it did happen!"

Such a thing as had "happened" was indeed an unwonted occurrence in Lena's young life; but she had been through so many new experiences lately, that she might almost have ceased to be surprised at anything.

If she could have looked in upon her father and mother and invalid brother Russell, in their far away southern sojourn a few days since, she would have seen what led to the present unexpected occurrence. Mrs. Neville had just read to the two gentlemen a letter from her brother, Colonel Rush, speaking of Lena's continued imprisonment; and they had continued to talk of their little heroine and her achievement.

"Was Lena delirious at any time while she was so very ill?" asked
Russell.

"Not exactly delirious," answered his mother, "but somewhat flighty at times; and at those times, and indeed when she was herself, her chief thought and her chief distress seemed to be that she would not be able to enter into competition with her schoolmates for some prize to be gained for composition. Your Aunt Marion told me that this prize was an art education provided by some one for a girl with talent, whose circumstances would not permit her to obtain one for herself; and she said that Lena had become very much interested in an English girl, the daughter of the rector of a poor struggling church in the suburbs of the city, a girl with a very remarkable artistic talent; and that she and those little Bradfords, on whose education and training Horace and Marion seem to base all their ideas respecting children—if, indeed, they have any ideas except those of the most unlimited indulgence and license—had set their hearts on winning this prize for that child. Had it been brought about in any other way and without physical injury to herself, I should be glad that Lena was removed from such competition. I highly disapprove of all such arrangements. Children should be taught to seek improvement and to do their duty because it is their duty, and not with the object of gaining some outside advantage either for themselves or others."

"In this case, it certainly seems to have been for a praiseworthy, unselfish object. Poor, dear little Lena!" said Russell, who was the only member of his family who ever ventured to set up his opinion in opposition to his mother's.

"It is the principle of the thing I object to," she said, a little severely. "As I say, I wish my children to do right because it is right, and not with any ulterior object."

"The inducement seemed to have one good effect, at least," persisted Russell, with a slight shrug of his shoulders which was not, perhaps, altogether respectful, "and that was the wonderful improvement Lena made in letter-writing; in the matter and manner, the style and the handwriting, she has certainly made rapid progress during the time she has been with Miss Ashton. Do you not agree with me, father?"

"Ahem-m-m! Yes, I do indeed," answered Mr. Neville, thinking of a little letter which lay snugly ensconced in his left-hand waistcoat pocket, a letter which had come by the same mail as that which his wife held in her hand, but which he had not thought fit to submit to her perusal. It was a letter thanking him for giving her the liberty of asking for anything she wished for—her choice had been that she might be allowed to remain at her uncle's house during the stay of the family in the country—a letter sweet, tender, and confiding, and giving him glimpses into the child's heart which were a revelation to him; a letter which had touched him deeply, but which he believed Mrs. Neville would call "gush" and "nonsense." And just now he did not care to have it so criticised, so he would not show it to his wife, at least at present.

But before the subject of the conversation had changed, Mrs. Neville was called from the room, and Mr. Neville said to his son:

"Russell, I am feeling that I owe—ahem!—I owe some recognition—ahem!—to the Almighty for the very signal mercies granted to us during the past few weeks, some thank-offering—and, ahem!—perhaps I owe some to Lena, too. You, in a fair way of recovery; and, through Lena's wonderful heroism, a frightful casualty averted; and now she herself doing far better than we had dared to hope. If the child is set upon giving an artist's education to this young countrywoman of our own, and your Uncle Horace thinks well of it,—perhaps it might give her pleasure to have the means of doing so. Being now disabled it will be impossible for her to enter into farther competition with her schoolmates, and I wish her to have the pleasure of making the gift herself. What say you?"

The idea met with unqualified approbation from his son; and not only this, but Russell expressed a wish to join his father in his thank-offering. He was liberal and open-handed, this young man, and, having lately come of age and into possession of quite a fortune in his own right, he was ready to seize upon any opportunity of benefiting others out of his own means. He was a young man after Maggie's and Bessie's own hearts, and they would instantly have stamped him with the seal of their approval had they known of this most desirable characteristic.

