When Mrs. Wilmot joined us I told her how much I had been interested by the young Cecille, and begged her to tell me all she knew of her.

"That I will readily do," Mrs. Wilmot replied, "but the all is not much. She has been but a short time near us, for it was only late in the last winter, when the roads were full of snow and ice, that a stage full of passengers from B. was upset, not far from us. None were hurt but an old lady, who had her arm broken. It was quite impossible for her to continue her journey, yet she seemed, I was afterwards told, much distressed at being compelled to remain. The pain occasioned by her removal from the road to a neighboring house caused her to faint; and before she recovered her consciousness the surgeon had been called, and every thing was in readiness for setting the arm. A little girl, who had been travelling with her, stood weeping beside her, addressing her in French in the most plaintive and tender tones, and by the endearing title of 'mamma.' As the poor lady revived she spoke to this child in the most rapid and energetic manner, while she repulsed the proffered assistance of the surgeon. She spoke in French, which no one present understood, but it was evident from her manner that she was insisting on something which the poor child was vehemently, yet respectfully and tenderly opposing. At length the surgeon said, 'Your mamma, is wrong, my dear, to leave her arm so long unattended to. It is already swelling, and every minute's delay will make the operation more painful.' As he ceased speaking the old lady turned to the child and said something with great energy. The little girl now, in a very hesitating and embarrassed manner, explained that the lady whom, when speaking in English, she called grandmamma, did not want any thing done to her arm. 'She will die then,' said the blunt but honest and kind-hearted Dr. Willis. The little girl wrung her hands in agony, and a groan for the first time burst from the lips of the old lady, showing that though she either could not or would not speak English, she understood it well. A sentence addressed to her by the child in the most imploring tone caused the tears to spring to her eyes. As Cecille,—for she was the child,—spoke to her grandmother, she had drawn out a small embroidered purse. This action revealed to Dr. Willis the secret of the old lady's reluctance to have any thing done to her arm. She was afraid to incur the expense of a surgical operation. The bluntest people become gentle when their kindly feelings are excited, and I have no doubt it was with great tenderness that Dr. Willis addressed himself to Madame L'Estrange in his endeavors to induce her to accept of assistance which, though necessary to her life, she would have rejected from the fear that she could not pay for it. How he managed it I know not; but he did at length win her consent, to the almost frantic joy of Cecille.

"A fractured limb is, you know, a very serious thing with an old person, and it was many weeks before Madame L'Estrange recovered from the fever occasioned by hers. Dr. Willis saw that she was often painfully anxious on some subject, and remembering the little purse, he was not long at a loss to conjecture the cause. Yet it was a subject on which he knew not how to speak. It was no easy matter, you know, to say to a lady, 'I see that you are very poor, and I would like to help you.'

"One morning the doctor found Cecille weeping bitterly. With some soothing and some questioning he gained her confidence, and found that the week's board paid that morning had nearly emptied the little purse—that her grandmother felt that they could not continue to live on the poor widow, to whose house she had been carried, and where they had since remained, without the means of paying her,—yet that they knew not where or how to go. 'And what did you mean to do if you had not been stopped here? Your money would not have supported you any longer in another place,' said Dr. Willis. 'Oh sir! if we could only have got to some large city, grandmamma says I could soon have made money enough for her and myself too.' 'You make money!' repeated the doctor with surprise, looking at the delicate figure and soft white hands of the child. 'What could you do?' 'I can do a great many things. I can embroider on muslin and silk—I can make pretty fancy boxes—I can paint—and grandmamma thinks, with some practice, I could take miniatures.' The doctor listened to this list of Cecille's accomplishments and shook his head dejectedly. Had Cecille said she could scrub and she could wash, he could have seen how money could be made by her, but these fine lady works he had been accustomed to think only so many ways of wasting time. Fortunately for our little Cecille, all persons did not consider them so unprofitable. The doctor called at our house after visiting Madame L'Estrange, and with his own mind full of Cecille's sorrows, he repeated to me, in the presence of my children, what he had just heard. Clara scarcely allowed him to finish before she expressed a determination to have a muslin cape and a silk apron embroidered, a fancy box made, a picture painted, and a miniature either of Grace or herself taken. I begged, however, that before giving her orders she would calculate her means of paying for them. These means amounted to five dollars a month, which her father had permitted her to spend as she pleased from the day she became ten years old. Clara soon found that it would be long before this would remunerate Cecille for half the employment she was arranging for her. She looked at me in despair, and seemed half provoked when I smiled at her perplexity. 'Then I cannot help her,' she exclaimed sorrowfully. 'Stay, stay, my dear,' said I, 'do not be so hasty in your conclusions. You may help her very much, though you cannot do every thing for her. How would you like to take lessons of Cecille, and learn to do these things for yourself instead of having them done for you?' 'Oh! I should like it above all things, but will papa let me, do you think?' 'I have no doubt that your papa will not only let you, but be very much pleased if you choose to devote a part of your pocket-money to your own improvement. Your allowance of five dollars a month will pay Cecille a fair price for so much of her time as will enable her to teach you some one of her accomplishments, and will leave you something for other pleasures too.' Clara was delighted with my proposal. I permitted Grace to join her in her lessons, and for ten dollars a quarter from each of them, Cecille spends two hours in their instruction on every Wednesday and Saturday morning. But this is not all she does. She works very industriously at home, and when her work is completed she brings the article to me, and I forward it to a friend of mine in the city, who has hitherto been able to dispose of whatever she has done to great advantage. In this way this little girl has for some months supported not only herself but her feeble and aged grandmother."

"Poor things," said I, "if this is all their support, I fear they must often want."

"Indeed, I think you are mistaken. Their clothing is always neat, and they appear to live comfortably."

"Then," said I, "they must have some assistance from others; for according to your own account, the sum which Cecille receives from her pupils would amount in a year to only eighty dollars. She must gain as much more from other work to be able to pay even the most moderate board for two persons; and then what becomes of their other expenses?"

"Ah! our Cecille, or rather her grandmother, is a better manager than you would be of her little funds," said Mrs. Wilmot, smiling. "They do not board, but hire from the widow Daly two rooms in her cottage. For these they pay only half of what Cecille receives from Clara and Grace. They keep no servant, but for a trifle obtain each day, from one of Mrs. Daly's daughters, an hour's assistance in putting every thing around them into neat order. How they live, I know not; but I am sure Cecille could not be so cheerful as she is, if her grandmother suffered any serious want. Of one thing I am sure—they do not run in debt for any thing; for Cecille, with many blushes and great timidity, begged her young pupils here to pay her by the month, as her grandmother had engaged to pay her rent in that way, and would be very much distressed if she were obliged to be in debt, even for a single day."