The first Saturday after my arrival at Hazel Grove, I found, after breakfast, that Clara, instead of getting her books, as usual, produced some colored silks and a frame for embroidery, in which was an apron with a border of beautifully shaded white, pink, and crimson rose-buds, just commenced. At the same time, Grace brought out her paints and brushes and an unfinished flower-piece, which showed both great taste in its design and great care in its execution. These things were laid on the table, and then these two girls seemed to have nothing to do but to watch for the arrival of some one whom they evidently expected with impatience. At length Clara cried out, "I see her, Grace—there she is."

I looked and saw, still at a distance from the house, the figure of a girl apparently not older than those who were so anxiously expecting her. She carried a portfolio under her arm, and walked with a quick, buoyant step, which showed that she was both well and cheerful.

"Who is that?" said I to Grace.

"Cecille L'Estrange, ma'am," she replied.

"And is she coming to take lessons with you?"

"No, ma'am," she said, smiling, "she is coming to teach us."

"To teach you!" I exclaimed, with surprise, "why, she is a child, like yourselves. What can she teach you?"

"Oh! a great deal more than we have time to learn," said Clara, while Grace added,

"She is two years older than Clara and I,—she is thirteen."

I had no time to ask farther questions, for Cecille was at the door. She entered smiling, and said, "Ah! you wait for me—but I am punctual, it is just the time," pointing to a clock on the mantelpiece, which said exactly nine o'clock. As she spoke, her eye turning towards that part of the room where I was sitting, she colored, and looked down. Grace, who always seemed thoughtful of the comfort of others, saw this little embarrassment, and introduced her to me.

Either this introduction, or something in my manner to her, set her quite at her ease; and when I asked if I should be in their way, it was with a very sweet, engaging smile that she replied, "Oh no, indeed! I should very much like to have you stay, if you please."

Before I say any thing more of Cecille L'Estrange, it will, perhaps, be best to tell my young readers, that she was a French girl, and therefore, though she understood English perfectly well, and spoke it better than most foreigners do, she sometimes expressed herself in a different manner from what an English person or an American would have done: and when she was very much excited from any cause, either pleasant or painful, she would bring in a French word here and there, without seeming to notice, or even to know it herself. These words, however, I will always translate into English for you.

I had nothing to do for some time but to watch my companions as they sat busily engaged, and their silence only broken now and then by a direction from their young instructress. Seldom have I seen any one who interested me more than this young instructress. Now that I saw her more nearly, I still thought that she did not look older than Clara or Grace; indeed, she was smaller than either of them. Her features, too, were small; and though, when quite still, there was an earnest, grave expression in her face, when she spoke or smiled, it was lighted up with such animation and gayety that she seemed like a playful child. I watched her very earnestly, for there was something about her which made me think, that young as she was, and cheerful as she now appeared, she had felt sorrow and trial. At one time, in moving some things which stood on the table out of Clara's way, she took up a small bronze figure of Napoleon Bonaparte. She did not put this down immediately, but continued to hold it and look at it, till her countenance grew very sad, and she sighed heavily. Just then, Grace, having put the finishing touch to a splendid rose, placed the piece before her eyes without speaking. In an instant all sadness was gone from her face, and, clapping her hands together, she exclaimed, in French, "What a beautiful flower!" then, laughing at her own forgetfulness, added, in English, "It is beautiful! is it not, madam?" showing it to me as she spoke.

It was beautiful, and I praised it as it deserved.

A few minutes after this, Cecille, glancing at the clock, started up, exclaiming, "I must go, it is after eleven!"

"Wait five minutes," said Clara, "and just show me how to put in that last shade, and I will soon finish this corner."

Cecille looked distressed, turned her eyes from the work to the clock, took the needle from Clara's fingers, and then dropping it, said, "I will come back this afternoon, and show you; but you must let me go now. I told my grandmamma that I would come back to her at half-past eleven. I shall just have the time now to get home before that; and if I stay longer she will be frightened for me."

She took up her portfolio, courtesied to me, bade the girls good-by, again assuring Clara that she would come back, and in less than two minutes was out of sight.

"I am sorry," said Clara, as she was putting up her work, "that I asked her to show me any more to-day, for now she will take that long, tiresome walk back again."

"Besides, Clara," said Grace, "you know she is always at work when she is at home, and she will lose so much time coming twice to-day."

"Well, I am sure, Grace," said Clara, reddening at what seemed to her a reproach, "I did not ask her to come again, and I can do no more than be sorry for it now."

"Yes, we can do something more," said Grace, "we can walk over after dinner and tell her not to come."

"So we can and so we will," said Clara, relieved at once by seeing that she could do something to remedy the evil.