Some little further conference on the matter ensued between the father and son, with the result that Lena's eyes and heart had to-day been gladdened by the receipt of two checks of no inconsiderable amount—a fortune they seemed to her—the one from her father representing one thousand dollars, the other from Russell for five hundred. They were enclosed in a letter from Mr. Neville to his little daughter, saying that they were to be appropriated to any charitable purpose which she might designate, subject to her uncle's approval—either for the use of the young artist, or, if she were likely to gain the instruction she required through the means of any of Lena's schoolmates, for any good object which would gratify her.

"It's worth all the burns," said the delighted Lena to her uncle, when she had shown her prize to him and consulted him as to the best disposition of it.

"The true martyr spirit," the Colonel said later to his wife. "And she shows herself a wise and prudent little woman; for when we were discussing the matter she said she would wait to decide what should be done with the money until she knows if Maggie or Bessie or any one of those interested in Gladys Seabrooke wins the prize. She knows that Mr. Ashton's gift will go to Gladys in that case; and then she wishes to devote the money to repairing the old church. If she were thirty instead of thirteen she could not show better judgment or more common sense."

"I am glad that her father is learning to appreciate her at last," said Mrs. Rush, who, being very fond of children herself, deeply resented the keep-your-distance system and constant repression under which her husband's sister and brother-in-law brought up their family.

So this was the prize which Lena had to show to her young friends, this the story she had to tell. They, Maggie and Bessie, were enchanted in their turn, and as Lena displayed to them the two magic slips of paper which held for them such wonderful possibilities, and which appeared as untold wealth to their eyes, they could not contain their delight and enthusiasm.

"Why, that will build a whole new church; will it not, Uncle Horace?" asked Bessie, whose faith that her own Maggie would win the prize was absolute, especially now that Gracie Howard seemed to have withdrawn from the contest, and that Lena had been disabled, and who therefore never doubted that the rector's little daughter was sure of the gift tendered by Mr. Ashton.

"Well, hardly," said the Colonel, smiling, as he laid aside the evening paper; "hardly, although it will go far towards making some of the repairs which are so much needed, and also towards beautifying the inside of the church a little. And I think that you must let me also have a hand in this, for I, too, have occasion for a thank-offering. So altogether, I hope we shall be able to put the little church into a fairly presentable condition; that is, in case you decide, Lena, to use your funds for that purpose," he added, with the private resolve that the needy church should not be the loser even if the checks were applied to Gladys Seabrooke's benefit. She was the first object with all three children, that was plainly to be seen; but if it should fall out that the means of improvement she so much desired and so much needed were gained for her by Mr. Ashton's trust, then this small fortune was to be devoted to the church of which her father was rector. Then, too, these young home missionaries intended to devote the proceeds of the fair they were to hold at Easter to the help of the same church; so that altogether the prospect for its relief seemed to be promising.

[Illustration: "THAT WILL BUILD A WHOLE NEW CHURCH"]

"I had a letter from Russell, too, written by his own hand, the very first since he has been ill," said the happy Lena. "Oh! and I forgot; I had a letter from Percy, too. I did not read it, I was so excited by Papa's and Russell's and the two checks. Let me see; where is it? Oh, here it is!"

And she opened it; but seeing at a glance that it was unusually long, she decided that she would not try to decipher Percy's irregular, illegible handwriting at that time, but would wait till Maggie and Bessie should have left her and would make the most of their society.

Poor little Lena! her day was not to be all sunshine, for a cloud came over the heaven of her happiness before she laid her head upon her pillow that night. But this cast no shadow as yet, and the evening passed merrily to all three children.

"I do wish that you could come to the club-meeting on Friday, Lena," said Bessie, shortly before it was time for them to separate for the night.

"So do I," said Maggie.

"I am sure that I wish it," said Lena, "but I suppose it will be some weeks yet before I can go."

Mrs. Rush, who was sitting near, overheard the little colloquy, and at once made a charming suggestion.

"Suppose," she said, "that you meet here till Lena is well enough to go to your house, Maggie. My morning room shall be at your service, as your mother's is at present."

"Oh, how good in you!" cried Maggie and Bessie, both in one breath, while Lena's pale face flushed with gratitude and pleasure; and so the matter was arranged, Maggie undertaking to tell all the members of the club of the change in the place of meeting.

But, glancing at Bessie, Maggie saw that she looked somewhat perturbed, and she suddenly remembered what had passed with Gracie Howard that very afternoon, and that she had been urged to resume her accustomed place among the "Cheeryble Sisters," and had consented to do so. How would that do now? Would Lena feel like having Gracie come here? Gracie who had treated her so badly, who had shown such jealousy and unkindness towards her. This was rather a complication, and considering it, Maggie became uneasy and embarrassed, and Lena, who was very quick-sighted, saw it.

"What is the matter, Maggie?" she asked. "Do you think you would rather not come here?"

"Oh, no!" answered Maggie, "you know I always love to come here. But, Lena, this afternoon we met Gracie Howard, and I begged her to come to the meeting to-morrow. She has not been since—since—the day—of the fire."

The flush which pleasure at her aunt's offer had brought to Lena's face deepened to crimson, which mounted to the very roots of her hair as she heard Maggie.

Then after a moment's hesitation, she said, "Will you ask her to come, Maggie?"

"Yes," answered Maggie, doubtfully, "I'll ask her."

"But you think that she will not come?" said Lena.

"I am afraid she will not," answered Maggie; then added, "I am sure I should not if I were in her place; I should be too ashamed. I think she is ashamed, Lena, and sorry, too; I really do."

Lena seemed to be considering for a moment; then she said, evidently with a great effort,—

"Do you think she would come if I wrote and asked her? I—I would do it if you thought she would be friends again. And, perhaps," she added, with a little pathetic wistfulness which nearly made the tears come to the eyes of the sympathetic Maggie and Bessie, "perhaps she would, now, after such a thing happened to me. Do you know," sinking her voice to a whisper, and speaking with an unreserve which she never showed towards any one save these little friends, and seldom to them, "do you know that when they thought I was going to die—oh, I know that every one thought I was going to die—I used to feel so sorry for Gracie, because we had that quarrel that very afternoon; and I knew how I should have felt if I had been in her place, and I used to wish that I could make up with her; and now I would really like to if she will. Shall I write?"

Bessie, whose eyes were now brimming over, stooped and kissed her cheek; and Maggie followed her example, as she answered, with a break in her own voice,

"I don't see how she could help it, Lena; you dear Lena."

Maggie and Bessie were not a little astonished, not only at this burst of confidence from the shy, reserved Lena, but also at the feeling she expressed and her readiness to go more than half way in making advances for the healing of a breach in which she certainly had not been to blame.

But in the border-land through which Lena's little feet had lately trod, many and serious thoughts had come to her; thoughts of which those about her were all unconscious, as she lay seemingly inert and passive from exhaustion, except when pain forced complaint from her; and chief among these had been the recollection of the unpleasant relation which for some time had existed between herself and Gracie Howard, and which had culminated in the attack of jealousy and ill-temper which the latter had shown towards her on the very afternoon of the day in which Lena had been so badly, almost fatally, injured in the fire. And Lena herself, as has been said, had been altogether blameless in the affair, had no cause whatever for self-reproach; nevertheless, she had wished that she could have made friends with Gracie before she died. But she had spoken to no one of this until now, when she thus opened her heart, at least in a measure, to Maggie and Bessie.

Knowing all that they did—and still neither they nor Lena knew one-half of Gracie's misconduct—what wonder was it that they were touched, and filled with admiration for this little friend who, a stranger only a few months since, had come to fill so large a place in their affection and interest.

But Maggie, feeling confident, as she said, that Gracie was both ashamed and repentant, was also overjoyed at this opening towards a reconciliation; for her peace-loving soul could not abide dissension in any shape, and this breach between two members of the once harmonious club of the "Cheeryble Sisters" had been a sore trial to her.

Nor was Bessie much less pleased; and thinking that there was no time like the present, and that it would be well that Lena should act before she had opportunity to change her mind,—this showed that she did not know Lena well, for having once made up her mind that a thing was right, Lena was not more apt to change than she would have been herself,—she offered to bring writing materials, that the note might be written at once; and running into the library, where Colonel Rush was smoking his cigar, she begged for and received them.

But even with those before her and her resolve firmly taken, Lena found not a little embarrassment and difficulty in wording her note; for, owing to the state of affairs between her and Gracie, it was not the easiest thing in the world for her to do.

However, by Maggie's advice, she resolved to write as though nothing unpleasant had passed between herself and Gracie, and she finally produced the following simply-worded note, ignoring all that was disagreeable.

"DEAR GRACIE,

"Aunt Marion has said that I may have the 'Cheeryble Sisters,' Club here to-morrow, and she says she will make it a little celebration for us because it is so long since I have been with you girls. Please come, for I want to have all of you here.

"Your schoolmate,

"LENA H. NEVILLE."

She hesitated over the manner of closing it, for she could not put "affectionately yours," as, although she was striving to put from her all hard thoughts of Gracie, she certainly did not regard her with any affection, nor would she pretend to do so; for Lena was a most determinately honest child and would never express, even in a conventional way, that which she did not feel. She even shocked Maggie and Bessie now and then, truthful and sincere as they were, by her extreme and uncompromising plain-speaking; and perhaps it was as well that she was a child of so few words, or she would often have given offence. Maggie had suggested "truly yours," as being a common form even between strangers; but Lena rejected that also as expressing a sentiment she did not feel, and Bessie finally proposed "your schoolmate," which satisfied the requirements of both truth and civility.

Maggie and Bessie posted the note on the way home, so that it might be sure to reach Gracie early in the morning, and that, as Bessie said, she might have "time to get over the shock of Lena's forgiveness before she came to school."

Lena had been carried upstairs and safely deposited in her own room by Starr; and Hannah, the nurse of the young Nevilles, had gone down-stairs to seek the food which it was still considered necessary for the little invalid to take before going to rest, when Lena bethought herself of her brother Percy's letter, still unopened in the excitement which had attended the receipt of the two from her father and Russell.

With a half-remorseful feeling that she had so long left it unnoticed, she broke the seal of Percy's letter. But the first words on which her eyes lighted sent a pang to her heart, and as she heard Hannah's heavy step returning, she thrust the letter hurriedly out of sight.

"Dear, dear, child!" said the old nurse, as she saw that Lena's hand shook so that she could hardly hold the bowl of broth, or carry the spoon to her lips, and with some triumph in, as she believed, the fulfilment of her own prophecies, "dear, dear, you're hall hupset, Miss Lena. I told the mistress and I told the doctor you wasn't in no state to go downstairs yet, or worse still, to be 'avin' company, not if it was Miss Maggie and Miss Bessie, leastways not hout of your hown room. 'Ere, let me 'old the basin; you're not fit to do it. There now, here, child,—why, bless your 'eart, Miss Lena, what is it?"

Poor little girl! she was still so weak, so nervous from the effects of the frightful experience through which she had lately passed, and of all the consequent suffering, that she was in no state to bear even the slightest shock or excitement. Had Hannah not noticed her agitation she would probably have controlled herself; but the questions and pressing of the old servant were too much for her, and she burst into a flood of hysterical tears.

She retained sufficient presence of mind, however, when Hannah ran to the door to call her assistant, who was in the next room, to open the drawer of the table by which she sat, and shut the letter within. No one must see that letter until she had had time to read it, and find what those first few sentences meant.

Letitia was sent by Hannah for Mrs. Rush, who speedily came; and, knowing no other cause, she believed, as the servants did, that this came from all the excitement of the day, and that they would have to be more guarded with their little convalescent. She soothed and petted her, mingling therewith a little judicious firmness, till Lena's sobs ceased and she was comfortably settled in bed, where she soon forgot both joys and troubles in the sleep of exhaustion.

"Well!" said Mrs. Rush, when she had left her patient in Hannah's care and rejoined her husband, "this puts an end to the project of having the children's club here to-morrow. We have gone too fast, and now prove that Lena is not so strong and cannot bear so much as we thought. I must at once send word to Maggie and Bessie."